Page 74 of The Mafia's Septuplets

24

Iskander

I’m reviewing tactical maps in my office when my phone rings with Harper’s name on the screen. The panic in her voice cuts through me. “Iskander, they took her.” Harper’s words come out in gasping sobs. “They took Willa. Anton’s been shot, and they just grabbed her and drove away.”

The tactical maps slip from my hands, scattering across the floor while ice floods my veins. “Where are you now?”

“Still at the clinic parking lot. Anton’s alive, but his vest caught the bullet. He’s hurting but conscious.” Her voice breaks on a sob that makes my chest constrict. “Someone grabbed me from behind and covered my nose and mouth until I passed out. When I woke up, they were gone with Willa.”

I’m already moving toward the gun safe, pulling weapons while barking orders. “Stay with Anton. Don’t go anywhere alone. Timur is on his way.”

“There was chaos everywhere, and she looked so terrified.” Harper’s voice carries trauma that mirrors the rage building in my chest. “They had a gun pressed against her belly, threatening the babies.”

The image of masked men holding weapons to Willa’s pregnant stomach unleashes something savage in me. Every protective instinct I’ve ever possessed converges into murderous focus. “Harper, listen to me carefully. You’re safe now. I’m going to get her back.”

“Promise me.” Her plea cuts through the static. “Promise me you’ll bring her home.”

“I promise.” The vow emerges with absolute certainty. “No one who touched her will live to see dawn.”

I end the call and immediately shout for Timur, my voice carrying through the estate’s halls with enough force to bring him running. Within seconds, heavy footsteps thunder down the corridor as he appears in my doorway, already alert to crisis.

“What happened?” He takes in my weapons and scattered maps with immediate understanding.

“Mikhail has Willa. They took her via an armed abduction from the clinic. Harper and Anton are alive, but they took her.” I pull on tactical gear while speaking, muscle memory from years of combat preparation taking over. “How many men can you mobilize immediately?”

“Twelve here at the estate, plus the four already heading to the mountain facility.” His response comes so fast I can barely understand it as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll redirect the Plan L transport team immediately.”

Plan L. The elaborate deception I was planning to orchestrate, now rendered completely irrelevant by Mikhail’s bold move. While I planned to betray Willa’s trust to keep her safe, our enemy was planning to take that choice away from both of us.

“Get Anton on the phone. I need a full tactical report.” I check ammunition while speaking, fury building with each passing second. “Mobilize everyone.”

Timur dials rapidly while I continue arming myself. “Anton, report.” He puts the call on speaker so I can hear directly.

Anton’s voice comes through strained but clear with the professional control of a man trained to function through pain. “Four perimeter guards are down, sir. All headshots, execution style. They knew exactly where we were positioned.”

The news makes me clench my teeth to hold back a shout of anger. Four good men are dead because I underestimated Mikhail’s intelligence gathering. “Survivors?”

“One trailing SUV managed to follow the abductors. Last I heard from them, they were maintaining visual on the convoy heading northwest out of the city.” Anton pauses, and I hear him wince through pain. “They went dark after that, but protocol would be to maintain surveillance without engaging.”

Northwest, which offers plenty of rural areas with limited law enforcement and isolated locations for whatever Mikhail has planned. He’s drawing me away from my stronghold into territory where he controls the variables. “How many hostiles in the abduction?”

“At least six vehicles with professional coordination. Our men with eyes on estimate twenty-four operators minimum, and possibly more. They moved like an army, not street criminals.”

Timur meets my expression with grim understanding. This was a planned operation designed to neutralize our security systematically before taking Willa. Mikhail has been studying our protection protocols for weeks, identifying weaknesses and timing his strike perfectly. “Anton, stay with Harper until medical arrives. Don’t let her out of your sight.” I grab additional magazines while issuing orders. “Timur, redirect all available assets to tracking that convoy.”

“Already done.” He’s coordinating through multiple phones while pulling on his own tactical gear. “Plan L team isen routeto assist, plus I’m calling in favors from the Miami and Atlanta crews.”

My phone buzzes with an unknown number, and ice-cold certainty fills my stomach. I know exactly who’s calling before I answer. “Iskander Taranov.” My voice carries deadly calm despite the rage building in my chest.

“My old friend.” Mikhail Balakin’s voice oozes satisfaction through the speaker. “I have something that belongs to you.”

The sound of his voice after months of cat-and-mouse warfare triggers every violent instinct I’ve inherited from my father’s brutal legacy. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll spend days killing you.”

“She’s unharmed…for now. Pregnant women require such delicate handling, especially when carrying multiple babies.” His words carry cruelty designed to maximize my psychological torture. “Seven children, I’m told. What an impressive legacy you’ve created.”

The casual mention of the pregnancy details makes me feel like I have glass shards floating through my bloodstream.

How long has he been watching her?