Page 40 of The Mafia's Septuplets
12
Iskander
The spray paint is still wet when we arrive at Willa’s former apartment, and crimson letters bleed down the living room wall like fresh wounds.You can’t protect what matters most.Mikhail’s message couldn’t be clearer if he’d signed his name beneath it.
I stand in the doorway while fury builds in my chest. It feels like my hands and feet are on fire, but my chest is numb.
Every piece of furniture has been overturned or destroyed. Books scatter across the floor with their pages torn and trampled. Photographs lie ripped from frames with the glass ground to white powder under heavy boots.
This isn’t mere vandalism.
It’s a psychological attack.
I turn to Timur, who stands beside me taking photographs for our intelligence files. “How many men?”
He gestures toward the kitchen, where cabinet doors hang from broken hinges. “I’d guess a minimum of four, based on the damage patterns and timeframe. They were pros who wanted us to know they were here. They took time to be thorough.”
Thorough is an understatement. The bastards went through everything Willa owned and violated her privacy in ways that make me want to put bullets in people. Her clothes have been pulled from drawers and scattered across the bedroom floor. Personal letters have been opened and read before being left in piles. Even her bathroom has been ransacked with makeup and toiletries she left behind when coming to stay with me ground into the tile.
I study the mess while processing what this level of violation means for our security. “Any indication they found what they were looking for?”
Timur moves through the debris, his eyes scanning every detail of destruction. “Doubtful. This certainly was not intelligence gathering, though they definitely knew where to look for personal items. They targeted photos, journals, or anything that might have sentimental value. Seems more like an insult… a message of sorts.”
The implications make my jaw clench. Mikhail has been watching Willa long enough to understand what matters to her and what would cause the most emotional damage when destroyed. The violation cuts deep.
Willa stands frozen in the center of what used to be her living room and stares at the ruins of her independent life. She hasn’t spoken since we entered the apartment, and her face has gone pale in a way that worries me more than tears would.
I move closer to her, wanting to offer comfort. “I’m sorry. I should have anticipated this.”
She shakes her head slowly while still staring at the message on her wall. “You couldn’t have known he’d target my apartment while we were learning about the babies.”
The babies are already changing everything about how I assess threats and plan responses. They’re also seven reasons for Mikhail to escalate his campaign of psychological warfare and seven ways to hurt me through the woman I’m falling in love with. I voice the conclusion we’ve surely both reached. “He knows about the pregnancy. The timing isn’t coincidental.”
Her voice comes out small and lost. “How?”
I run through the possibilities while studying the destruction around us. “Hospital staff, surveillance of medical facilities, or intercepted communications come to mind. The possibilities are endless when you have resources and patience. Mikhail always did his homework before making moves.”
She picks up a framed photograph from the floor, one of the few that survived with the glass intact. It shows her and Harper at some long-ago celebration with both women laughing at something outside the camera’s view. For a moment, her composure cracks.
She whispers while cradling the photo like something precious. “They touched everything. They went through all my private things and all my memories.”
The pain in her voice makes sends a surge of violence through me. Mikhail crossed a line when he brought this war into her personal space and violated the home she’d built for herself over years of careful work.
I try to offer what comfort I can. “We’ll replace whatever can be replaced. We’ll make sure this never happens again.”
The question carries accusation I probably deserve. “How? By keeping me locked in your house forever?”
My instinct is to surround her with enough security to ensure nothing harmful can reach her again, but that instinct doesn’t account for the independence she values above almost everything else. I shake my head. “The best and only way is by ending this war before it escalates further.”
She looks up at that and searches my face like she’s looking for meaning behind my words. “What does that mean?”
“Mikhail made a mistake when he decided to target you directly. Before, this was business on my side, but now it’s as personal for me as it is him.”
Before I can elaborate, Harper arrives with Timur’s men, and her face appears flushed from running up three flights of stairs. She takes one look at the destruction and begins cursing with impressive creativity, though her voice shakes with rage. “Those bastards.” She picks up a throw pillow that’s been slashed open, leaking stuffing scattered across the hardwood floor. “They destroyed everything.”
Willa moves toward her best friend, and they embrace with desperate intensity. Harper’s eyes fill with tears as she holds Willa close, and for several minutes, they simply cling to each other while I direct my men to secure the scene. When they finally separate, Harper wipes her eyes angrily. “What do we salvage? What’s worth saving?”
The practical question seems to ground Willa in a way sympathy couldn’t. She begins moving through the wreckage with purposeand examines damaged items to evaluate the difference between replaceable and irreplaceable.