Page 28 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"Out." This time, there's no mistaking my command.

He nods once and retreats, closing the door silently behind him. Leonid's concern isn't without merit. I know enough to understand that carrying five babies presents enormous physical challenges, but right now, I can't process anything beyond the basic, staggering fact that Wil is pregnant with my children.

The moment I'm alone, I rise from my chair and cross to the windows, my body moving automatically while my mind races. Then I do something I haven't done since my father died—I lock my office door. The simple act of turning the key feels like a confession of weakness noBratvaleader should allow, but I can't risk interruption right now.

My controlled façade crumbles the moment privacy is assured. I press my forehead against the cool glass, breath creating a fog on the window as emotion rises like a tide I can't stop. Five children. My children. A legacy I never planned for and don’t believe I deserve.

For the first time in years, I allow raw feeling to overtake me. Terror floods my system first as I consider the danger this creates, and the vulnerability these children represent. Every enemy I've made would see these children as leverage and Wil as a path to destroy me. The thought ignites something primal in my chest, a fierce protectiveness I've only ever felt for Zina.

I think of my sister, and how I've spent my entire life shielding her from the worst of our world. I've killed men for merely looking at her wrong, or for suggesting they might use her to get to me, and now, there will be five more people whose safety depends entirely on my ability to protect them from the violent life I've chosen.

No one can touch her. No one can threaten her. No one else will raise my children.

My fist connects with the wall before I realize I've moved, the pain barely registering through the storm of emotions. I glance down at my knuckles, watching with detachment as blood wells from split skin. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional maelstrom tearing through me.

Possessiveness, an ancient masculine drive to claim and protect what's mine, mingles with the fear. The thought of Wil carrying my children alone, making decisions about their future without me, is unbearable, and beneath it all, something dangerously close to joy flickers, a light I dare not examine too closely.

I've never considered fatherhood. TheBratvalife doesn't lend itself to stable family relationships beyond the organization itself. Children are liabilities or vulnerabilities that enemies can exploit. I've seen it happen too many times when bosses are brought to their knees by rivals targeting their families. I swore I'd never create such weakness in myself.

Yet, staring at the ultrasound image again, I can't suppress a surge of wonder. Five distinct beings, created from a single night of connection with the only woman who's made me feel human in years. The statistical improbability stuns me. Five new Vorobevs, when I'd resigned myself to Zina and me being the last of our line unless she chose to have a family some day—a family I would keep well clear ofBratvabusiness.

I pull my phone from my pocket, almost calling Leonid back to arrange immediate protection for Wil, but stop myself. This needs careful planning. The wrong move could terrify her or drive her farther from me. I pace the length of my office, calculating options with none of my usual detachment.

Does she plan to keep them? The thought of her not doing so makes me jerk to a halt in my pacing. She's a single woman with a modest income, now unexpectedly pregnant with quintuplets. Would she consider termination? Adoption? The very possibility makes my blood boil with an intensity that surprises me. I have no right to dictate her choices, particularly when I've given her nothing but a false name and a single night, but the thought of my children—my blood, my legacy—being given to strangers makes something dark and primitive rise within me.

I need more information. Immediately. I unlock the office door from the panel on my desk before I press the intercom. "Leonid, my office. Now."

He appears within moments, composed as ever. I don't bother with preliminaries.

"I need everything. Her financial situation, her medical options… What she's told her doctors about the father, and what she's planning."

Leonid nods, unfazed by my intensity. "We're already gathering that information. Preliminary reports suggest she's keeping the pregnancy. She's scheduled a follow-up appointment with a high-risk pregnancy specialist."

Relief hits me, though it doesn't diminish the urgency. "I need to know the moment she makes any decision. In the meantime, increase surveillance. Be discreet but comprehensive."

"Sir, if I may," he says carefully, "This level of monitoring borders on?—"

"I don't care what it borders on." The words come out in an angry rush. "She's carrying Vorobev heirs. Everything changes now."

The obvious solution crashes through my thoughts with startling clarity. I must bring her here, into my world, where I can protect her properly. The logistics are simple enough. I have the resources to provide everything she and the babies could need. The best medical care, complete security, and every comfort imaginable, but the human element complicates everything.

How do I tell a woman who knows me only as Maxim, a businessman she spent one night with, that I'm actually Makari Vorobev, head of a significant swath of the RussianBratvain New York? Our onlyBratvarivals, the Petrovs, control a much smaller territory. How do I tell a woman who saves babies for a living that their father is a man whose hands are stained with blood and whose name is whispered in fear?

The truth might send her running farther than any distance could measure, and yet, lies have never been an option with her. From the moment we met, something about Willemina Lamb has demanded honesty from me. Even when I gave her a false name, I couldn't bring myself to craft an elaborate backstory, to truly deceive her about who I am at my core.

I dismiss him with a nod, thinking about preparations. In the corridor, Fedor stands waiting, his expression flickering between concern and calculation as he takes in my unusual state.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, falling into step beside me.

I brush past him without answering, already focused on my next move. Fedor has been pushing for more aggressive expansion lately, suggesting riskier moves that I've consistently vetoed. The timing isn't coincidental. He's sensed something shifting in me, perhaps seeing it as weakness to exploit. I've known my cousin long enough to recognize ambition poorly disguised as concern.

Right now, Fedor is a problem for another day. Presently, all that matters is Wil and the five impossible lives growing inside her. She needs to know the truth, however terrifying it might be. She needs to understand the dangers our children now face simply by existing, and I need to convince her that despite everything, despite who and what I am, I can keep them safe.

Tomorrow, I’ll go to her. Not as Maxim the businessman, but as Makari Vorobev, offering whatever protection and support she'll accept from me. She may slam the door in my face. She may hate me for my deception and for the world I represent, but I’ll give her the truth and the choice, even as every instinct tells me to simply take what's mine.

Because somehow, in one night, Willemina Lamb taught me something my father, theBratva, and fifteen years of power never could. Some things can't be claimed by force and can only be earned through truth.

I will claim what's mine, whatever it takes, but for the first time in my life, I’ll try to do it the right way.

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