Page 55 of The Mafia's Septuplets
There’s the question I’ve been dreading. Timur has served as my lieutenant for over a decade, but that doesn’t mean he wants the burden of ultimate authority. Leadership requires different skills than advisory roles, and not everyone wants that pressure.
I hesitate before shrugging. “Then we find another solution, like a merger with or buyout from a differentbratvagroup, but I hope you’ll consider it, because I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust with what we’ve built together.”
He seems to be thinking it over. “Assuming I agreed to consider this transition, what kind of timeline are you thinking about?”
“It’s certain to take months, not weeks, and maybe as long as a year, depending on how quickly we can separate legitimate businesses from illegal operations.” I’ve been thinking about this constantly since last night. “First, we need to resolve the situation with Mikhail. I can’t focus on long-term planning while he’s actively trying to destroy everything we’ve built.”
He nods. “So we’re back to the immediate problem of neutralizing the Balakin syndicate.”
“Exactly, which means coordinated strikes against his key assets, just like you recommended.” The decision feels inevitable now that I’ve voiced my long-term intentions. “We end this conflict decisively, then begin the process of restructuring for a different kind of future.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You realize that eliminating Mikhail won’t solve all your problems? There are other rivals, federal investigators, and internal challenges that come with this kind of life.”
“I realize leaving will be complicated and potentially dangerous but staying guarantees my children grow up in a world whereviolence and criminality are normal aspects of daily life.” The image of seven small faces looking up at me with trust and innocence makes the decision feel both urgent and non-negotiable. “I won’t do that to them.”
“How does Willa feel about these plans?”
I haven’t discussed any of this with her yet. Last night’s conversation focused on her fears about the pregnancy and delivery, not on my growing certainty about radical life changes, but I’m sure she’ll approve.
“She doesn’t know about my intentions yet. I wanted to discuss the practical aspects with you first to understand what kind of timeline and challenges we’re facing.” I unlock my car, suddenly eager to return to the estate and the woman waiting there. “I think she’ll support the decision though. She’s never been comfortable with the illegal aspects of my business.”
He grunts. “True, but she might also be concerned about the financial implications of walking away from such profitable operations.”
“The legitimate businesses generate enough income to support a family, even a large one. I have investments and savings that could fund new ventures if necessary.” Money has never been the primary motivation for my involvement in organized crime. Power and control drove those choices more than financial need. I’m rich enough already.
We stand beside our cars in the shadow of Mikhail’s latest attack, and I feel the strange sensation of looking backward and forward simultaneously. Behind us lies the wreckage of one phase of my life. Ahead lies the uncertain prospect of building something entirely different.
“I need time to think about this.” Timur opens his car door, pausing before getting inside. “Taking over operational control of your organization is a significant decision that affects my own future though I have no family.” He seems relieved by that.
“Take all the time you need. This conversation doesn’t change anything about our immediate priorities or tactical planning.” I slide into my own driver’s seat, already mentally reviewing the intelligence reports waiting at the estate. “We still need to end Mikhail’s campaign before I can focus on anything else.”
The drive back through Charleston’s late afternoon traffic gives me time to process the conversation and its implications. Voicing my intentions to Timur makes them feel real, more inevitable, and more frightening than when they existed only in my private thoughts.
Seven children. The number continues to astound me every time I consider what it means in practical terms. I need to understand and nurture seven distinct personalities, each with their own needs, dreams, and challenges, giving me seven powerful reasons to become a better person than I am today.
By the time I reach the estate, the sun is setting over the gardens. I find Willa in the kitchen with Alina, both women preparing what appears to be a casual dinner that smells of herbs and comfort.
“How was your day?” She looks up from chopping vegetables, and I notice the fatigue around her eyes that’s become her constant companion.
“Productive. Timur and I surveyed the warehouse damage and began planning our response.” I join them at the large island. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than this morning. The nausea seems to come in waves rather than being constant now.” She sets down her knife and moves into my arms, her body warm and solid against mine. “I missed you.”
The simple admission makes my chest tighten with emotions I’m still learning to navigate. “I missed you too.”
Alina continues her food preparation, giving us space for affection while maintaining the comfortable rhythm of shared tasks. The scene feels like something from a different life, where dinners are planned around preference rather than security concerns.
“There’s something I want to discuss with you later tonight.” I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. “It’s nothing urgent or alarming. I just have some thoughts about our future.”
She’s tense when she wasn’t moments before. “Good thoughts or concerning thoughts?”
“Good thoughts. Very good thoughts, actually.” I let go of her so she can return to her vegetable preparation. “They can wait until after dinner.”
We work together to finish meal preparation, and I study the easy way she moves through tasks, the careful attention she pays to details, and the quiet contentment that settles over her when she feels useful and productive. These are the moments I want to protect and multiply.
During dinner, conversation flows naturally between business updates, pregnancy symptoms, and plans for restructuring two existing guest rooms into one larger one to form a nursery while converting two smaller rooms to resting rooms for our friendsand the nannies we’ll need to hire to care for all seven properly. The mundane topics feel precious in their ordinariness, offering glimpses of the life we could build if I successfully navigate the transition from criminal empire to legitimate family business.
After dinner, Alina enters the small dining room to claim our dishes so she can clean while Willa and I move to my office for the conversation I’ve been anticipating all evening. She settles into the chair across from my desk, obviously curious and slightly apprehensive about what I want to discuss.