Page 59 of The Mafia's Septuplets
The observation creates a swell of tenderness. Even when consumed with business pressures and security concerns, Iskander thinks about small gestures that might brighten my day. Those details matter more than grand declarations because they suggest genuine care rather than performative romance.
“He does seem to think about my comfort and emotional well-being.” I study Alina’s careful work with the floral arrangement. “Have you worked for him long?”
“Almost two years now. He’s a demanding employer but fair, and he inspires loyalty among his staff.” Her tone is cool despite the praise in her words. She steps back to assess her work before making final adjustments. “This house feels different since you moved in.”
The insight surprises me. “Different how?”
She smiles. “It’s more like a home and less like just a place where he sleeps between business meetings. Everything feels…warmer and more purposeful, like it all has meaning beyond just displaying wealth or providing security now.” She gathers the discarded stems and leaves, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve given him something to build toward instead of just maintaining what already exists.”
Her words echo my own hopes about the impact our relationship has had on Iskander’s priorities and future planning, but they also remind me of Harper’s concerns about whether those changes will prove sustainable when tested by external pressures. “I hope that’s true, and we can build something lasting together.”
“I believe you will. Love has a way of making people stronger and more determined than they thought possible.” Her expression issuddenly haunted, as though a painful memory steals her joy. Her tone is back to its more familiar aloofness when she says, “Your children will be fortunate to grow up in a home filled with that kind of devotion.”
After she continues with her household duties, I retreat to the converted workroom, where fabric samples and half-finished alterations wait for my attention. The routine of precise stitching usually calms my anxious thoughts, but today, the repetitive motions only provide space for Harper’s warnings to echo through my mind.
What happens if he can’t follow through? What if other obligations take priority over his plans with you?
The questions feel more urgent now that I’ve voiced my hopes aloud to someone else. Speaking my dreams to Harper made them feel more real but it also exposed them to skepticism that reflects legitimate concerns about the complexity of him leaving thebratva.
I try to focus on the immediate task of hemming a client’s trousers, but my thoughts keep drifting to the conversation where Iskander outlined his vision for our future. His certainty seemed absolute in that moment, but how many external factors could derail even the sincerest intentions?
The sound of his car in the driveway pulls me back to the present. I set aside my sewing and move to the window, watching him emerge from the bulletproof sedan that serves as his daily transportation. Even from a distance, I see the tension in his shoulders and the careful way he scans the surroundings before walking toward the house.
This is the reality of our life together. We must maintain constant vigilance. Can love really be enough to motivate someone to walk away from the power and control that defines their entire existence?
I want…no,needto believe it can for the sake of seven children who deserve better than a childhood shaped by mafia violence. Despite that, her concerns have planted seeds of doubt that will require more than hope to overcome.
When Iskander finds me in the workroom moments later, his expression immediately brightens despite the obvious fatigue around his eyes. “How was your visit with Harper?”
I smile, genuinely happy to see him despite some of my doubts nibbling away at me. “It was informative and encouraging. She brought pictures of Eve’s work that show she’s maintaining quality standards even if her management skills need development.” I set down my needle and move into his arms, appreciating the solid warmth of his chest against my cheek. “How was your day?”
“Productive but exhausting. We’re making progress on several fronts, but each solution seems to create new complications that require additional planning.” He holds me closer still, and some of the tension leaves his body. “Coming home to you makes everything else bearable.”
The simple admission soothes some of my afternoon’s anxieties. The connection between us is real and substantial. That has to count for something in the complex equation of love, loyalty, and life-changing decisions. “I love you,” I say against his chest, needing to voice the certainty that anchors me despite all the uncertainties surrounding us.
His hold tightens before he pulls back to look at me, eyes holding depths of emotion that still surprise me. I don’t know if he senses my doubts or just wants to provide constant reassurance, but his words are welcome and soothing. “We’re going to make this work, Willa. All of it.”
His confidence helps quiet Harper’s warnings, at least temporarily. I choose hope over fear and trust over doubt, at least for now. The alternatives are too painful to contemplate.