Page 50 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“Probably both.” She sets down the photos and meets my gaze directly. “He knows hurting your businesses will make you angry but taking me will make you desperate.”
Her clear assessment of the strategic situation impresses me. “That’s exactly right, which means we need to prepare for multiple scenarios.”
“What does preparation look like?”
“Enhanced security protocols, reduced predictability in your routines, and back-up plans for various contingencies.” I lean back in my chair, studying her reaction. “It also means accepting normal life is suspended until this situation is resolved.”
She nods like she expected this conclusion. “How long do you think that will be?”
“Weeks and possibly months. Mikhail has been planning this for eight years. He won’t be rushed into mistakes.”
We spend another hour discussing security protocols and emergency procedures. Willa asks intelligent questions and offers practical suggestions that demonstrate she’s thinking constructively rather than just accepting directives passively.
“I should let you get some rest.” I stand and move around the desk to where she’s sitting. “The babies need you to take care of yourself.”
She stands and moves into my arms, her body warm and solid against mine. “Are you coming to bed?”
“In a few minutes. I need to review some additional reports first.”
“Don’t work too late.” She pulls back to look at me, her expression soft with affection. “I sleep better when you’re there.”
After she leaves for our bedroom, I remain in the office reviewing the intelligence Timur shared. The systematic nature of Mikhail’s preparations suggests he’s learned from our previous encounters and won’t underestimate our defensive capabilities.
My phone buzzes with a text from Timur:Bomb attack on west side operation. No casualties but significant property damage. Mikhail is escalating.
The message confirms what we both suspected. The war is moving beyond psychological harassment into active destruction of our business infrastructure. The attack on a smaller operation sends a clear message that nowhere is safe, and he can strike whenever he chooses.
I respond that I’ll meet him at the site in the morning, then spend several minutes studying security camera feeds fromaround the estate. Everything appears normal, but Mikhail’s latest attack reminds me how quickly situations can change.
When I finally go upstairs, I find Willa already asleep in our bed, curled on her side with one hand resting on her stomach. The sight of her in my space, using my pillow and wearing one of my shirts, fills me with possessive satisfaction that has nothing to do with business arrangements or security concerns.
I join her carefully, pulling her close so her head rests on my chest. She settles against me with a soft sound of contentment that makes me finally relax.
Somewhere in the past few weeks, my feelings for her have evolved beyond physical attraction or business partnership into something that resembles genuine love. The thought of losing her to Mikhail’s revenge creates a cold fury that threatens to override rational decision-making.
She shifts in her sleep and makes a soft sound that might be my name. I hold her closer and make silent promises about the future we’ll build together once Mikhail Balakin is dead and buried. The woman sleeping in my arms has become the center of my world. Whatever Mikhail is planning, she’ll be included from now on in anything that’s safe for her to know about, and that partnership might be exactly what we need to survive what’s coming.