Chapter 20
20
Wil
A few days later, I stare out the tinted window of the SUV as Manhattan's skyline comes into view, and my chest constricts with anticipation and anxiety. This is my first trip outside the estate since arriving almost two months ago. The city looks both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the normal life I once led that now seems to belong to someone else entirely.
Orlov glances back from the front passenger seat, his gaze briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "We'll arrive in approximately ten minutes." His attention immediately returns to scanning our surroundings, gaze constantly moving between mirrors and windows.
My hands rest protectively on my belly, now noticeably rounded at sixteen weeks with quintuplets. The growth seems to have accelerated in the past week, my body shifting and stretching to accommodate five fetuses. Dr. Phillips noted the development during her last visit to the estate's medical suite, recommending today's specialized appointment.
Mak had been insistent while arranging this excursion. "Dr. Phillips has the basics covered at the estate, but for this level of detail, with microvalve development and rhythm differentiation between five fetuses, you need a pediatric cardiologist with a million-dollar scanner."
The medical professional in me couldn't argue with his logic. Advanced fetal echocardiography requires specialized equipment and expertise, particularly for high-order multiples, where heart defects occur with greater frequency. My years in the NICU have shown me too many tiny babies struggling with cardiac issues that could have been identified prenatally.
Still, the security arrangements for this simple medical appointment border on absurd. Three identical black SUVs form our convoy. One ahead, one behind, and ours in the middle. Six armed men accompany us, not counting the Orlov and Yakov. Mak himself would have come if not for an unavoidable meeting with international suppliers.
Orlov checks something on his phone, his shoulders relaxing marginally. "The clinic has been secured. Dr. Reisner's credentials have been verified twice. The building's security protocols exceed hospital standards."
I nod absently, knowing these assurances are meant to comfort me. Instead, they serve as reminders of the dangerous world I now inhabit, where routine prenatal care requires military-level security operations.
The private medical facility occupies the top floor of a nondescript office building in Midtown. We bypass the main entrance, driving instead into an underground parking garage, where two more security personnel await our arrival. The excessive protection measures that once seemed paranoid now feel almost normal, a disturbing realization I try to push aside.
The elevator opens directly into a reception area decorated with the tasteful restraint that suggests astronomical fees. No other patients wait in the plush seating area. The receptionist makes eye contact the moment I step off the elevator, greeting me by name without requesting identification, another indication of Mak's thorough arrangements.
She rises from behind her desk with a white smile. "Dr. Reisner is ready for you, Ms. Lamb. Right this way."
Dr. Reisner, a pediatric cardiologist with impeccable credentials according to Mak's research, proves to be a no-nonsense woman in her early sixties, with short gray hair and penetrating eyes behind stylish glasses. She reviews my file while a technician prepares the advanced imaging equipment.
She glances up from her tablet, clinically assessing me over the rim of her glasses. "Five fetuses. Quite remarkable. Naturally conceived?"
"Yes."
She makes a note, seemingly unimpressed by the statistical improbability. "Any family history of congenital heart defects?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
Her stylus pauses over the screen. "And the father?"
The question catches me unprepared, though it shouldn't. Of course, she needs complete medical history for both parents. "I don't know his family history. His mother didn’t die from heart disease, and I don’t think his father did either. I don’t know anything about extended family."
Dr. Reisner's expression remains perfectly neutral, free of the judgment I'd feared. "Not uncommon in my practice. We'll work with what we have."
The examination room contains equipment far more sophisticated than anything available at the estate. The ultrasound machine alone looks more like something from a science fiction film than a medical device, with multiple monitors and specialized transducers designed specifically for cardiac visualization.
Dr. Reisner gestures toward the examination table as the technician finishes preparations. "This will take significantly longer than a standard ultrasound. We'll examine each fetus individually, assessing all four chambers, valves, and major vessels. With quintuplets, we're looking at nearly two hours."
"That's fine." My nurse's appreciation for thoroughness overrides any concerns about discomfort. "I want the most complete information possible."
She applies the warm gel to my exposed belly, now prominently rounded despite being only four months along. The pressure of the transducer feels familiar, but the image that appears on the high-definition screen takes my breath away. The clarity surpasses anything from previous ultrasounds, revealing extraordinary detail of the first baby—labeled "A" on the monitor.
"This is remarkable technology," I say, my professional interest momentarily eclipsing my maternal emotions.
Dr. Reisner adjusts settings on the machine, her focus absolute. "There are only three machines like this in the Northeast. Your partner pulled significant strings to get you immediate access."
I don't correct her assumption about my relationship with Mak, instead watching in awe as she captures images of tiny heart chambers, measuring valve openings and blood flow patterns with meticulous precision. She moves methodically through each baby, occasionally requesting minor position adjustments from me to obtain better angles.
"Three boys, two girls, based on previous scans?" She shifts the transducer to focus on Baby C.
"That's what Dr. Phillips indicated, yes."
"I concur with that assessment." She taps instructions to the technician, who captures additional images. "All genitalia appear consistent with those determinations."
The appointment stretches to nearly three hours as Dr. Reisner examines each baby from multiple angles, measuring and documenting with exhaustive thoroughness. Despite the discomfort of lying still for so long, I remain fascinated by the detailed images and the doctor's expert analysis. My NICU training helps me understand the significance of each measurement and each assessment of blood flow and valve function.
When she finally finishes and helps me clean the gel from my skin, I brace myself for potential bad news. Multiple pregnancies carry increased risks for congenital defects, a reality I've witnessed firsthand in my nursing career.
Dr. Reisner reviews the images on her tablet once more before meeting my gaze. "All five fetuses show normal cardiac development for this gestational age. Chamber formation, valve structure, great vessels—everything appears within normal parameters."
Relief floods through me, momentarily weakening my limbs. "No signs of defects at all?"
"None that are detectable at this stage." She removes her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose briefly. "That doesn't guarantee perfection, Ms. Lamb. Some structural issues may only become apparent in later development. We should repeat this assessment at twenty weeks."
"Of course." I nod, medical realism tempering my relief. "But this is good news."
"Very good news." A smile briefly softens her professional demeanor. "Particularly for quintuplets, who typically face higher incidences of abnormalities. All five appear remarkably healthy and well-developed for sixteen weeks."
She provides me with printed images of each baby, along with USB drive containing the complete scan data. I accept them with trembling hands, overwhelmed by seeing my children's hearts beating in asynchronous rhythm—five distinct life forces already forming their own patterns within me. The medical professional in me recognizes the technical significance of normal cardiac development, but the mother in me sees something far more profound.
Orlov waits outside the examination room, his vigilant posture never relaxing despite the secure environment. Two more security men flank the elevator, their attention constantly scanning the reception area. Yakov is with the SUV, I assume, since he didn’t come in.
"Everything go okay?" He steps closer, his normally impassive face showing a hint of genuine concern.
I nod, still processing the emotional impact of seeing my babies in such detail. "All five are developing normally. Healthy hearts."
His shoulders relax marginally. "Good news. Mr. Vorobev will be pleased."
On the clinic's steps, I pause to text Zina, who had stayed behind with a cold. The bright spring day feels deceptively normal after weeks confined to the estate grounds. People hurry past on the sidewalk, absorbed in their own lives, unaware of the armed men forming a perimeter around me or the bulletproof vehicle waiting at the curb.
I snap a picture of the ultrasound and apply a digital frame to the photo Dr. Reisner provided, all five heartbeats captured in a single remarkable image, and type: "All healthy! Three boys, two girls confirmed. Missing you today. x"
This momentary distraction, this brief illusion of being a normal day, is all it takes for chaos to erupt.
On the way back to the car, a nondescript van screeches to a halt beside our convoy. I glance up from my phone as the side door slides open violently. Armed men pour out, their faces covered with balaclavas, weapons already firing. Our security team responds immediately, but the attackers move with military precision, overwhelming the outer perimeter of guards within seconds.
Everything happens too fast to process. Orlov shouts something I can't understand over the gunfire, pushing me toward our vehicle. Before we reach it, a man breaks through the security cordon and grabs my arm roughly, dragging me toward the van as I struggle against his grip.
Panic surges through my body as I think of my babies. My hands instinctively cover my belly even as I kick and scream. The attacker's grip tightens painfully on my arm as he hauls me backward. I fight with desperate strength, but he's too powerful, too determined.
Just as he lifts me bodily from the ground, another vehicle arrives with a squeal of tires. I recognize Mak's personal car instantly. He emerges like vengeance personified, his expression eerily calm as he walks directly into the firefight without hesitation or body armor. In the middle of a crowded street filled with terrified bystanders diving for cover, he raises his gun and shoots my attacker point-blank in the head.
The sound seems to echo through the chaos. Blood sprays across my face and clothes as the man crumples, releasing me suddenly enough that I stumble backward. Mak catches me before I fall, scanning my body for injuries, but his eyes are wild with a fear I've never seen in him before.
"Are you hurt? Are the babies okay?" His voice sounds rough, strained beyond recognition.
I can't form words as I stare at the dead man whose blood now soaks my maternity dress. Mak pulls me against his chest, shielding me from the continuing gunfire as his men eliminate the remaining attackers.
When he pulls back to look at me, perhaps expecting gratitude for the brutality he just performed in my honor, his expression falters. I'm trembling uncontrollably, my eyes wide with horror, my breath coming in shallow gasps that can't seem to pull enough oxygen into my lungs.
Around us, civilians scream and run while police sirens wail in the distance. A woman lies injured on the sidewalk, caught in the crossfire. An elderly man cowers behind a newspaper stand, his face ashen with terror. The street has transformed into a war zone in mere seconds.
Mak hustles me toward his car, his arm like an iron band around my waist. "We need to leave now. Police will be here soon."
"Those people…" I try to look back at the injured bystanders, my nurse's instincts fighting through the shock.
"My men will handle it." He pushes me into the backseat, sliding in beside me and signaling his driver. "Go. Now."
As we speed away from the scene, blood drying tacky on my skin and clothes, reality crashes down with crushing weight. This is Mak's world. This is what he brings with him everywhere—violence, death, and collateral damage. The man I've been sharing a bed with, whose gentleness with me that seemed so at odds with his reputation, just executed someone in broad daylight without hesitation.
It's like he reads my thoughts. "I had no choice." Mak reaches for my hand, which I instinctively pull away. "He would have taken you and probably killed you eventually."
"Those people on the street had nothing to do with this." My voice sounds strangely disconnected from my body. "That woman was hit. She needs medical attention."
"My men will ensure she gets it." He tries again to touch me, his expression haunted. "Wil, please. I did what was necessary to protect you and our children."
That's precisely the problem. Violence is always the answer in Mak's world, and the only solution he knows. The blood drying on my skin, the image of the man's head exploding from Mak's bullet, and the terrified civilians caught in the crossfire… This is the reality he inhabits daily.
Tears begin to flow, hot tracks cutting through the blood spatter on my cheeks. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what?" His voice sharpens with apprehension.
"I can't have our children growing up around so much death and depravity." The words pour out through rising panic. "Surrounded by men whose first instinct is to reach for a gun. What kind of life is that? What kind of people will they become?"
Mak's face pales, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Wil?—"
"I won't raise them to think this is normal." I sob, my hands still protectively cradling my belly. "No matter what I feel for you, I have to protect them first."
He recoils slightly, his expression transforming to something I've never seen before—raw vulnerability and fear. "We can work this out." His voice drops to an urgent whisper. "I can change things and adapt. Send you somewhere safer?—"
"Somewhere your enemies won't find me?" I shake my head, tears flowing freely now. "There is no such place. You said it yourself. As long as they're your children, they'll be targets."
The car speeds through city streets, putting distance between us and the bloodbath we left behind. I stare at my blood-spattered hands, at the precious ultrasound images now stained crimson at the edges.
Mak watches me with growing desperation, likely sensing me slipping away. "Tell me what you want. Anything. I'll make it happen."
What I want is impossible. I want a normal life for my children, free from bulletproof cars and security details. Free from the constant threat of kidnapping or assassination. Free from the shadow of their father's empire built on blood and fear.
I close my eyes, unable to look at him as I make the hardest decision of my life. "I need to leave. To take our children somewhere they can grow up safe."
"There is nowhere safer than with me." His voice breaks on the last word.
"What happened today proves that's not true." I finally meet his gaze, letting him see the shattered trust in my eyes. "This is who you are, Mak. This is the world you've built, and I can't let our children be part of it."
We ride in agonized silence back to the estate, the gulf between us widening with each passing mile. My body still trembles with shock, with the horror of watching a man die inches from my face, and with the realization that the father of my children, the man I've begun to care for despite every rational objection, lives in a reality I can never accept for our children.
The ultrasound images in my lap show five perfect hearts beating in healthy rhythm, depending on me to make the right choice. No matter how much it hurts Mak and me.