Chapter 22
22
Wil
M orning light bleeds through the curtains as I wake in an empty bed, the space beside me still warm from Mak's presence. The memory of last night floods back in painful clarity—the attack in the city, my declaration that I need to leave, and then the desperate intimacy that followed. My body aches pleasantly from our lovemaking, a complete contrast to the emptiness in my chest.
I sit up slowly, running my fingers through tangled hair. My scattered clothing still litters the floor where it fell in our frantic need to connect one last time. The half-packed suitcase lies overturned beside the bed, its contents spilled across the carpet. It’s a fitting visual representation of my chaotic life.
I get out of bed and gather the suitcase, setting it back on the bed and beginning the packing process again. This time, I work quickly, my mind made up despite the emotional turmoil of the previous night. I select only essential items and practical clothing, leaving behind most of the designer maternity wear and jewelry Mak lavished upon me during my stay. Each item I place in the suitcase feels like another step toward a future I can't clearly envision but know I must pursue for my children's sake.
The sundress I wore my first day in the greenhouse lies folded neatly in a drawer. I touch the fabric briefly, remembering Mak's expression when he found me there among the plants he'd created just for me. So much has changed since then. What began as captivity slowly transformed into something else entirely, something I never expected to find with a man like him. With reluctance, I leave the dress behind. The memories attached to it belong to a life I'm now abandoning. I can’t wear it any longer anyway.
In the bathroom, I find myself staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is tousled, lips are slightly swollen from passionate kisses, and there’s a small mark darkening on my collarbone, where he nipped me. I touch it gently, a physical reminder of what I'm leaving behind. The woman staring back at me looks both stronger and more vulnerable than the person who arrived at this estate eight weeks ago.
The hot shower does little to ease the tension in my muscles, but the routine brings comfort from being so normal.
I dress in practical layers, jeans with an elastic waistband to accommodate my growing belly, a loose sweater over a sleeveless shirt, and comfortable walking shoes. These are clothes for a woman planning to disappear, not the glamorous maternity wear that hangs in the closet.
Outside my window, increased security patrols circle the property, with guards positioned more prominently than usual. That’s another reminder of the danger that now shadows me because of my connection to the Vorobev name. The estate that once felt like a gilded cage now seems like the only barrier between my unborn children and those who would harm them to hurt Mak.
I rest my hand on my growing belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement that has become more pronounced in recent weeks. Already, I can distinguish different patterns. The one who kicks most actively in the morning (Baby C according to the ultrasound), the gentle flutter that seems to respond when I play classical music (Baby E), and the strong movements that often synchronize with their siblings (Babies A and B). Baby D is positioned so that I can’t get a full read on her actions, so she remains my darling mystery.
"We'll figure this out," I whisper to them, though uncertainty colors my voice. What exactly am I planning? Where will we go? The practical nurse in me catalogs the challenges ahead, finding specialized medical care for a high-risk quintuplet pregnancy, securing safe housing, and perhaps establishing a new identity. The obstacles seem insurmountable when considered all at once.
I check the emergency funds I've been quietly setting aside from the generous "allowance" Mak insisted on providing. It’s not nearly enough for what lies ahead, but a start. The irony isn't lost on me of using money from the very man I'm fleeing to finance my escape, but these babies deserve every advantage, regardless of its source.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. I tense, bracing for another confrontation with Mak, uncertain whether my resolve will withstand seeing him again in the clear light of day. Instead, I open the door to find Zina standing in the hallway, her expression determined and a small leather bag slung over her shoulder.
"May I come in?" She glances past me to the half-packed suitcase on the bed.
I step aside, allowing her entry. "Mak told you."
"He didn't have to." She moves to my closet, pulling out a light waterproof jacket, comfortable sleepwear, and a warmth-conserving thermal blanket still in its packaging. "I heard what happened in the city. I knew you wouldn't stay after that."
To my surprise, she begins adding the items to my suitcase, carefully organizing the contents. I watch, confused, as she transfers my toiletries into travel-sized containers she's brought with her.
"What are you doing?" I ask, stopping mid-fold of a sweater.
She continues her work without pausing. "If you're leaving, I'm going too."
The declaration stuns me into momentary silence. Mak's beloved sister, the one person he's protected his entire life, wants to leave with me?
"Zina, you can't. Mak wouldn’t like that."
"This isn't about what my brother wants." She finally looks up, and her dark eyes are filled with determination. "It's about what I want. What I've wanted for years." She moves to the bathroom, gathering my medications and prenatal vitamins, organizing them with the precision of someone who has planned for contingencies, while continuing to speak. "I've always hated this lifestyle, Wil. This house that has always haunted me. It’s a gilded prison, where I've been protected but never truly free."
I follow her, struggling to process this revelation. "But you've always seemed so comfortable here. Your literature research, your friends from university..."
"Practice." A humorless laugh escapes her as she zips a toiletry bag closed. "I've had escape plans since I was fourteen, including accounts Mak doesn't know about, connections outside the Bratva, and a whole identity he never created. The research is real, but it's also an excuse to travel, to maintain contacts in the academic world, where the Vorobev name means nothing."
"Then why did you stay?" I ask, genuinely curious. "All these years, if you hated it so much?"
Her movements slow, a shadow crossing her face. "For him. Because I couldn't abandon the brother who sacrificed everything to shield me from our father's cruelty and the brutality of this world. He gave up any chance at being normal to keep me safe. Even now, he lets me pretend at independence while maintaining invisible security that follows me everywhere."
She turns to face me fully, her expression softening as her gaze drops to my belly. "But now, I have more family to protect. These babies deserve a chance at the normal life Mak and I never had."
The simple statement brings unexpected tears to my eyes. Pregnancy hormones have left me emotionally raw, but this goes deeper. It’s the realization I'm not facing this alone. These babies will have family beyond myself and their complicated father.
Together, we finish packing with an efficiency born of shared purpose. Zina proves surprisingly practical, adding more items I hadn't considered—a burner phone, cash in various currencies, and a small first-aid kit with specialized items for pregnancy, including nausea.
"Where did you get all this?" I ask, watching her add a satellite phone to the mix.
"I've been preparing for years." She checks each item carefully. "Different scenarios, different needs. A pregnant woman with quintuplets wasn't exactly on my list of contingencies, but I adapt quickly."
The comment draws a reluctant smile from me. "Apparently, a family trait."
"Some things are genetic." She matches my smile with one of her own, the resemblance to Mak momentarily striking.
"How are we getting out?" I ask finally, zipping the suitcase closed. "The estate is crawling with security."
"That's already arranged." She checks her watch. "We need to go now. The servant corridors will take us to the garage without passing the main security checkpoints."
I hesitate, glancing around the room one last time. Despite my determination to leave, this departure feels rushed and unfinished. "Shouldn't we at least leave a note?"
"Not necessary." Her expression turns enigmatic. "Mak knows."
This revelation stuns me more than anything else. "He's letting us go? Just like that?"
"It's complicated." She takes my suitcase, gesturing for me to follow. "I'll explain on the way."
The servant corridors are narrow and dimly lit, clearly designed for household staff to move through the mansion unobtrusively. Zina navigates them with easily, suggesting she's used these passages before. The staff quarters we pass are silent at this early hour, though the kitchen already shows signs of activity as the day's first meals are prepared.
"I used to explore these passages as a child," she whispers as we descend a narrow staircase. "Mak would get so angry when he couldn't find me, until he realized I was mapping escape routes. Then he helped me identify the ones that bypassed security."
The comment reveals yet another layer to the complicated relationship between the siblings. Mak was simultaneously protecting his sister while preparing her for independence he likely never expected her to claim.
We emerge into the garage, where an unmarked sedan waits. It’s not one of the usual Vorobev fleet vehicles with their bulletproof glass and reinforced doors, but something inconspicuous that wouldn't draw attention on regular roads. It seems like something the servants might drive to run errands.
Most surprising of all is Leonid, Mak's most trusted lieutenant, who steps forward to take our bags and load them into the trunk. His presence confuses me even further. If anyone represents Mak's authority within the organization, it's this stoic, efficient man, who never leaves his side.
"Everything is prepared," he tells Zina, his typically impassive face betraying unusual concern. "The coastal property is secured and stocked. We couldn’t arrange for Dr. Philips, since it might be too conspicuous, but I found a new specialist. Dr. Wilson will arrive weekly for medical checks. I’ve sent you the files about him, including his photo, so you don’t let in the wrong person. The satellite phone is programmed with emergency contacts only."
"Thank you, Leonid." She squeezes his arm with familiar affection. "Any changes to the timeline?"
A shadow crosses his face. "Accelerated. The Kazanov situation required an immediate response."
Zina nods as if this cryptic exchange makes perfect sense. "Be careful. All of you."
I look between them, trying to make sense of this unexpected alliance. "I don't understand. Why are you helping us leave?"
Leonid turns to me, his expression softening marginally. "My loyalty has always been to the Vorobev siblings personally, not to the organization. I've watched over them since they were children. Their father trusted me with their safety above all else."
"Mak arranged this," says Zina, guiding me toward the car. "After what happened yesterday, he realized he couldn't keep you safe here while also dealing with the threats against you."
The pieces slowly connect in my mind. " When he said he'd burn it all down…"
"He meant it." Leonid opens the car door for me. "What my employer is attempting has never been done before. There will be resistance. Violent resistance. The estate will become a target."
"What exactly is he planning?" The question seems important, though I'm not sure why. I've made my decision to leave, regardless of Mak's intentions.
Leonid and Zina exchange a look loaded with meaning I can't interpret.
"It's better if you don't know the details," she says finally. "For your own safety and the babies'. Plausible deniability matters in the world we're leaving behind."
He checks his watch. "You need to leave now to reach the checkpoint before the shift change. The route is clear for the next thirty minutes only."
Four men emerge from a side door, taking positions in two additional vehicles—one that will drive ahead and another that will follow. Unlike Mak's usual security detail with their obvious earpieces and bulky jackets concealing weapons, these men are dressed casually, their protection disguised as ordinary travel companions. I don’t recognize any of them and realize I’m slightly sad not to be able to tell Orlov goodbye. He’s the talkative one of my two guards, which means he says roughly twenty words per day instead of Yakov’s one or two.
"These men—Yuri, Anton, Boris, and Gorba—will escort you to the safehouse," says Leonid. "They answer only to me and to Mak directly, and no one else in the organization. They'll remain with you as long as necessary."
The implications of this arrangement aren't lost on me. Mak doesn't trust his own security structure with our safety. The thought should terrify me, but instead, it reinforces the rightness of my decision to leave.
"Fedor?" Zina asks quietly.
"Under observation." Leonid's expression hardens. "He remains... problematic."
I remember the cousin Mak mentioned occasionally, the ambitious family member whose loyalty seemed increasingly questionable. I’ve yet to meet him, having the sense he didn’t want to meet me, or maybe, it was Mak shielding me all along. It’s another piece of the complicated puzzle I'm leaving behind.
As we settle into the backseat of the sedan while Anton settles behind the wheel, Zina takes my hand. "It's going to be okay, Wil. The coastal property is beautiful, and completely off the grid. No one knows about it except Mak, Leonid, and now us."
The car pulls out of the garage, following a service road that circumvents the main gate and its security checkpoint. Dawn is just breaking over the horizon, painting the sky in muted pinks and purples. I watch the estate recede in the distance, the imposing mansion growing smaller until it disappears around a bend in the road.
"How long has Mak been planning this?" I ask, still struggling to reconcile last night's emotional confrontation with this seemingly well-orchestrated departure.
She stares out the window, her profile reminiscent of her brother's in the soft morning light. "The safehouse has always existed as a contingency, but your leaving specifically? I think he's been preparing for it since you arrived."
"What do you mean?"
"My brother is many things, but he's not delusional." She turns to me with a sad smile. "He knew from the beginning that you might not be able to accept his world. That you might eventually need a way out. He's been preparing contingencies since the day he brought you to the estate."
The thought brings fresh pain. Even while building something with me, while sharing his bed and making plans for our children, Mak was simultaneously preparing for my inevitable departure. The realization speaks to a lifetime of loss and betrayal I can barely comprehend. "Are you sure you should come with me? He's your brother, Zina. You're all he has." The idea of him utterly alone breaks my heart.
"Not anymore." Her gaze drops meaningfully to my belly. "And Mak asked me to go with you, to help you, and to protect you if necessary. He knew you'd need someone you trust, and if I'm honest, I was always leaving. I was supposed to go to Oxford next month, but my heart wasn’t in it. I just wanted out. Helping you and them gives me purpose beyond escape."
I shake my head, still not understanding. "But he loves you more than anyone."
"Which is exactly why I agreed." Her expression turns fierce, suddenly reminding me powerfully of Mak. "Because I love him too, and right now, the best way to help him is to keep you and the babies safe while he does what he needs to do."
The car merges onto the highway, joining early morning commuter traffic heading away from the city. Our convoy maintains careful spacing—not close enough to be obviously connected, but within sight of each other. Anton and Yuri, in the passenger seat, remain silent, focused on their tasks with professional detachment.
As the city recedes behind us, I stare out the window with my hand pressed against the glass. My heart feels like it's been carved out of my chest, first with the loss of Gisele and now Mak. Whatever his flaws, whatever the danger his world represents to our children, the connection between us was real. The memory of him whispering promises against my belly last night, vowing to become someone worthy of being their father, brings fresh tears to my eyes.
The babies kick more vigorously than before, a chorus of tiny movements beneath my palm. I brush away tears, remembering I need to stay strong for them and for Zina, who has given up everything to join me in this uncertain new beginning. "How far is this safehouse?" I ask, trying to focus on practical matters rather than the ache in my chest.
"About three hours up the coast." She passes me a bottle of water from a small cooler at her feet. "It's completely isolated, with a private cove and a house overlooking the ocean. Beautiful, but nearly impossible to approach without being seen. The nearest town is small enough that strangers are noticed but large enough that we won't stand out too much with proper cover stories."
"Another fortress," I whisper, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
"A temporary asylum," she corrects gently. "Until you decide what comes next."
The wording catches my attention. "You mean until we decide."
She shakes her head. "This is your journey, Wil. Your children and your future. I'm here to help, not to make decisions for you."
"But what about what you want?" I turn to face her fully. "You said you've been planning an escape for years."
A complicated emotion crosses her face. "Let's just say our temporary goals align. Beyond that...we'll see what happens."
The cryptic answer suggests layers of planning I'm not privy to, reinforcing my suspicion that Mak, Zina, and Leonid are engaged in something more complex than simply helping me leave.
"Will Mak join us there?" The question emerges before I can stop it, betraying a longing I've tried to suppress.
“There or somewhere…” Her expression turns guarded. "Eventually, if he can."
"If he can?"
She stares straight ahead, her profile suddenly reminding me painfully of her brother. "What Mak is attempting is dangerous, Wil. There are no guarantees."
The statement makes me suck in a breath. Despite my determination to leave, despite knowing our relationship is impossible as things stand, the thought of Mak in danger creates a surge of panic. "What exactly is he doing?"
"Creating a different future." She takes my hand, squeezing gently. "For all of us, if he succeeds."
Morning light spills across the highway as we travel north, the landscape gradually changing from dense suburbs to scattered towns and eventually open countryside. I rest my head against the window, exhaustion from the emotional turmoil of the past twenty-four hours finally catching up with me.
As sleep begins to claim me, I find myself wondering if this departure is truly an ending or merely a pause. Is it a necessary separation while Mak attempts whatever dangerous transformation he believes might make a future possible for us, or will it be permanent? The uncertainty should frighten me, but instead, it carries a strange comfort. For the first time since the attack, I consider maybe we can still have a future with Mak.