Page 8 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

For now.

The eldest Kazanov representative, Demyan, based on Leonid’s intelligence briefing, extends his hand. “Mr. Vorobev, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

I shake his hand firmly, noting the excessive pressure he applies. Small men always squeeze too hard. “The pleasure is mine.” I sit, smoothly unbuttoning my jacket. A server immediately appears with my preferred vodka, poured without instruction. I assume Fedor must have clued them in, since I haven’t been here before.

I fake a smile. “I trust my cousin has been entertaining you adequately?”

“Very much so.” Demyan grins, revealing a gold tooth that confirms every stereotype. “He tells us the Eclipse acquisition is nearly complete. A significant addition to your portfolio.”

The underlying question is unspoken. How will this affect the delicate territorial balance we’ve maintained? The nightclub sits at the edge of our agreed boundaries, technically neutral ground until now.

“A business decision,” I say smoothly. “The property became available at an attractive price. It’s nothing more complicated than good investment strategy.”

Demyan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. Business is business. Still, such a prestigious venue naturally attracts... certain clientele. Questions of access and service might arise.”

Translation: Will the Kazanovs still be welcome once the Vorobev organization controls the property? Will their drug distribution through club staff continue uninterrupted?

Fedor jumps in before I can respond. “The Eclipse will operate as neutral territory for select associates. Existing arrangements will continue under new management, with appropriate adjustments to reflect changing ownership.”

I resist the urge to silence him with a look. My cousin speaks too freely and too eagerly. It’s why I keep him away from the most sensitive operations despite our blood connection.

The conversation continues in this vein, with veiled references to territory and market share cloaked in business terminology, while everyone pretends we’re discussing a legitimate enterprise rather than the systematic corruption of an entire city. I participate minimally, letting Fedor handle the details while I observe the Kazanovs’ reactions, cataloging useful information about their priorities and pressure points.

After an hour of this tedious dance, I’ve learned nothing new and my patience wears thin. The club grows more crowded, the music louder, and the air thicker with perfume and desperation. I signal to Leonid that we’ll be concluding soon, but Fedor misinterprets my gesture.

“Drinks,” he announces, signaling a server. “The night is young, and we’re celebrating new partnerships.”

Demyan and his associates cheer this suggestion, already too deep in their cups. I hide my irritation behind a neutral expression, scanning the room while the others discuss which obscenely expensive bottle to order next.

That’s when I see her.

Standing awkwardly near the bar, she’s immediately out of place in this artificial environment, but not because of her appearance. The black dress she wears complements a slender figure, and her face would be considered classically beautiful by any standard, but unlike every other woman in Eclipse tonight, she isn’t putting on a show.

She looks uncomfortable, tugging self-consciously at her hemline while pretending to check her phone, which she’s clearly using as a transparent shield against unwanted attention. When she glances up, scanning the crowd with clear green eyes, I glimpse something rare in this environment. Authenticity.

“Mak?” Fedor’s voice pulls me back to the conversation. “Your opinion on the champagne?”

“Whatever you prefer.” I don’t take my gaze off the woman, watching as she navigates the crowd with obvious discomfort. A group of finance types notice her too, nudging each other and nodding in her direction like wolves spotting an injured deer.

Decision made, I stand abruptly. “Excuse me, gentlemen. There’s a matter requiring my attention.”

Fedor looks startled. “Now? We’re in the middle of?—”

“Continue without me.” My tone allows no argument. “I’ll return shortly.” I have no intention of doing that if I can prevent it.

I move through the crowd with purpose, and Leonid automatically falls into step behind me. When I glance back with a subtle hand signal, he understands immediately and drops back, giving me space while remaining watchful.

The woman is moving faster now, clearly trying to escape the finance wolves’ attention. Her gaze is fixed downward, so she doesn’t see me until it’s too late. She collides with my chest, dropping a small clutch purse as she stumbles backward, apologies already forming on her lips. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking…”

Her words trail off as she looks up at me, eyes widening slightly. I’m accustomed to a certain fearful reaction, but hers is different. Simple surprise crosses her expression, followed by embarrassment as her cheeks color in a way that seems genuine rather than strategic.

She doesn’t know who I am.

I bend to retrieve her purse, using the moment to study her more closely. There is no recognition in her eyes, and no flirtation in her posture. She's just a beautiful woman clearly out of her element, uncomfortable in the revealing dress that seems borrowed rather than owned.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, returning her purse.

“No, I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” She takes it carefully, avoiding touching my fingers as though contact might burn. “It’s crowded, and I’m not really...” She gestures vaguely at our surroundings, unable to articulate what’s obvious. She doesn’t belong here.

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