Page 33 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"Ah." The single syllable contains volumes. "And I take it from your mood that she was... less than receptive to this revelation?"

I don't dignify the question with a response, but my silence is answer enough. He sighs, his expression shifting to one of fabricated concern as he briefly places a hand on my shoulder. "Cousin, I must express concern. This woman has you acting unlike yourself. Our rivals watch for any sign of weakness. A woman and five bastards will be the end of the Vorobev empire."

The temperature in the car plummets. Even Leonid tenses, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. The word 'bastards' echoes between us, deliberately provocative. Fedor has always known precisely how to needle me and how to find the hairline fractures in my composure. Today, he's miscalculated.

I don't raise my voice. I don't move, but something in my expression makes him press himself back against the leather seat. "Choose your next words very carefully,” I growl as heat rushes to my face.

He swallows, a nearly imperceptible gesture that betrays his sudden awareness of danger. We might be family, but many men have died for less disrespect than he's just shown.

He raises his hands slightly, placatingly. "I meant no disrespect. I merely suggest that personal entanglements complicate business. The timing isn’t great."

"The surveillance is non-negotiable," I snap as I turn back to the window, effectively ending the discussion.

Fedor nods, suitably chastened, though I don't miss the calculation in his eyes. My cousin has always been ambitious, always watching for opportunities to advance his position within our organization. This unexpected vulnerability, my connection to Wil and our unborn children, represents both a threat to his aspirations and a potential leverage point he's already considering how to exploit.

"As you wish." His tone becomes appropriately deferential now. "We should discuss expansion plans for the Greenwich property when we return to the office. The zoning board vote is scheduled for next week."

His pivot to legitimate business matters is transparent, a reminder that while I focus on personal concerns, he remains dedicated to organizational prosperity. It's a subtle move in our ongoing game of position and influence.

We ride in tense silence for several blocks, the cityscape transforming around us as we move from Brooklyn's residential streets toward the bridge that will carry us to Manhattan. I note Fedor checking his watch repeatedly, a habit that emerges when he's recalculating strategies.

"Something urgent?"

He immediately stops fidgeting with his watch. "I have a meeting with the union representatives at four. Nothing that can't be rescheduled if you need me."

The offer is hollow. We both know I won't request his continued presence. Fedor is testing boundaries to see how much my newfound distraction has affected normal operations.

"Keep the appointment. Have Yuri prepare briefing documents on the Kazanov situation. Full threat assessment, possible leverage points, and known associates. I want it on my desk by morning."

"Of course." He nods, making notes in his phone. The familiar routines of business temporarily mask the undercurrents between us. He seems almost disappointed that I’m reengaged in the conversation, but he needs to realize that even distracted, I’m still ahead of him.

The car falls silent as we cross the bridge back to Manhattan. The gleaming towers of financial power rise before us, a world away from Wil's cozy Brooklyn apartment. I've always moved easily between these contrasting New York realities—the legitimized wealth of Manhattan's elite and the shadow economies that fuel much of it. Now, those worlds seem irreconcilable in ways they never have before.

Inside, I'm spiraling through emotions I haven't allowed myself to feel in years—regret for the path that led me here, fear for the children who will inherit my enemies, and desperate longing for a life I glimpsed briefly with Wil. I don't want to be this man anymore, the monster whose name is whispered in fear throughout New York's underworld.

I wonder if Wil will ever give me a chance to show who I really am beneath my Bratva persona, or if I've already lost her and our unborn children before I ever truly had them. The thought creates an unfamiliar ache in my chest, something dangerously close to grief for possibilities that might never materialize.

Leonid clears his throat quietly, catching my attention in the mirror. "Sir, may I speak frankly?"

I nod, curious despite my foul mood. Leonid rarely offers unsolicited opinions, especially in Fedor's presence. His interruption is timed during a moment when Fedor is distracted by his phone, creating an illusion of privacy despite the close quarters.

"The security measures will protect Ms. Lamb physically, but they won't address the larger issue." His gaze meets mine briefly in the mirror. "She rejected your offer because she fears your world, not because she fears you personally."

"The distinction makes little difference if the end result is the same."

Fedor shifts uncomfortably beside me, clearly displeased by Leonid's familiar tone, but wise enough to hold his tongue. The hierarchy within my organization is clear, but complex. Leonid's years of loyal service have earned him certain privileges, including occasionally speaking to me as a trusted advisor rather than a subordinate. Fedor, despite our blood relationship, hasn't yet earned the same level of implicit trust.

Leonid navigates through a yellow light. "Perhaps, but in my experience, people fear most what they don't understand. Ms. Lamb knows only what the movies and news tell her about theBratva. She doesn't know the code we live by, or the protections we offer to those under our care."

I consider his words. It's true that Wil looked at me today as if I were some movie villain, a one-dimensional monster with no redeeming qualities. She doesn't know the Vorobev family operates by rules as strict as any legitimate business. That violence, when employed, is strategic rather than random. I've worked for years to move our operations toward legitimate enterprises.

"What are you suggesting?"

He checks the mirrors before changing lanes. "Education. Let her learn about you gradually. Show her the man beneath the reputation."

"She slammed the door in my face, Leonid. I doubt she's interested in getting to know me better."

"Not directly from you, but there are other ways. Perhaps your sister could make contact? Ms. Lamb might be more receptive to another woman, especially one who understands both worlds."

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