Page 4 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

The emptiness returns, stronger than before. This is what my existence has become. Endless cycles of negotiations and territorial disputes, power maintained through intimidation, and relationships reduced to strategic assets or liabilities. Even in this moment of relative peace, I recognize the hollowness at the center of it all.

My phone buzzes with a text from Fedor.

We need to discuss Kazanov meeting details. Leonid said Friday?

I don’t respond immediately, instead watching the city lights blur past the window. Tomorrow, I’ll strategize and prepare, embracing the role my father created for me, but tonight, just for these few moments in the quiet darkness of the car, I allow myself to wonder whether there might still be something human left within me beyond the monster I’ve become.

Tomorrow, the cycle will continue, endless and unchanging unless something breaks the pattern, or someone breaks me.

2

Wil

My feet drag as I push through the hospital doors at the end of a grueling sixteen-hour shift. Every muscle aches, especially my lower back from bending over incubators all night. The fluorescent lights of New York Presbyterian’s NICU have left an imprint behind my eyelids that blinks with each tired step.

I pull my phone from my scrub pocket, wincing at the brightness before adjusting it. Four missed calls from Gisele. A text follows.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE, WILLEMINA! It’s my BIRTHDAY, remember?

Guilt washes over me. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I completely forgot. Gisele has been my roommate since freshman year of college, the closest thing to family I’ve had since Mom died. She deserves better than a friend who forgets her birthday.

I type a quick reply.

Just got off shift. So sorry. Will pick up something special on way home.

The response is immediate.

Don’t bother. I have plans FOR US tonight. Be ready by 9pm. No excuses.

I groan, already dreading whatever “plans” Gisele has concocted. Her idea of celebration typically involves crowded clubs, expensive cocktails, and staying out until dawn. That’s everything I avoid in my carefully structured life, but it’s her birthday, and after forgetting it, I owe her this much.

The subway ride to our Brooklyn apartment feels endless. I close my eyes, letting the rocking motion nearly lull me to sleep. My mind drifts to baby Emma, the one-pound miracle I’ve been monitoring all week. After a terrifying bradycardia episode yesterday, she stabilized beautifully tonight, her tiny fingers grasping my gloved pinky with surprising strength. These are the moments that make the exhaustion worthwhile.

Fresh air hits my face as I climb the subway stairs, grounding me back in reality. Our apartment is six blocks away, and each step requires conscious effort. I stop at the corner bakery, purchasing Gisele’s favorite chocolate croissants as a peace offering, then continue dragging myself home.

Inside our apartment, blessed silence greets me. Gisele must have already left for work. She waitresses during lunch and dinner shifts and sometimes tends bar during the late shift at one of those trendy speakeasies in Manhattan, where cocktails cost more than my hourly wage. I kick off my sneakers, dropping my bag and the bakery box on the counter, then head straight for the shower.

Hot water cascades over my tight shoulders, washing away the antiseptic hospital smell. I close my eyes, imagining the stress flowing down the drain. Fifteen minutes later, wrapped in my oldest, softest robe, I feel almost human again.

I move to the kitchen window where my collection of plants basks in the afternoon sunlight. This small garden is my sanctuary, my connection to the mother who taught me to nurture growing things. I check each pot methodically. Basil needs water, the succulents are fine, and the peace lily has a new bud forming. At the center sits my prized possession, which is a rose bush grown from a cutting of Mom’s garden, its deep crimson blooms like a vivid memory of her hands guiding mine in the soft earth.

“You’re looking healthy today,” I whisper, touching a velvet petal. Mom always said talking to plants helps them grow, though my nursing education suggests it’s more about the carbon dioxide from breath than the words themselves. Still, the ritual comforts me.

Sleep pulls at my consciousness, an irresistible gravity after so many hours awake. It’s a little past eleven, and I set my alarm for seven hours. That’s enough to function but still have time to prepare for Gisele’s mysterious evening plans. I fall into bed, asleep before my head fully settles on the pillow.

Before I know it, the alarm blares, yanking me from deep slumber. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure if it’s morning or evening, but the clock reads 6:30 p.m. I’ve slept for seven hours straight but feel like I need seven more.

My bedroom door flies open without warning. Gisele bounces in wearing a silver sequined dress that catches the light with every movement, her red hair styled in loose waves that frame her heart-shaped face.

“Happy birthday to me!” She twirls, the dress sparkling like she’s captured pieces of the night sky. “Oh, good, you’re awake. We have exactly two and a half hours to transform you from zombie nurse to bombshell.”

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Bombshell seems ambitious. Where exactly are we going that requires this level of...” I gesture vaguely at her ensemble.

“Eclipse.” Gisele grins with excitement. “Jake got us on the list. Do you know how impossible that is? People wait months to get in!”

My stomach drops. Eclipse. The notorious nightclub frequented by celebrities, finance bros, and if rumors are true, organized crime figures looking to flaunt their wealth. Exactly the kind of place I avoid. “Gisele...” I start carefully. “I don’t think that’s my scene. Maybe you should take someone else who’d appreciate it more. I could make us dinner here instead. “

“No.” She crosses her arms, all playfulness vanishing. “Wil, I love you, but you haven’t left this apartment for anything but work or groceries in months. It’s like you’re hiding from life itself.”

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