Page 20 of The Mafia's Septuplets

Silence stretches between us. Willa possesses intelligence sharp enough to recognize threats when they’re explained clearly, but she lacks experience with the brutal realities defining my world.

The quality of her silence changes, becoming thoughtful rather than defensive. I can almost hear her mental calculations, weighing risks she doesn’t fully understand against instincts that have kept her alive through years of uncertainty.

“What sort of safety concerns?”

“The sort that require face-to-face discussion. Can you meet me this afternoon?”

“Where?”

“My home. Three o’clock.”

“I don’t think that’s?—”

“Wise? Probably not. Necessary? Absolutely.” I soften my tone, trying to project concern rather than command. “Willa, there are things you need to understand about the situation you’ve inherited that affect more than just business arrangements.”

Another pause, longer this time, and I sense her weighing options that all carry different forms of risk. Meeting me exposes her to complications she’s trying to avoid. Refusing the meeting leaves her ignorant of threats she needs to understand.

“One hour,” she finally says, “And this is purely business.”

“Of course.”

She ends the call before I can say anything else, but satisfaction fills me anyway. One hour gives me time to explain Mikhail’s threat and the security measures necessary to keep her safe. More importantly, it gives me time to begin breaking down the walls she’s constructed between us.

Three days ago, she kissed me with passion that revealed everything she’s trying to deny. This afternoon, I’ll remind her why fighting what’s between us serves no one’s interests, especially her own.

I spend the next hour reviewing Balakin’s operational profile and planning approaches to the conversation ahead. Willa responds better to honesty than manipulation, though complete transparency about my intentions would send her running before I could explain the dangers she faces.

The key is finding the balance between truth and seduction and protection and possession, while giving her enough information to make informed choices but ensuring those choices align with my objectives.

Charleston Harbor continues its eternal dance outside my windows, vessels following currents both seen and unseen. Some navigate by instruments and experience, while others by instinct and intuition. The successful ones understand survival often requires adapting to forces beyond their control.

By three o’clock, everything will be in motion toward an outcome that’s been inevitable since the moment she measured my shoulders for that commission. I’ll keep her safe and close because she’s mine. All she has to do is accept that.