Page 3 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

“Nothing that can’t wait.” I raise my glass. “To Dr. Vorobev, the future queen of academia.”

She clinks her glass against mine but hesitates before drinking. “I was thinking... Maybe I shouldn’t use our family name.”

The air goes still between us. The Vorobev name opens certain doors but permanently closes many others, especially for Zina, who deserves a future unburdened by our bloody legacy. “You could use Mother’s maiden name,” I suggest carefully. “Petrov is common enough.”

Relief washes over her face. “That’s what I was thinking. Not that I’m ashamed, Mak, but…”

I cut her off gently. “You don’t have to explain. I understand better than anyone.”

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the pasta actually quite good despite Zina’s haphazard approach to cooking. I’m about to compliment her when my phone buzzes again. Not Fedor this time, but Leonid.

I frown. Leonid would never interrupt unless it was important.

“Take it,” she says with a resigned sigh. “It’s fine.”

I step into the hallway, keeping my voice low. “What is it?” I ask, annoyed to have to leave dinner with Zina.

“The Kazanovs responded to our message,” Leonid says, his voice tight in his throat. “They’re pushing back against the Eclipse acquisition. They want a meeting.”

I exhale slowly. Not unexpected, but irritating. The Eclipse nightclub sits at the edge of contested territory. “When?” I ask him.

“They’re suggesting this Friday night at Eclipse itself. A neutral ground situation, before the paperwork is finalized.”

I consider this. A meeting is better than escalation. “Tell them I’ll be there. Standard security protocols, but nothing excessive. We don’t need a show of force for a simple conversation.”

“Yes, sir.” Leonid pauses. “Should I brief Fedor?”

“I’ll handle Fedor. Just confirm the meeting.” I end the call and return to the dining room.

Zina is watching me, her pasta already forgotten. “Everything okay?” she asks, studying my face.

“Just business. Nothing serious.” I slide back into my seat and take a bite of my food. “This is actually very good. You’ve been practicing.”

She smiles, but her eyes remain concerned. “You don’t have to leave?”

“Not tonight.” I reach for my wine glass. “Tonight, we’re just going to enjoy dinner.”

A smile creeps onto her face, and her shoulder drop a few inches.

We finish dinner exchanging stories and plans for her doctoral program. By the time we reach dessert, store-bought tiramisu that Zina pretends she made, I’ve almost pushed thoughts of the Kazanovs from my mind.

Almost.

After dinner, upon learning she’s planning to spend a few days in the city, I insist on having Pavel drive Zina back to her apartment before taking me home. She maintains her own place near Columbia, a concession I made when she started graduate school, though the building’s security rivals that of some government facilities. Her neighbors include diplomats, a starlet, and three investment bankers, so I feel almost at ease with her there. Her security team will be observing her as always, to her annoyance.

“You don’t have to escort me up,” she says as Pavel pulls to a stop outside her building. “I’m a big girl now.”

“Humor me.” I follow her inside, nodding to the doorman who straightens perceptibly at my presence, catching sight of the SUV carrying her guards driving past the building, clearly on the way to park in the garage. We go up to her apartment, where I perform my customary security check while she pretends not to notice.

“All clear,” I announce, only half-joking. “Try to stay out of trouble until Friday. I have a business meeting that night, but maybe we can have dinner this weekend.”

“I’d like that.” She hugs me tightly. “Be careful, Mak, and remember who you are under all of... that.” She gestures vaguely at what she calls my “business persona.”

That’s the problem. I’m no longer sure there’s anyone left under the monster I’ve become. I’ve played this role for so long that the boundaries have blurred beyond recognition, but I just nod and kiss her forehead before leaving.

Pavel is waiting with the car. “Home, sir?”

“Yes.” I slide into the back seat, suddenly exhausted. As we drive through the nighttime city, I watch the passing lights and shadows, feeling the weight of two different lives pulling at me, the brother who celebrated his sister’s achievement tonight, and theBratvaboss who will face the Kazanovs on Friday.

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