Page 32 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

Fedor and I have grown up together, cousins by blood but raised more like brothers after his father, my uncle, was killed in the territorial disputes of the 1990s. Where I inherited the leadership position through my father's direct line, Fedor has always operated from the secondary position, advising, supporting, and occasionally challenging my decisions. The dynamics between us have grown increasingly complex as we've aged. He's never openly defied me, but his ambition simmers just beneath the surface of every interaction.

As the car pulls away from the curb, I stare out at the passing streets, thinking of Wil in that small apartment with her plants and secondhand furniture. She's created a life of quiet meaning, saving the smallest and most vulnerable patients in her care. Now she carries my children, and I've managed to terrify rather than reassure her.

Fedor casually examines his manicured nails. "I passed two of our surveillance teams on the way here. You've had this building watched for some time. May I ask why?"

His tone is conversational, but nothing about Fedor is ever casual. It’s obvious to me that he wants to get information through my reactions and responses.

I continue staring out the window, deliberately ignoring his question. "You may not."

He accepts the rebuff with grace, shifting tactics smoothly. "The Kazanovs are pushing again at the docks. Their men approached three of our customs officials this morning."

His tone holds a note of satisfaction beneath the concern, as if he's pleased to have urgent business pulling me back to reality. Fedor has always been adept at reading my moods, at knowing precisely when to assert his practical value to the organization.

"Handle it. The usual warning should suffice."

"I'd prefer to send a stronger message." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "A reminder of what happens when they encroach on Vorobev territory."

The old Mak—the Mak from before Wil—would have agreed instantly. Perhaps even suggested something particularly memorable to drive the point home. Now, the thought of more violence, more blood on my hands, makes me weary in a way I've never experienced before.

"No bodies. Just the warning. I don't want police attention right now."

Fedor studies me with barely concealed disbelief. His dark eyes, so similar to my own, narrow slightly as he processes this uncharacteristic restraint.

"Ever since Eclipse, you've been..." He taps his finger against the leather seat. "Distracted. Less engaged with daily operations."

The timing's not coincidental. Everything changed that night, though not for the reasons he suspects.

Fedor gestures vaguely toward the building we're leaving behind. "May I ask what's happening here? This doesn't seem like typicalpakhanbusiness."

I consider lying, but Fedor will discover the truth eventually. It’s better he hears it from me than through whispers and speculation. Besides, with the surveillance I've ordered and the precautions I'll need to implement, keeping Wil's existence secret from my inner circle is impractical.

"The woman in that apartment is pregnant with my children." I watch his reaction carefully. "Quintuplets, actually. I know it’s shocking. Damn near gave me a heart attack."

Fedor's composure slips momentarily, genuine shock flashing across his features before he frowns. "Quintuplets? That's... statistically improbable."

"And yet, true beyond a shadow of a doubt."

He absorbs this information with remarkable speed, already leaping far into the future in his head. He does it all the time, so I know he’s trying to calculate the risk involved in this new development.

He drums his fingers briefly against his knee. "How certain are you of paternity?"

"Certain enough." I don't elaborate on the surveillance or medical records I've obtained. Some details remain mine alone.

"I see." He adjusts his position, recalibrating his approach. "And what exactly are your intentions regarding this woman and these... quintuplets?"

"Her name is Willemina Lamb." My tone drops dangerously. "I intend to protect her and my children, with or without her cooperation."

Fedor nods thoughtfully. "So you'll need surveillance. I can arrange it discreetly but effectively. Orlov and Yakov would be suitable."

"Already handled," I say, a hint of smugness in my voice. In truth, I'd reached the same conclusion about which men to assign. The offer is Fedor's way of inserting himself into the situation and establishing relevance.

"Of course." His gaze flick toward the rearview mirror, where Leonid studiously keeps his attention on the road. "You've thought of everything."

The slight emphasis suggests otherwise, but I know it’s because he’s still thinking of issues that could arise from this.

He clears his throat after a quick moment. "Is she aware of who you are? What you are?"

I turn from the window to face him directly. "She is now."

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