Page 40 of The Mafia's Quintuplets
She hesitates, clearly thrown by the personal question. "Anna, miss."
"Thank you, Anna. You don't have to be so formal with me. I'm a nurse, not royalty."
A tiny smile appears before she suppresses it. "Mrs. Petrova says we're to give you every courtesy."
Mrs. Petrova, the matronly housekeeper who took charge of me that first night, her Russian-accented English somehow soothing despite the circumstances. She treats Mak with a maternal authority that seems impossible given his fearsome reputation, yet he accepts it without question.
"Please tell the chef it's delicious but excessive." I try the smoothie, which is surprisingly palatable despite its nutrient-packed appearance. I remember I’m supposed to be eating an additional fifteen hundred calories daily, at least, and this smoothie might contain them all.
Anna nods and retreats, closing the door silently behind her. The interaction leaves me more drained than it should. Even simple conversations require energy I barely have.
After forcing down enough breakfast to satisfy pregnancy nutrition requirements, but sadly still unable to even look at the bacon that I wrap in the napkin, I shower and dress in some of the new clothes. The designer jeans have an expandable panel for my growing belly, though I barely show yet despite carrying quintuplets. The doctor Mak brought to examine me yesterday said that would change rapidly in the coming weeks.
I touch my stomach gently, still struggling to comprehend five lives develop inside me. Five innocent lives already marked by violence before they've even taken their first breaths.
The thought of Gisele hits me again, bringing a fresh wave of grief that nearly buckles my knees. I brace myself against the bathroom counter, breathing through the pain. She died protecting us, and I can't even attend her funeral to say goodbye properly. Leonid, who consulted me to find out if Gisele had family—she didn’t besides me—assured me all arrangements have been handled respectfully and even got my opinion on some aspects, but what does that even mean? Gisele deserved more than arrangements. She deserved to live.
When the grief subsides enough to function, I leave my suite. Two security men stand positioned discreetly in the hallway, pretending not to watch my every move. I think their names are Yakov and Orlov, but I haven’t really bothered to learn them for sure. I’ve just been drifting until now. Their presence is both intimidating and reassuring, a constant reminder that I'm protected.
But also that I’m being watched.
I make my way through the intricate mansion toward the greenhouse Mak created for me. It's become my safe haven, the only place where I can almost forget the circumstances that brought me here. The staff have been instructed not to enter without explicit permission, giving me a rare taste of privacy in this closely observed life.
The greenhouse air envelops me in humid warmth as I enter, the scent of earth and growing things creating a balm for my frayed nerves. I begin my daily routine, checking each plant methodically, pruning, watering, and adjusting positions for optimal light. The familiar tasks require just enough focus to quiet my racing thoughts without demanding energy I don't have.
"You should fertilize the gardenias," says a female voice from the doorway. "They're showing signs of nitrogen deficiency."
I turn, startled by the intrusion. A young woman stands in the entrance, watching me with open curiosity. She's strikingly beautiful, with dark hair falling in loose waves past her shoulders and intelligent eyes that seem vaguely familiar. I’ve seen her in a picture before, with Makari, when I searched his name on the Internet. "Who are you?" I ask, instinctively stepping back.
She enters fully, closing the door behind her. "I'm Zina Vorobev, Mak's sister."
I nod automatically. She has Mak's eyes and strong jawline, though softened into feminine elegance. Where he radiates controlled danger, she projects cultured confidence. "I didn't know he had a sister." I remain wary, unsure of her intentions. “I saw you with him at an event though.”
"Most people don't,” she says as she walks through the greenhouse, examining plants as she passes them. "He keeps me separate from his business affairs. For protection, he says." She rolls her eyes affectionately at this. "Though I suspect it's as much for his peace of mind as my safety."
I watch her carefully. "Did he send you to check on me?"
"No. He doesn't know I'm here." She touches a rose petal gently. "I wanted to meet you myself. After all, you’re carrying my nieces and nephews."
The casual claim to my unborn children makes me tense. "They're not?—"
"Family yet?" she finishes, her gaze direct but not unkind. "Perhaps not by choice, but biology makes its own rules, doesn't it?"
I don't have a ready response to that. The connection between these babies and the Vorobev family is undeniable, however much I might wish otherwise.
"I'm sorry about your friend," she says, her tone softening. "Gisele, wasn't it? What happened to her was terrible."
The genuine sympathy in her voice breaks through my guardedness. "Yes, it was."
"Would you like to sit?" She gestures toward a wrought-iron bench positioned near the center of the greenhouse. "I've ordered tea, if you'd care to join me."
Only now do I notice the tray a staff member has discreetly placed on a small table near the bench. There are two cups, a steaming pot, and what looks like cookies arranged with careful precision.
Curiosity overcomes caution. I follow her to the seating area, taking the spot opposite hers. Her hands are steady as she pours the tea.
"You're nothing like your brother," I say, accepting the cup she offers.
Zina laughs, the sound surprisingly warm and genuine. "We share DNA and history, but that's about where the similarities end." She stirs honey into her tea. "I suppose we're more alike than either of us cares to admit."
