Page 65 of The Mafia's Septuplets

20

Iskander

Two weeks later, the legitimate investment accounts require my signature on documents that will reshape everything I’ve built over the past decade. I sit in my home office at eleven at night, reviewing contracts that transform illegal revenue streams into respectable business ventures, each page representing another step away from the life that defined me for so long.

Timur’s latest intelligence reports spread across my desk paint a concerning picture of Mikhail’s recent activities. We have three more businesses targeted for surveillance, two shipping routes compromised, and a network of informants growing bolder in their reconnaissance efforts. Every day I spend restructuring finances is another day he uses to position himself for whatever final move he’s planning.

My phone buzzes with another message from the accountant handling offshore transfers.Wellington partnership approved. Funds ready for transfer.The text should feel like victory, butit only reminds me how much work remains before I can walk away completely.

The elevator chimes announce someone’s arrival, though my security team should have prevented unauthorized access at this hour. I reach for the gun in my desk drawer, finger resting near the trigger until Timur appears in the doorway carrying coffee and wearing a grim expression.

“The Cayman accounts are clean,” he says, settling into the chair across from my desk. “Your lawyer confirmed the final transfers went through this afternoon. When Wellington’s comes in, that investment gives you enough legitimate capital to maintain your current lifestyle indefinitely.”

The news should bring relief, but I’ve learned to distrust easy victories when dealing with complex problems. “What’s the timeline for transferring operational control?”

“Six weeks, assuming no major disruptions to current activities. The Moscow contacts are satisfied with succession plans, and local lieutenants have accepted the transition structure.” He opens his folder and slides additional documents across the polished surface. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

The shift in his tone makes me look up from the contracts requiring my attention. “What kind of something else?”

“I think we have a mole. Someone is feeding information to Mikhail about our security procedures, financial operations, and daily routines.” His says it carefully, clearly delivering news he wishes he didn’t have to share.

The possibility of betrayal from within my own organization makes my jaw clench with fury and something approaching paranoia. “Evidence?”

“The timing of his attacks suggests inside knowledge about our response protocols. The precision of his surveillance indicates access to information that shouldn’t be available to external operatives. Plus there are communication patterns that don’t match normal operational security.”

I exhale harshly. “Do you have any suspects?”

He half-shrugs. “It could be anyone with access to sensitive information. Financial advisors, security personnel, household staff, or even family members of trusted associates.” The list encompasses dozens of people whose betrayal would feel very personal. “The leak could be intentional collaboration or someone being manipulated without realizing they’re providing intelligence.”

“Recommendations?”

“Limit information sharing to essential personnel only. We should change communication protocols and security procedures immediately while monitoring all suspicious individuals until we can identify the source.” He empties his coffee cup before continuing. “I still think you should relocate Willa to a more secure location until this situation is resolved.”

I know how much she’d hate that idea and shake my head. “She’s already stressed about the distance I’ve been maintaining while handling business transitions. Moving her to another unfamiliar location would create additional complications and more distance between us if I don’t go with her—and how can I with all this?” I wave my hand at the documents on my desk but mean everything happening right now.

“It’s your choice, but it’s an unnecessary risk keeping her at the estate.”

His blunt assessment forces me to confront competing priorities that seem impossible to balance effectively. Protecting Willa requires my complete attention, but securing our long-term future demands continued focus on legitimate business development and organizational restructuring, all while fighting this war with Mikhail.

“Implement all security changes immediately but relocation remains Plan L. I want electronic surveillance on all household staff and monitoring of communication patterns that might reveal the source of leaked information.” The decision feels both necessary and paranoid and is evidence of how Mikhail’s campaign has corrupted my ability to trust anyone completely.

“Understood. What about the timeline for operational transfer? Should we accelerate the process given current security concerns?”

The question forces me to acknowledge my plans for leaving criminal enterprises might be moving too slowly to prevent Mikhail from destroying everything I’m trying to preserve. “Continue with the current timeline but save time and prioritize what we can.”

After Timur leaves, I remain in the basement office/war room reviewing intelligence reports and financial projections until nearly two in the morning. The work helps distract from growing concerns about security breaches and the possibility that someone close to me has been providing ammunition for Mikhail’s war. Finally, exhausted to the point I can’t see the numbers, I take the elevator instead of the stairs back to the third floor, equally craving sleep and holding Willa.

She’s asleep when I enter our bedroom, curled on her side with one hand resting protectively over her growing belly. Thesight of her in my space, surrounded by evidence of the life we’re building together, makes my chest tighten with emotions I struggle to name or express.

I undress quietly and slide into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her rest despite my desire for the comfort and connection her presence provides. The stress of managing financial transitions while combating security threats has created distance between us that I regret but seem unable to bridge.

She stirs at my movement, turning to face me with sleepy confusion. “You’re home late again.”

“I’ve been home all evening, but I was working. Go back to sleep.” I pull her closer, appreciating the familiar warmth of her body against mine despite the guilt that accompanies yet another evening spent prioritizing work over our relationship.

“Iskander?” She’s more awake now her hesitation suggests she’s been thinking about concerns she hasn’t voiced. “I have another ultrasound appointment with Dr. Layton Thursday afternoon, and we might be able to see gender this time. It was too crowded, with too many uncooperative babies last time.” There’s a hint of amusement and affection in her voice that disappears when she adds, “You said you’d try to make it this time.”

The reminder makes my stomach clench with dread, forcing me to acknowledge how many medical appointments and important conversations I’ve missed while managing the complex process of extracting myself from criminal enterprises. “I’ll do my best, but this week is particularly challenging with the Wellington partnership finalizing.”