Page 41 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“The photo albums,” she says while kneeling beside a scattered pile of pictures. “Most of these can be saved if we’re careful with them.”
Harper joins her on the floor, and they begin sorting through their memories. I watch them work together and note how they fall into a rhythm that reveals years of friendship and shared experiences.
“My grandmother’s jewelry box.” Willa stands up and goes to her room. I follow as she retrieves a small wooden container from beneath an overturned dresser. The lid has been splintered, but the contents appear intact. “She left it to me when I was ten. It’s the only thing I have from my family.”
The quiet pain in her voice makes me want to hunt down every man who participated in this violation and make them pay for the damage in ways that can’t be calculated in dollars. “We’ll get everything that can be saved. Take your time.”
Harper looks up at me with suspicion she’s never bothered to hide. “What happens to her now? She can’t stay here obviously, but she can’t live in hiding forever either.”
“She’ll continue to stay with me until the situation is resolved.”
She huffs lightly. “When will that be? Next week? Next month? Next year?” She speaks with a protective edge. “How long before she gets her life back?”
The question is uncomfortable because I don’t have an answer that will satisfy Harper’s concerns or address Willa’s need forindependence, because the truth is Mikhail won’t stop until he’s dead or I am. “As long as it takes,” I say finally.
Harper’s expression hardens at the non-answer. “That’s not good enough for someone who’s pregnant.”
“Harper,” Willa says quietly. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right. None of this is all right.” Harper gestures at the destruction surrounding us. “You shouldn’t have to choose between safety and freedom.”
I surprise her by nodding. “I agree, but right now, those are the only choices available.”
“Maybe for you, but not for her. She’s not part of your world by choice.”
“She’s part of my world because we’re having children together. That makes her part of it whether she chose it originally or not.”
Harper starts to say something else but then freezes. “Children?”
“Oh, I haven’t had a chance to tell you.” Willa digs in her bag and brings out an ultrasound image with babies A-G labeled. She hands it to her friend. “Can you guess what that means?” For a second, she’s excited and carefree, as though the last several minutes haven’t happened.
Harper squints and turns it different directions before counting aloud. “One…seven.” She looks stunned. “Is that seven babies, Willa?” My lover nods, and Harper doesn’t seem to know what to say. Finally, she asks, “How are we going to manage seven babies, Willa?”
“I have no idea.” Willa is smiling now though.
I’m a little irked that Harper included herself in the “we” before realizing we’ll appreciate the help when they’re here. I hope I can convince her not to hate me by then. “You can see why staying with me is her only option, I trust?”
The blunt truth silences Harper’s protests, though her expression makes clear she doesn’t like the reality any more than I do as she gives me a grudging nod. After two hours of salvage work, we’ve managed to rescue maybe twenty percent of Willa’s and Harper’s possessions. We salvage a few photo albums, some jewelry, and books that survived with minimal damage. Everything else will need to be replaced or abandoned entirely.
“I can offer you a room at my estate,” I say to Harper as we prepare to leave. “The security would be comprehensive, and you’d be close to Willa.”
She firmly shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ll stick closer to my job and my sister. I have responsibilities that don’t revolve around your war.”
I incline my head rather than take umbrage at her scathing dismissal. “Then we’ll arrange round-the-clock surveillance at your sister’s house until this situation is resolved.” When I say that, Timur grimaces, clearly not liking the idea of committing more manpower. It’s unavoidable, so I’ll reach out to some Russian contacts. There are bound to be young men eager for an American adventure while stuck in lowerbratvapositions.
“You mean until you kill this Mikhail person?” The directness of her statement doesn’t require confirmation. Harper understands exactly what “resolving the situation” means in practical terms, even if she doesn’t approve of the methods required.
“Yes.”
She nods once, clearly accepting the reality even if she doesn’t like it. “Just keep her safe. She’s been through enough loss for one lifetime.”
The warning carries weight beyond simple friendship. Harper knows about Willa’s childhood in foster care and the abandonment and instability that shaped her need for security and independence. This violation of her home cuts deeper because it echoes older wounds that never fully healed. “I will. I promise.”
We leave Harper with two of my best men and explicit instructions about maintaining discreet surveillance while allowing her to maintain normal routines. It’s a compromise that satisfies no one but offers the best balance between security and freedom available under current circumstances.
The drive back to my estate passes in contemplative silence. Willa stares out the window at Charleston’s familiar streets while holding the salvaged jewelry box in her lap like a talisman. I want to offer comfort, but words feel inadequate for the magnitude of what she’s lost today.
“Thank you for letting me save what I could,” she says quietly as we turn into my private drive.