Chapter 19
19
Mak
I wake before dawn, Wil's warm body curled against mine in peaceful sleep. The unfamiliar weight of her head on my chest, her arm draped across my torso, creates a sensation I struggle to identify. Contentment, perhaps. The realization startles me. Contentment has never been part of my vocabulary, not since childhood, and certainly not since assuming leadership of the Bratva.
Yet here it is, this quiet moment in the half-light, watching Wil breathe evenly, her face relaxed in sleep, and her dark hair spread across my pillow. The vulnerability of her naked form against mine stirs both protective instinct and desire. I resist the urge to wake her, to claim her body again as I did repeatedly through the night. Instead, I simply watch, committing each detail to memory.
I extract myself carefully, not wanting to disturb her rest. Pregnancy with quintuplets drains her energy, and last night's activities certainly didn't help. I shower quickly, dressing in the adjacent bathroom before returning to find her still asleep, now hugging my pillow in my absence. I brush my lips across her temple and leave instructions with the guards outside that she shouldn't be disturbed.
"She's to sleep as long as she needs." Orlov nods in his usual stoic way. "When she wakes, ask if she'd like breakfast brought to my quarters, or if she prefers to return to her suite first."
Orlov's expression remains carefully neutral, though I detect the faintest hint of surprise in his eyes at this domestic arrangement. The staff will talk, of course. News of the pakhan taking a woman to his private quarters—not just any woman, but the mother of his children—will circulate through the estate within hours.
I don't care.
The early morning conference call with our West Coast operations concludes more efficiently than usual. I navigate complex territorial negotiations with a clarity that’s been absent for months, quickly identifying solutions to disputes that previously seemed intractable. The operation managers respond to my decisiveness with renewed focus, the entire discussion moving at a pace that would have been unimaginable weeks ago.
"Impressive work," says Leonid after the call ends, gathering the files spread across the conference table. "You settled the San Francisco situation in twenty minutes. Last month's discussion on the same issue took three hours."
I shrug, moving toward the window. "The solution was obvious. They were overcomplicating a simple territorial boundary."
"Perhaps." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully. "Or perhaps, you see things more clearly now."
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow at the insinuation. He meets my gaze steadily, the privileges of his long service allowing him observations others wouldn't dare voice.
"Ms. Lamb seems to be settling in well," he continues, his tone deliberately casual. "Zina mentioned she's requested seedlings for heirloom tomatoes in the greenhouse. That’s a sign she's making longer-term plans, I believe."
The information warms me. "Make sure she gets whatever she needs for her projects."
"Already done." He arranges the files in his meticulous fashion. "Mrs. Petrova asked me to mention that you've been taking regular meals for the first time in years. She seems quite pleased about this development."
I suppress a smile at the housekeeper's motherly concern. Mrs. Petrova has served the family since before my birth, transitioning from nanny to housekeeper as we grew. She's one of the few people who remembers me before I became pakhan , before my father's brutality fully shaped me into his image.
"Will you be joining Ms. Lamb for lunch today?" Leonid glances at his watch. "It's nearly noon."
"Yes. Have something prepared and sent to the greenhouse."
He nods and departs, leaving me to review security protocols for the upcoming shipment from our Eastern European suppliers. The task, normally tedious, passes quickly as I apply renewed focus to identifying potential vulnerabilities.
By the time I reach the greenhouse an hour later, carrying a basket of rare orchid specimens I acquired specifically for Wil's collection, the nervous energy that's propelled me through the morning settles into anticipation. I pause at the entrance, taking a moment to observe her before she notices my presence.
Wil kneels beside a raised bed, carefully transplanting seedlings like they’re her children. She wears simple jeans and a loose blouse that doesn't quite conceal the growing curve of her stomach. Her hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, and a smudge of dirt marks her cheek. She's never looked more beautiful to me than in this moment, surrounded by the life she nurtures with such care.
She senses my presence and looks up, a smile spreading across her face before she can think to suppress it. The unguarded welcome in her expression sets off a cascade of unfamiliar emotions in my chest.
"I brought you something." I step forward, offering the basket.
Her eyes widen as she recognizes the rare specimens inside. "Paphiopedilum rothschildianum? How did you even find these? They're nearly impossible to source legally."
"I have connections." I place the basket beside her workspace. "These are legal, I assure you. The breeder in Thailand owes me a favor."
She examines the plants with careful fingers, her expertise evident in her handling. "They're magnificent. Perfect specimens." She glances up with a knowing look. "And what exactly does this breeder owe you for?"
"I helped his daughter resolve an immigration issue." It's not the complete truth, but close enough. The actual favor involved eliminating a corrupt official who was extorting the breeder's family, but such details seem inappropriate for the moment.
Lunch arrives, carried by a staff member, who discreetly arranges it on the small table in the corner before disappearing. We eat amid comfortable conversation, discussing the greenhouse progress and her plans for expanding the herb garden. The domesticity of the scene strikes me as both foreign and deeply satisfying.
"You seem different today," she says, studying me over her glass of water.
"Different how?"
"More relaxed. Less..." She searches for the right word. "Guarded."
I consider this assessment. "I feel different."
"Because of last night?" A blush colors her cheeks, though her gaze remains direct.
"Yes, but not just the physical aspect." I reach across the table, taking her hand. "Having you in my space, in my bed… Waking up with you there… It's been a long time since I allowed anyone that close."
Her fingers intertwine with mine. "How long?"
"Never, actually." The admission comes more easily than I expected. "Not like that. Not with that level of...intimacy."
She looks surprised, then thoughtful. "You've never spent the entire night with someone?"
"Power and vulnerability don't mix well in my world." I stroke my thumb across her knuckles. "Sleeping beside someone requires trust I've never granted before. The closest I’ve come before was just a few hours, like we shared that night at the club."
The conversation shifts to lighter topics, but my confession lingers between us. When I eventually return to my office for afternoon meetings, I carry the memory of her smile like a talisman against the darkness of Bratva business.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of productivity. Reports that would normally remain untouched on my desk for days receive immediate attention. Decisions I've postponed for weeks suddenly seem simple. Leonid struggles to keep pace with my accelerated tempo, though he adapts quickly, reorganizing my schedule to accommodate my newly returned efficiency.
That evening, Wil joins me for dinner in my private quarters rather than the formal dining room. We eat at the small table near the window, the conversation flowing naturally between us. Afterward, we retire to my bed, where physical passion gives way to quiet conversation. Wil talks about her childhood, her mother's garden that inspired her love of plants, and her dreams before five unexpected lives complicated everything. I share carefully edited stories from my early years and memories of my mother, giving glimpses of the boy I was before violence became my primary language.
Each night follows a similar pattern for the next week. Wil moves between her suite and mine, maintaining the appearance of separate residences while spending every night in my bed. During the day, I visit her in the greenhouse, bringing rare specimens or just lingering to watch her work. The simple pleasure of observing her nurturing hands coaxing life from soil becomes a respite from the harsher realities of my position.
Mrs. Petrova notes the changes with quiet approval. "You're eating properly again," she says one morning as she supervises the kitchen staff. "And sleeping through the night, I hear."
I don't ask how she knows my sleeping patterns. Mrs. Petrova has always possessed an uncanny awareness of the household rhythms.
"Ms. Lamb is good for you," she continues, her tone matter-of-fact as she inspects the breakfast preparations. "You haven't looked this well since before your father died."
Even Zina comments on the transformation. "You're almost human again," she teases during our weekly chess match, capturing my knight with a move I should have anticipated. "I haven't seen you this alive since we were children."
I move my bishop defensively. "I'm simply sleeping better."
"I'm sure you are." Her knowing smile suggests she's well aware of exactly why I'm sleeping better. "Wil mentioned you're bringing her exotic plants almost daily. That’s quite the romantic gesture from the fearsome pakhan ."
"They're just plants," I mutter, though we both know it's more than that.
"She's good for you, Mak." Her expression turns serious. "Don't ruin it by being...you."
The comment stings, though I understand the concern behind it. "I'm trying."
"I know." She reaches across the board, squeezing my hand briefly. "That's why I'm hopeful."
The changes in me might be subtle enough to escape general notice, but they're glaringly obvious to those who know me best, and to those watching for any sign of weakness. Fedor's calculating gaze follows me during the weekly captain's meeting, his eyes narrowing when I enter the room with a slight smile that I quickly suppress as business begins.
The meeting itself proceeds efficiently. Territory reports, distribution updates, and security concerns are all addressed with decisive clarity that leaves little room for the usual prolonged discussions. The captains respond positively to my renewed focus, the meeting concluding in half the time these gatherings typically require. As the men file out, Fedor lingers behind, moving to the bar cart, where crystal decanters contain various top-shelf liquors.
He lifts the scotch, examining it with exaggerated interest. "Productive meeting," he says, pouring himself a generous measure without asking permission. "Everyone seems pleased with your renewed...focus."
I shuffle papers at my desk, not taking the bait. "The situations were straightforward."
"Indeed." He sips the scotch, leaning against the bookshelf casually. "The estate has quite the domestic atmosphere lately. Almost cozy."
I continue reviewing security protocols for the upcoming shipment, refusing to engage with his transparent attempts at provocation.
"Mrs. Petrova is practically glowing with approval, and Zina seems quite attached to your nurse." He swirls the amber liquid in his glass. "One big happy family."
"Did you need something specific, Fedor? I have work to complete."
His expression hardens slightly at my dismissal. "The Kazanov family is testing our eastern borders again. Three of our distributors reported contact attempts last week." He refills his glass without permission. "The Colombians are questioning our distribution arrangements for the summer shipments. They're sensing weakness."
"They'll find none." I sign off on the security protocols, setting them aside. "Handle the Kazanovs with the usual warning. I'll speak with the Colombian representative myself."
"This isn't the time for family picnics, Mak." His voice takes on an edge. "Our rivals are watching for any sign of distraction. Your...domestic situation provides an obvious target."
"My personal life is not your concern."
"It becomes my concern when it affects the organization." He pushes away from the bookshelf, moving closer to my desk with a boldness that would have earned another man a bullet. "The woman is a liability. She makes you weaker when you need to project strength."
I continue working, refusing to show the anger building beneath my calm exterior. "You overstep, cousin."
"Do I?" He places his hands on my desk, leaning forward. "Our enemies are more volatile than ever. The power balance is shifting weekly, and you've placed your pregnant woman and unborn children right in the crosshairs by keeping them here."
This observation hits closer to home than I care to admit. I've considered the danger and weighed the risks of keeping Wil at the estate versus sending her away to a more remote location, balancing the protection I can provide personally versus the safety of distance.
Fedor presses his advantage, sensing he's struck a nerve. "You're attempting a dangerous balancing act, Mak. The Vorobev empire requires your complete attention, not divided loyalties."
"I'm handling both."
"For now, perhaps." His voice drops, taking on a tone of false concern. "What happens when the babies arrive? With five infants demanding attention, and a new mother needing support, can you effectively lead while changing diapers?"
My fingers tighten around my pen, the only outward sign of my rapidly deteriorating patience.
"Perhaps," he suggests with careful precision, "It's time to consider whether someone else should take control while you enjoy your growing family."
The insinuation that I should step down for someone stronger, meaning Fedor himself, crosses the final line. In a blur of motion, I grab my cousin by the throat and slam him against the bookshelf, my other hand withdrawing the pistol from my shoulder holster and pressing it against his temple.
"The next time you suggest I'm not fit to lead," I say with deadly calm before pistol-whipping him across the face, "Will be your last day breathing."
Fedor stumbles backward, blood dripping from his split cheek. His eyes widen with a mixture of shock and fear. He's pushed before and tested boundaries but never experienced the full force of my violence directed at him personally.
I return to my desk, tucking the pistol back into its holster before resuming my paperwork as if nothing happened. "You're dismissed. Send Leonid in on your way out."
He leaves without another word, pressing a handkerchief to his bleeding face. Only when the door closes behind him do I allow myself to acknowledge the sweat in my palms. It’s not from fear or regret, but from restraint. The old Mak would have done worse than a pistol-whipping for such blatant insubordination, especially from family.
Privately, I know Fedor isn’t entirely wrong. Loving Wil openly is a risk. Having her and the children at the estate creates vulnerabilities my enemies will seek to exploit, but it's a risk I'm more than willing to take, though I must now watch my cousin more carefully than ever before.
When Leonid enters minutes later, I can tell by his careful neutrality that he's already aware of what transpired.
"Fedor will need watching," I say without preamble. "Discreetly."
Leonid nods, clearly unsurprised by the order. "Already arranged, sir."
"And increase security around Ms. Lamb and Zina. Assign additional men but maintain their distance. I don't want them feeling imprisoned."
"Of course." He hesitates briefly. "If I may, sir… Fedor won't forget this public humiliation. He's never been one to forgive perceived slights."
"I'm counting on it." I meet his gaze directly. "Let him make his move. I'd rather face the threat I can see coming than wonder where the knife will enter my back."
* * *
That night, when Wil curls against me in the darkness of my bedroom, I hold her closer than usual, spreading my hand protectively over her growing belly. I don't mention the confrontation with Fedor or the potential dangers his ambition creates. Instead, I listen as she discusses her plans for the greenhouse's expansion, nodding in all the right places while calculating risk assessments and security protocols.
"You're distracted tonight," she says, propping herself up on one elbow to study my face in the dim light. "Trouble at work?"
"Nothing unusual." I stroke her hair, drawing her back down against my chest. "Just routine business concerns."
I hate lying to her, but I can't bring myself to taint this fragile peace we've established with the violence that always lurks just beneath the surface of my world. For now, at least, I'll keep these darker realities separate from the quiet space we've created in this room.
As Wil drifts to sleep in my arms, I remain awake, planning contingencies and identifying vulnerabilities. Loving her openly is a risk, but losing her is unthinkable. Whatever comes next, I'll be ready.