Chapter 14
14
Wil
T he afternoon stretches on as I move around the apartment in a daze, alternating between moments of stunned disbelief and spikes of pure panic. I try to imagine five babies in this small one-bedroom apartment shared with a roommate, because I definitely can’t afford anything bigger with five sets of diapers to buy. I try to picture raising them alone while working as a NICU nurse, envisioning a future where they don't become targets because of their father's identity, but it all falls flat. Each scenario seems more impossible than the last.
As the afternoon light shifts across my apartment floor, doubt creeps in around the edges of my determination. How does one hide from a man like Makari Vorobev? How does one protect five infants alone? Did I make the right choice by sending him away? Yet what alternative is there?
For the first time since learning of my impossible pregnancy, I wonder if I've made the right choice in deciding to keep all five babies. The thought brings immediate, crushing guilt. These are my children. I’ll find a way.
I have to.
The sound of Gisele's key in the lock pulls me from my thoughts. She breezes in with her usual energy, dropping a paper bag on the counter. "Saltines, ginger chews, and those weird rice crackers you like," she announces, kicking off her shoes. "And peppermint tea, which the internet says is good for morning sickness. Though why they call it morning sickness when it lasts all day is beyond me."
She stops, finally taking in my appearance. I’m sure I look awful, with red eyes, messy hair, an untouched laptop, and a general air of devastation that surrounds me.
"Wil? What happened?" Her voice softens instantly, concern replacing her usual flippancy.
I open my mouth to explain, but where do I even begin? How do I tell her the father of my babies is Makari Vorobev, head of the Russian Bratva in New York? That he's been watching me and collecting information about me? That he wants to take me to his fortified estate for "protection?”
"He was here," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Who was here?" She drops onto the couch beside me, her brow furrowed.
"Maxim. The guy from the club." I wrap my hands tighter around my mug. "Except his name isn't really Maxim. It's Makari Vorobev."
Gisele blinks, the name clearly meaning nothing to her.
"He's in the Russian Mafia. The Bratva . He's their leader, controlling a large territory in New York." The words sound ridiculous even as I say them.
Her eyes widen comically. "Wait, seriously? The father of your babies is a freaking mob boss?"
I nod miserably.
"Holy shit." She runs a hand through her hair. "That's... like a movie plot. Are you sure he wasn't messing with you?"
"Pretty sure." I reach for my laptop, opening it to show her some of the articles I found. "He knows about the babies, Gisele. He knows I'm pregnant with quintuplets. He's been watching me and getting information about me somehow."
Her expression shifts from disbelief to alarm. "That's seriously creepy. What does he want?"
"He says I'm in danger. That the babies will be in danger once word gets out about them. He wants me to move to his estate where he can 'protect' us."
Gisele's eyes narrow. "And what did you tell him?"
"I told him to get out. I want nothing to do with him or his world."
She nods approvingly. "Good." Then, more cautiously, she asks, "Do you think... Do you think he might be right about the danger part?"
The question invokes implications I don't want to consider. I've been so focused on rejecting Makari and his world that I haven't fully processed the potential threat to my babies. "I don't know," I say finally. "Maybe. Probably, but that doesn't mean his solution is the right one. Trading one danger for another isn't a solution."
Gisele nods slowly. "So, what's the plan?"
The question catches me off guard. I don't have a plan. I've been reacting, not strategizing. "I don't know that either," I say, my voice small. "Right now, I'm just trying to process everything."
She squeezes my hand. "We'll figure it out. I'm with you, whatever you decide."
Her loyalty brings fresh tears to my eyes. "Thank you."
"Hey, what are best friends for if not helping you deal with mafia baby daddies?" She grins, trying to lighten the mood.
Despite everything, I find myself smiling weakly. Trust Gisele to find humor in even the most absurd situation.
"Seriously though," she continues, her expression sobering, "We should probably think about security. If this guy really is who he says he is, and if there really are people who might want to use you to get to him... We should probably at least change the locks tomorrow and maybe look into some kind of security system."
"Good idea." I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry to drag you into this mess."
"Hey, that's what best friends are for, right? Criminal baby daddy drama is totally covered under the roommate agreement." She flashes a weak smile. "Besides, I'm the one who dragged you to that club in the first place."
We order takeout neither of us really wants, picking at our food while discussing practical measures. We need new locks, a doorbell camera, and possibly even a consultation with a lawyer about restraining orders. The conversation feels surreal, like we're characters in some bizarre crime drama rather than two ordinary women in a Brooklyn apartment.
Later, I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to quiet my racing thoughts. Sleep feels impossible with the day's revelations still echoing in my mind. I try to focus on the present moment to slow my brain. I must drift off eventually, because suddenly, I'm jerked awake by a sound that doesn't belong, splintering wood and heavy footsteps in our living room.
For one disoriented moment, I think Makari has returned, making good on his promise that our conversation wasn't over. Then I hear unfamiliar male voices, harsh whispers in a language I don't understand and realize with bone-chilling certainty that these aren't Makari's men.
I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. Before I can dial 9-1-1, my bedroom door crashes open, the lock splintering from the force of a booted kick. Two masked men stand in the doorway. Even in the dim light, I can see they're holding guns.
I freeze, terror paralyzing my limbs as one of them advances toward my bed. He says something in what sounds like Russian, gesturing with his weapon for me to get up.
"Please," I manage to whisper, one hand instinctively moving to protect my stomach. "I'm pregnant."
He responds by grabbing my arm roughly, yanking me to my feet. They're going to take me somewhere. The realization cuts through the fog of fear. They're going to kidnap me. "No!" I struggle against his grip, panic giving me strength I didn't know I possessed. "Let me go!"
From the hallway, I hear Gisele's voice. "Wil? What's happening?"
The man holding me spins around, dragging me with him as Gisele appears in the doorway, her eyes widening with horror as she takes in the scene.
"Get out," she screams, lunging toward us with reckless courage. "Get away from her!"
Everything happens in terrible slow motion. The second man raises his gun as she throws herself forward. The crack of the gunshot is deafening in the confined space of my bedroom. Gisele's body jerks unnaturally then crumples to the floor. Blood blooms across her favorite sleep shirt, the oversized NYU tee she's had since freshman year, spreading with terrifying speed.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. I wrench free from the man's grasp and drop to my knees beside her. Blood is everywhere, hot and sticky against my hands as I press them to the wound in her chest. "Gisele? No, no, no... Stay with me. Please stay with me!"
She looks at me with confusion and pain clouding her eyes. "Wil?" Her voice is barely audible, bubbling strangely.
"I'm here." I sob, applying more pressure to the wound even as I recognize the futility with the clinical part of my brain. The bullet has hit something vital. There's too much blood. Even an OR and a surgeon on hand would have a hard time saving her. "Help is coming. Just hold on."
The men are silent above us, staring down with what appears to be cool detachment. It’s hard to say with them wearing masks, but if they obviously didn't plan for a witness, and a shooting, the turn of events hasn’t rattled them. I ignore them, focusing entirely on Gisele's rapidly paling face.
"Love you, Wil," she whispers, her hand weakly squeezing mine.
I watch the life drain from her eyes, transforming them from the vibrant, mischievous gaze I know so well to something vacant and empty. Her hand goes slack in mine. "No," I scream again, shaking her as if I could force life back into her body. "Gisele, please!"
The men are moving again, one grabbing my arm to pull me away from her. I fight wildly, beyond reason or self-preservation, wanting only to stay with my friend. Suddenly, the window explodes inward in a shower of glass. Two new figures enter with astonishing speed and efficiency. These men are also in dark clothing and immediately engage with the intruders.
The chaos that follows is a blur of violence, gunshots, grunts of pain, and the sickening sound of bones breaking. I curl my body over Gisele's, trying to protect her even though I know it's too late.
When it's over, the two masked intruders lie motionless on my bedroom floor. The newcomers stand watchfully over them, weapons trained on their still forms. One speaks with a faint Russian accent into a communication device strapped to his wrist, his voice calm despite the carnage surrounding us. "Perimeter secured. Two hostiles neutralized. Collateral damage. The package is safe but traumatized."
Package. He means me. I'm the package.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. I barely register them, still cradling Gisele's body, rocking back and forth as tears stream down my face.
The bedroom door opens again, and another figure enters. Through my tears, I recognize Makari's imposing form. He takes in the scene with one sweeping glance. The broken window, the downed intruders, and me clutching Gisele's lifeless body.
"Wil." He moves toward me, kneeling to meet my eyes. "Are you hurt?"
I look up at him, rage cutting through grief like a blade. "This is your fault," I spit, my voice raw from screaming. "She's dead because of you. Because of what you are."
He doesn't flinch from the accusation. "Yes."
His admission only fuels my anger. "You said there was danger. You didn't say they would kill her ."
"I'm sorry." The words sound strange in his mouth, as if he rarely speaks them. "This wasn't supposed to happen. My men were watching the building, but these two found another way in."
I look down at her face, peaceful now despite the violence of her death. My best friend. The closest thing to family I've had since my mother died. The one person who stood by me through everything, including the insanity of quintuplets. "She was trying to protect me," I whisper, my anger giving way to crushing grief. "She didn't even know what was happening, but she tried to save me anyway."
"She was brave," he says quietly. "I promise you, the men responsible for this will pay."
The cold certainty in his voice should frighten me, but I'm beyond fear now. I'm beyond anything except the overwhelming loss and the knowledge that my life as I knew it has ended tonight.
"The police are coming. They can't help you, Wil. Not with this. These men were sent by people who won't stop trying. Next time it could be you, which also means the babies will die.”
I know he's right. Whatever complaint I file, whatever protection order I seek, it won't matter to people who break into homes with guns. People who shoot without hesitation.
"Come with me," he says, extending his hand. "I can keep you safe. I swear nothing like this will ever happen to you or anyone you care about again."
The sirens are very close now. I look around at my bedroom, transformed into a scene of horror. Blood stains the floor, the sheets, and my clothes. Glass glitters among the destruction. This place will never be home again.
I have nowhere else to go. No family to run to. No friends who could protect me from the kind of men who did this. Numb with grief and shock, I nod once. "I need to bring something first."
He helps me to my feet, steadying me when I sway dangerously. I move to the window, to my collection of plants illuminated now by the flashing blue and red lights approaching outside.
I lift the pot containing my mother's rosebush, clutching it to my chest like a shield. It's the only piece of my old life I want to take with me, this living connection to my mother, the only family I had before Gisele, before these babies growing inside me. Before I turn back to him, I deliberately drop the rosebush he sent into the trash, seeing him flinch from the corner of my eye.
Facing him again, I say, "I'm ready.” Truthfully, I'm anything but.
He leads me through the apartment, his men forming a protective barrier around us. I don't look back at Gisele's body. I can't bear to see her like that one more time.
As we slip away into the night, sirens wailing behind us, I realize I've crossed a threshold. The ordinary life I built is gone forever, shattered like the window through which violence entered my home. Ahead lies only uncertainty and the grim protection offered by a man whose world I fear almost as much as the dangers lurking outside it.