The Mafia’s Quadruplets

Chapter 1Claire

1

Claire

M y hands move swiftly, arranging bouquets in the quaint family shop, Bloom House. The Philly streets never stop buzzing outside, a familiar background to the quiet place I’ve poured my heart into since Dad’s health began to fail. The sweet scent of new lilies mingles with the earthy aroma of fresh soil, and it all feels so comfortable and normal.

But it’s not really normal because I shouldn’t here today.

“Claire, honey, you didn’t have to come in,” Mom says, her voice warm but tinged with and undercurrent of concern. She adjusts a vase of sunflowers, their cheerful yellow petals a contrast to the worry lines around her eyes.

Dad nods in agreement, his movements slower than they used to be as he waters a row of potted plants. “You should be promoting your own business, not worrying about our little shop.”

I shake my head. “Unless you hire a new employee like I’ve been urging you to do for months, I’ll show up during your busy hours. No matter what.”

“Or if your brother bothers to help out,” Mom teases, but there’s a hint of sadness in her voice.

The mention of Jay makes my chest constrict. I force a smile, focusing on the delicate petals of the rose I’m trimming. “Yeah, well, we both know how likely that is.”

Dad sighs, setting down his watering can. “Claire, we appreciate your help, but your massage therapy business?—”

“Can wait,” I interrupt, my tone firmer than I intend. I soften it with a smile. “Really, it’s fine. I have appointments later this afternoon. Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

The bell above the door chimes, signaling a customer. I turn, plastering on my best professional smile. A man in a crisp suit strides in, his gaze darting around the shop with barely concealed impatience.

“Welcome to Bloom House,” I greet him with a cheerful tone. “How can I help you today?”

He barely glances at me. “I need flowers. Something impressive. Money’s no issue.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Any particular occasion?”

“An apology.” He grunts, checking his watch. “My wife. I forgot our anniversary.”

I wince internally. I doubt flowers are going to help him at this point, especially since he seems bothered that he has to apologize in the first place. “Ah, I see,” I say. “Let’s see what we can do to help smooth things over.”

As I guide him through our selection, suggesting arrangements and explaining the meanings behind different flowers, I think of Jay. How many times has he shown up with apologies as lacking in sincerity as this guy’s gesture to his wife, trying to make amends for his latest transgressions?

More times than I can count, and honestly, with dad’s health problems, it’s starting to make me hate Jay.

The customer settles on an extravagant arrangement of red roses and white lilies. As I wrap it, he taps his foot impatiently.

“You know,” I say, tying the ribbon with practiced ease, “Flowers are a nice gesture, but they’re just the beginning. The real work comes after.”

He looks at me, really seeing me for the first time. “What do you mean?”

I hand him the bouquet. “Show her you’re sorry through your actions, not just your wallet. Be present. Listen. Make an effort to remember the important things.”

He blinks, then nods slowly. “I... Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he leaves, the bell chiming behind him, I catch Mom watching me with a proud smile. “What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, sweetie. You just... have such a good heart. You always know what to say to people.”

I shrug, busying myself with cleaning up the workstation. “It’s not a big deal. Just common sense, really.”

Dad comes over, resting a hand on my shoulder. “It is a big deal, Claire. You have a gift for helping people, whether it’s through your massages or just lending an ear. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Their words warm me, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind. If I’m so good at helping people, why couldn’t I help Jay be closer to the rest of our family? Why couldn’t I see how far he was getting before it was too late?

The bell chimes again, and this time it’s Mrs. Rossi, one of our regulars. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she clutches a handkerchief.

“Oh, Mrs. Rossi,” Mom says, hurrying over. “What’s wrong?”

The elderly woman sniffs. “It’s... it’s Charlie. He passed away last night.”

My heart sinks. Charlie, Mrs. Rossi’s husband of fifty years, had been battling cancer for months. We’d seen her come in regularly, always leaving with cheerful bouquets to brighten his hospital room.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, moving to her side. “Charlie was a wonderful man.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes. “He was. I... I need flowers for the service. Something beautiful. He always loved your arrangements.”

“Of course,” Mom says gently. “Why don’t you sit down? Claire can help you choose something perfect.”

I guide Mrs. Rossi to a chair and catch Dad’s eye. He nods. This is why we do what we do. It’s not just about selling flowers. It’s about being there for people in their moments of joy, sorrow, and everything in between.

I spend the next hour with Mrs. Rossi, listening to her stories about Charlie, helping her choose flowers that represent their life together. By the time she leaves, her eyes are still sad, but there’s a small smile on her face.

“Thank you, dear,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Charlie would have loved this.”

As the door closes behind her, I let out a long breath. Mom comes over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“You did well, sweetie,” she says softly.

I lean into her embrace, feeling the morning settle on me. “I just wish... I wish we could do more, you know?”

Dad joins us, his presence solid and warm. “We do what we can. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

I nod, straightening up and squaring my shoulders. There’s work to be done, orders to fill, and people who need the small bit of beauty and comfort we can provide. It’s not saving the world, but maybe, in our own small way, we’re making it a little bit better.

As I move back to the workstation, my mind drifts to Jay again. I wonder if he knows how much we miss him, and how much we need him. How much I need my big brother, but those thoughts won’t change anything. All I can do is keep moving forward, one flower at a time.

A couple of hours later, the bell above the door jingles as Jay bursts into Bloom House, his dark eyes wild and hair disheveled. My stomach clenches at the sight of him. He’s wearing a designer jacket that looks new, but there are scuff marks on his expensive shoes.

“Claire!” He rushes over, nearly knocking over a display of carnations. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

I glance at Mom and Dad, who are helping the last customer of the day. They haven’t noticed Jay yet. It annoys me that he’s bursting in like this, disrupting the peace we’ve found in his absence. “Can it wait? We’re about to close up.”

Jay runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “No, it can’t. Please, just give me five minutes.”

I sigh, leading him to the back room. The scent of soil and flowers is stronger here. “What is it this time, Jay?”

He paces the small space, his movements jerky and agitated. “I’ve done it. I’ve finally cleaned up my act. For real this time.”

I cross my arms, leaning against a shelf of empty pots. “Where have I heard that before?”

“I’m serious.” Jay stops in front of me, his eyes pleading. “I’ve been going to meetings. I haven’t placed a bet in three months. I even got a job.”

“A job?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Doing what?”

Jay grins, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the charming brother I used to know. “I’m working at ‘The Grand Casino.’ In security.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re working at a casino? Jay, that’s like an alcoholic working at a bar.”

His face falls. “It’s not like that. I thought... I thought if I could be around it and resist, it would prove I’m really changed.”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “That’s not how addiction works, and you know it. You’re just setting yourself up for failure.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists. “This is different. I’m different. I’ve got it under control now.”

The desperation in his voice makes my heart ache. I want to believe him, I really do, but I’ve been down this road too many times before.

“Do Mom and Dad know about this job?”

He looks away, guilt flashing across his face. “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

I wince, remembering countless nights spent worrying about him, bailing him out of trouble, covering for him with our parents, and now he wants me to be proud of him for taking a job that puts him right back in the line of fire? “I can’t do this anymore,” I say gently but firmly. “I can’t keep hoping you’ll change only to be disappointed again and again.”

Jay’s expression drops in a way that breaks my heart. “Claire, please. I’m trying. I really am.”

I inhale sharply, preparing myself. “If you’re really serious about getting better, you need to quit that job. Find something else—anything else—and you need to tell Mom and Dad everything.”

“They won’t think I’m doing the right thing, will they?” he says, his voice small.

“Probably not, but keeping secrets isn’t going to help anyone. Least of all you.”

The bell jingles again, and I hear Mom’s voice. “Claire? Are you back there?”

Jay’s eyes widen in panic. “I should go.”

I grab his arm as he turns to leave. “No. You’re going to stay and talk to them. Right now.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to bolt, but then his shoulders slump, and he nods. “Okay. You’re right.”

We walk out to the main shop area together. Mom and Dad are by the register, counting the day’s earnings. They look up when we approach, surprise and wariness on their faces.

“Jay?” Mom says with hope and a hint of concern. “What are you doing here?”

Dad’s expression hardens. “If you need money?—”

“No,” Jay interrupts. “It’s not that. I... I need to talk to you both.”

I squeeze his shoulder, offering silent support. As Jay begins to speak, telling our parents about his job at the casino, I move away to give them privacy. I busy myself with closing up the shop, locking the door and flipping the sign to closed.

The familiar routine is soothing while I listen to the murmur of voices behind me. There are tears and raised voices, but also moments of quiet understanding. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

I finish my closing tasks, running my hand along the smooth wood of the counter. This shop isn’t just a business. It’s our family’s legacy. The thought of losing it has kept me up more nights than I can count since Jay has sunk into his addiction, leaving the rest of us to pick up the slack.

I glance back at my family, still deep in conversation. Jay looks exhausted but relieved, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Mom is holding his hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Dad’s face reveals myriad emotions I can’t quite read.

A tiny flicker of hope tries to spark to life. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe Jay really is trying to change, but I squash it down quickly. I’ve been burned too many times before to let myself believe just yet.

The conversation behind me winds down, and I hear footsteps approaching. I turn to see Jay standing there, his eyes red-rimmed but clear.

“Thank you for making me stay and talk to them.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He hesitates, then pulls me into a tight hug. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, remembering the big brother who used to protect me from schoolyard bullies and sneak me extra dessert when our parents weren’t looking.

When we pull apart, he gives me a watery smile. “I’m going to make this right, Claire. I promise.”

I want to believe him. God, how I want to, but the cynical part of me, the part that’s been hurt too many times, holds back. “Actions speak louder than words,” I say firmly. “Show us you mean it this time.”

Jay nods, determination settling over his features. “I will. You’ll see.”

As he walks back to our parents, I turn to face the darkened shop. The scent of flowers surrounds me, a reminder of everything we’ve built here. Everything we stand to lose if things go wrong.