Page 45 of The Mafia's Septuplets
I squeeze his fingers, anchoring myself to the present moment rather than drowning in grief. “No, it doesn’t, but dwelling on blame won’t bring him back or protect these babies.”
Our conversation is interrupted by soft footsteps in the hallway. A gentle knock on the doorframe announces Alina’s presence before she appears, her expression politely neutral. “I’m sorry to disturb you both, but I wanted to check if you needed anything before I finish preparations for dinner.”
I look at her delicate features and wonder how someone so young ended up working for a man like Iskander.
“Thank you, Alina, but I think we’re fine for now,” he says.
She nods and turns to leave, then pauses at the threshold. “Ms. Reynolds, if you need anything during your stay here, please let me know.” Her tone is professional and distant but not unkind.
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
After she disappears down the hallway, Iskander and I return to discussing the shop’s business operations. He walks me through legitimate accounts that need attention and helps me understand which transactions require careful documentation.
Working together reveals a different side of him. He can be patient and methodical rather than just commanding and dangerous or intense and demanding like when he’s in bed. He explains complex financial structures with ease.
“You’re a good teacher,” I say as we finish reviewing the quarterly reports.
He shrugs off the compliment. “Henri trained you well. You understand the fundamentals better than most people who’ve been in this business for years.”
The words warms me in ways that have nothing to do with physical attraction. Being valued for my intelligence and skills rather than just protected makes me feel less like a prisoner.
As evening approaches, we share dinner in his private dining room, using fancy crystal glasses that seem to be the everyday norm around here, and the gourmet-quality meal arrives on delicate china. “Can I ask you something else?” I cut into perfectly prepared salmon.
“Of course.”
“Do you think I’m making the right choice to keep all seven babies when the doctors are already warning about complications? Am I being unfair? If I lose all…” My voice cracks, and I take a long sip of water to hide the swell of emotions.
He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Do you want an honest answer or a reassuring one?”
“Honest. Always honest.”
“I think you’re making the only choice you can live with. You’ve lost too much family to voluntarily give up any part of what we’ve created together.” His voice softens slightly. “If that leads to a bad outcome for all of them, at least we’ll know we did our best to give each of them a chance instead of sacrificing some for others.”
The perceptive answer makes my lips wobble as I try not to cry, especially at his use of “we.” “You don’t think I’m being naïve about the risks?”
“I think you’re being human. The medical risks are real, but so is your need to protect what you love.”
His certainty steadies something anxious in my chest, and the wave of tears recedes. “What if something happens to me during delivery?”
He blanches, seeming genuinely distraught by the question and the answer. “It won’t.”
I shake my head. “You can’t know that.”
He seems like he’ll slam his fist on the table, but it lands softly at the last moment. “Nothing can happen to you. The babies need you, and I need you.” He breathes deeply. “If…that thing that won’t happens happened, I’d still take care of the babies and make sure they know all about you.”
Those damned tears threaten again, and I wipe my eyes before answering. “It’s reassuring to hear that.”
He nods, looking like he never wants to discuss that possibility again. When he changes the subject to the book he’s reading about multiple pregnancy, I happily go with it, especially since he’s focusing only on facts and tips while sharing nothing grim.
After dinner, I excuse myself to prepare for bed, suddenly overcome by pregnancy fatigue. In the hallway, I encounter Alina carrying fresh linens, though she appears to be leaning against the hallway near the dining room at the moment. It’s a large stack of linens, so I’m not surprised she needs a break.
“How are you settling in?” She shifts the linens to one arm and stands up fully again.
“Better than I expected, considering the circumstances.” I slump against the wall, suddenly dizzy.
“This must be difficult for you.” Her tone remains professionally sympathetic without warmth.
“It is, but I’m trying to focus on the babies.”