Page 56 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

The sundress I wore my first day in the greenhouse lies folded neatly in a drawer. I touch the fabric briefly, remembering Mak's expression when he found me there among the plants he'd created just for me. So much has changed since then. What began as captivity slowly transformed into something else entirely, something I never expected to find with a man like him. With reluctance, I leave the dress behind. The memories attached to it belong to a life I'm now abandoning. I can’t wear it any longer anyway.

In the bathroom, I find myself staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is tousled, lips are slightly swollen from passionate kisses, and there’s a small mark darkening on my collarbone, where he nipped me. I touch it gently, a physical reminder of what I'm leaving behind. The woman staring back at me looks both stronger and more vulnerable than the person who arrived at this estate eight weeks ago.

The hot shower does little to ease the tension in my muscles, but the routine brings comfort from being so normal.

I dress in practical layers, jeans with an elastic waistband to accommodate my growing belly, a loose sweater over a sleeveless shirt, and comfortable walking shoes. These are clothes for a woman planning to disappear, not the glamorous maternity wear that hangs in the closet.

Outside my window, increased security patrols circle the property, with guards positioned more prominently than usual. That’s another reminder of the danger that now shadows me because of my connection to the Vorobev name. The estate that once felt like a gilded cage now seems like the only barrier between my unborn children and those who would harm them to hurt Mak.

I rest my hand on my growing belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement that has become more pronounced in recent weeks. Already, I can distinguish different patterns. The one who kicks most actively in the morning (Baby C according to the ultrasound), the gentle flutter that seems to respond when I play classical music (Baby E), and the strong movements that often synchronize with their siblings (Babies A and B). Baby D is positioned so that I can’t get a full read on her actions, so she remains my darling mystery.

"We'll figure this out," I whisper to them, though uncertainty colors my voice. What exactly am I planning? Where will we go? The practical nurse in me catalogs the challenges ahead, finding specialized medical care for a high-risk quintuplet pregnancy, securing safe housing, and perhaps establishing a new identity. The obstacles seem insurmountable when considered all at once.

I check the emergency funds I've been quietly setting aside from the generous "allowance" Mak insisted on providing. It’s not nearly enough for what lies ahead, but a start. The irony isn't lost on me of using money from the very man I'm fleeing to finance my escape, but these babies deserve every advantage, regardless of its source.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. I tense, bracing for another confrontation with Mak, uncertain whether my resolve will withstand seeing him again in the clear light of day. Instead, I open the door to find Zina standing in the hallway, her expression determined and a small leather bag slung over her shoulder.

"May I come in?" She glances past me to the half-packed suitcase on the bed.

I step aside, allowing her entry. "Mak told you."

"He didn't have to." She moves to my closet, pulling out a light waterproof jacket, comfortable sleepwear, and a warmth-conserving thermal blanket still in its packaging. "I heard what happened in the city. I knew you wouldn't stay after that."

To my surprise, she begins adding the items to my suitcase, carefully organizing the contents. I watch, confused, as she transfers my toiletries into travel-sized containers she's brought with her.

"What are you doing?" I ask, stopping mid-fold of a sweater.

She continues her work without pausing. "If you're leaving, I'm going too."

The declaration stuns me into momentary silence. Mak's beloved sister, the one person he's protected his entire life, wants to leave with me?

"Zina, you can't. Mak wouldn’t like that."

"This isn't about what my brother wants." She finally looks up, and her dark eyes are filled with determination. "It's about what I want. What I've wanted for years." She moves to the bathroom, gathering my medications and prenatal vitamins, organizing them with the precision of someone who has planned for contingencies, while continuing to speak. "I've always hated this lifestyle, Wil. This house that has always haunted me. It’s a gilded prison, where I've been protected but never truly free."

I follow her, struggling to process this revelation. "But you've always seemed so comfortable here. Your literature research, your friends from university..."

"Practice." A humorless laugh escapes her as she zips a toiletry bag closed. "I've had escape plans since I was fourteen, including accounts Mak doesn't know about, connections outside the Bratva, and a whole identity he never created. The research is real, but it's also an excuse to travel, to maintain contacts in the academic world, where the Vorobev name means nothing."

"Then why did you stay?" I ask, genuinely curious. "All these years, if you hated it so much?"

Her movements slow, a shadow crossing her face. "For him. Because I couldn't abandon the brother who sacrificed everything to shield me from our father's cruelty and the brutality of this world. He gave up any chance at being normal to keep me safe. Even now, he lets me pretend at independence while maintaining invisible security that follows me everywhere."

She turns to face me fully, her expression softening as her gaze drops to my belly. "But now, I have more family to protect. These babies deserve a chance at the normal life Mak and I never had."

The simple statement brings unexpected tears to my eyes. Pregnancy hormones have left me emotionally raw, but this goes deeper. It’s the realization I'm not facing this alone. These babies will have family beyond myself and their complicated father.

Together, we finish packing with an efficiency born of shared purpose. Zina proves surprisingly practical, adding more items I hadn't considered—a burner phone, cash in various currencies, and a small first-aid kit with specialized items for pregnancy, including nausea.

"Where did you get all this?" I ask, watching her add a satellite phone to the mix.

"I've been preparing for years." She checks each item carefully. "Different scenarios, different needs. A pregnant woman with quintuplets wasn't exactly on my list of contingencies, but I adapt quickly."

The comment draws a reluctant smile from me. "Apparently, a family trait."

"Some things are genetic." She matches my smile with one of her own, the resemblance to Mak momentarily striking.

"How are we getting out?" I ask finally, zipping the suitcase closed. "The estate is crawling with security."

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