Page 54 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

I nod, relief at their physical safety tempered by the awareness that the damage runs deeper than flesh. "Thank you, Doctor."

When I enter the examination room, Wil has already changed from her blood-soaked dress into scrubs provided by Dr. Phillips. She sits on the edge of the table, staring at the ultrasound image in her hands—the one from the specialist in the city, now stained with her attacker's blood.

"They're all okay?" I approach cautiously, like she's a wounded animal, who might bolt at any sudden movement.

She nods without looking at me. "Physically."

The implication hangs between us, heavy with accusation. Something fundamental has broken between us, trust shattered by bullets and blood. Without another word, she slides from the examination table and walks past me, her body language clearly communicating her desire for distance.

I follow her through the corridors of the estate, maintaining space between us until she reaches her suite—not mine, where she's spent every night for the past week, but the rooms originally assigned to her upon arrival. She immediately begins pulling clothes from drawers with shaking hands, tossing them haphazardly into an open suitcase on the bed.

I stand in the doorway, watching her frantic movements with growing desperation, trying to formulate arguments that might convince her to stay. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" She doesn't pause in her task and doesn't even look at me. "I can't stay here."

I step into the room despite her unmistakable anger radiating toward me. "The world outside this estate is more dangerous for you now. Those men weren't random criminals. They were sent by enemies who know exactly who you are and what you mean to me."

She continues gathering clothes, her movements increasingly agitated. "They'll keep coming, won't they? No matter where I go, no matter what I do, they'll keep trying because I'm connected to you."

My voice rises as fear fuels my words. "Which is exactly why I am the only one who can keep you safe!"

Wil finally stops, turning to face me with tears streaming down her face. "Safe? You call what happened today safe? People were shot in the street, Mak. Innocent bystanders caught in crossfire. A woman was bleeding on the sidewalk while you hustled me away."

"Because you are everything to me now." I step closer, desperate to make her understand. "You and those babies… I can't lose you."

"And that's the problem." Her voice drops to almost a whisper. "Your love is as destructive as your hate. You only know one way to solve problems."

"That's not true." The accusation stings precisely because part of me fears it might be accurate.

"I don't want them growing up numb to violence the way you have." She gestures toward her belly, tears flowing freely as she continues packing. "I don't want them thinking it's normal to solve problems with bullets, or to have bodyguards instead of friends, or to be afraid of their own shadows."

Years of my carefully constructed control crumble in the face of losing everything that has suddenly become precious to me. Our argument spirals as emotions overwhelm reason. We shout at one another, but more out of love and fear than anger, moving closer with each heated exchange until we're standing toe to toe in the center of the room.

"You think I don't know what I am?" I demand, my voice breaking with the strain of containing emotions I've suppressed for decades. "You think I want this life for them? For you?" I grasp her shoulders with gentle urgency, revealing the torment beneath my composed exterior. "I would burn it all down if I knew how to be something different."

Wil's expression shifts, anger giving way to something more complex. "I love you." The words emerge through her tears, a confession that clearly costs her. "God help me, I do, but sometimes, love isn't enough when set against violence that's become as natural as breathing to you."

The confession—both her love and its insufficiency—shatters the last barrier between us. Grief and desire collide as I pull her into a desperate kiss that she returns with equal fervor. Her lips part beneath mine, allowing me to taste the salt of her tears and something uniquely Wil beneath it all.

I expect her to push me away, to return to her packing and her plans to leave. Instead, her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens into something primal and needy. Her body presses against mine with unexpected urgency, communicating a desperation that matches my own.

I slip my hands beneath her scrub top, finding the warm skin of her back, and tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both. I walk her backward until her legs hit the edge of the bed, our lips never separating.

"I need you," she whispers against my mouth, her fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt. "One last time."

The words cut like a blade, but I push aside the pain, focusing instead on the gift she's offering, this final connection before separation. I tug her top over her head, revealing her breasts, fuller now with pregnancy, nipples darker and more sensitive than when we first came together. The sight makes my cock harden painfully against my tailored slacks.

"You're so beautiful." I cup her breasts reverently, thumbs circling nipples that pebble instantly under my touch. "Every inch of you."

Her head falls back as I lower my mouth to one sensitive peak, teeth grazing lightly before my tongue soothes the sting. The sound she makes, a half-gasp and half-moan, drives me to the edge of control. I suck harder while kneading her other breast with careful pressure, learning her changing body as if memorizing territory soon to be lost.

Wil tugs impatiently at my remaining clothes, her usual patience abandoned in the face of our impending separation. I help her, shedding fabric until nothing remains between us. The slight curve of her belly where our children grow makes my throat tighten with emotions I still struggle to name, but my attention is quickly reclaimed by her hand wrapping around my cock, already thick and leaking at the tip.

"I need to taste you," she murmurs, sinking to her knees before I can respond.

The sight of her like this, naked and pregnant, drives me crazy. When her lips close around the head of my cock, I groan deeply, tangling one hand in her hair while the other braces against the wall for support.

Her mouth is hot and wet as she swirls her tongue over the sensitive ridge beneath the head before she takes me deeper. I watch, mesmerized, as my shaft disappears between her lips, her cheeks hollowing with suction that sends sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.

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