Page 26 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“Does it? You’ve turned down three opportunities to eliminate key Balakin lieutenants because the operations might expose Miss Reynolds to increased risk.” His tone sharpens with frustration. “You’re fighting this war with one hand tied behind your back.”
The accusation stings because it contains truth I’d prefer to ignore. Every tactical decision now includes calculations about Willa’s safety because I can’t look at it any other way. That introduces factors that sometimes override pure strategic advantage. “The operations you’re referencing would have triggered immediate retaliation against civilian targets, not just Willa.”
“Which brings us back to the fundamental problem. Your personal feelings are dictating organizational strategy.” He looksgrave. “I’ve seen this pattern before, Iskander. It never ends well.”
I stiffen. “This situation is different.”
“Is it?”
I’m glaring at him now. “Willa isn’t some weakness to be exploited. She’s become essential to everything I’m trying to protect.”
“Essential how? The laundering operation would survive her departure. The territorial disputes predate her involvement. What exactly makes her worth risking everything we’ve built?”
The answer reveals itself with crystalline clarity, though speaking it aloud feels like ripping open my skin to expose my beating heart. “She makes me want to build something better than what we have.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his pale eyes. “Something better, or something different?”
“Both.” I stand and move to the windows overlooking Charleston Harbor, watching morning traffic navigate between commercial vessels and pleasure craft. “This life we’ve built is profitable, but it’s not sustainable. Eventually, someone like Balakin comes along, and the whole structure collapses.”
He makes an ambiguous sound. “Do you think Miss Reynolds offers an alternative?”
“I think she offers motivation to find one.” I turn from the window to face him directly. “For the first time in my adult life, I want something beyond simple survival and accumulated power.”
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest in ways that feel dangerous. He studies my face as though trying to recognize a stranger wearing a familiar mask. “What happens when wanting something makes you weak enough that you lose everything else?”
The question strikes at fears I’ve been trying to ignore for nine weeks. “Then I’ll adapt. We always have.”
“Will we? Adaptation requires recognizing when circumstances have changed beyond recovery.” He stands and moves toward the door, pausing at the threshold with final words that continue to resonate long after he leaves. “Just remember some changes are irreversible.”
After he’s gone, I return to the intelligence reports, trying to focus on tactical analysis rather than personal implications. The photographs of surveillance teams and damaged warehouses blur together as my mind drifts to more immediate concerns.
I have a coffee date with Willa in thirty minutes. This is another careful step in the delicate dance of earning her trust while protecting her from threats she’s only beginning to understand. I’m fighting a war partly caused by my feelings for her while simultaneously trying to convince her those feelings are worth reciprocating.
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking through Charleston’s historic district, noting the discreet positions where my security teams maintain overwatch while projecting casual confidence. Café Luna occupies a corner building with large windows and sidewalk seating. I chose it specifically for those tactical advantages, though I simply told Willa it served excellent coffee.
She’s already seated at a small table near the window when I arrive, staring out at the passing pedestrians. Nine weeks of careful courtship have taught me to read her moods with increasing accuracy and today, she seems more tense than usual.
“Sorry I’m late.” I claim the chair across from her, noting how she starts slightly at my voice despite clearly watching for my arrival. “Traffic was more complicated than expected.”
“It’s fine.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I haven’t been waiting long.”
The coffee cup in front of her appears nearly full despite her early arrival, and the chocolate brownie on her plate shows only a small bite taken from one corner. Warning signs suggest stress is affecting her appetite.
“How was your morning?” I ask, settling into the role of attentive boyfriend while watching the street for anything that feels wrong.
“Quiet. There were a few client calls and some paperwork.” She lifts her cup but sets it down with a grimace before taking even the smallest sip. “The usual routine.”
The usual routine includes surveillance teams documenting her every movement, though she remains officially unaware of that particular detail. The knowledge sits uneasily as I watch her struggle with anxiety she can’t quite identify. “You seem distracted.” I reach across the table to touch her hand. “Everything all right?”
“Just tired, I think. It’s been a long week.” She doesn’t pull away from the contact, but I sense tension in her fingers. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m being watched, even when I know that’s probably paranoia.”
The admission makes my stomach drop. Willa’s instincts are sharper than I gave her credit for, picking up on hostile surveillance despite its professional execution. Or is she aware of the guards I’ve placed on her? In theory, she knows they’re there but hasn’t mentioned it for a while because they’re good at being discreet. “Watched how?”
“Nothing specific. Just a feeling like eyes on me when I’m walking to work or running errands.” She finally meets my gaze directly. “You’d tell me if there was something I should know about, right?”
The question poses an impossible choice between honesty and protection. Telling her about Balakin’s surveillance would confirm her fears while adding stress she doesn’t need. Lying feels like a betrayal of the trust I’m trying to earn. “If there was immediate danger, you’d know about it,” I say carefully. “Some level of security awareness is normal given your business arrangements.”
“Security awareness.” She repeats the phrase with a slight smile that holds no humor. “Is that what we’re calling it?”