Chapter 14
Iskander
T hree more days pass before I admit the obvious truth. Willa is miserable in my home, and all the security in the world can’t protect her from the prison I’ve created.
I watch her through the office doorway as she works at the mahogany desk, her shoulders curved inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
She shifts in the chair every few minutes, one hand pressed to her chest like she can’t get enough air.
The guards outside patrol their routes with military precision, but their presence only seems to make her withdraw more into herself.
She barely speaks during meals, picks at food that should appeal to her, and spends most evenings staring out windows like she’s watching her freedom disappear one patrol at a time.
This isn’t protection. It’s imprisonment with expensive furniture.
I cross the room to where she sits surrounded by inventory reports. “How are you feeling?”
She looks up with tired eyes. “Fine.”
The lie comes too easily. “You don’t look fine. You look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”
“I’m pregnant with seven babies. I don’t think sleeping properly is an option anymore.” She gestures at the paperwork. “Besides, these accounts won’t reconcile themselves.”
Her dedication impresses me, but it also highlights how little control she has over anything else. “The accounts can wait. You need rest.”
“I need to feel useful.” The words come out sharper than she probably intended. “I need to feel like I’m contributing something beyond just being a walking incubator under armed guard.”
The bitterness in her voice stops me. I’ve been treating her like precious cargo instead of the intelligent, capable woman I fell for. “Is that how you see yourself here?”
She saves her work and closes the laptop with deliberate care. “How else should I see myself? I can’t leave the house without an escort. I can’t make decisions about my own medical care without consultation. I can’t even take a walk in the garden without someone radioing my location.”
The frustration that’s been building finally breaks through her careful politeness. “The security is suffocating. I understand the threat is real, but I can’t live like this indefinitely, Iskander. I won’t.”
The quiet determination reminds me why I was drawn to her. Willa Reynolds doesn’t break under pressure. She pushes back twice as hard. “What do you need from me?”
Surprise flickers across her features like she expected me to dismiss her concerns. “I need to feel like your partner, not your prisoner. I need to know what’s happening in the war you’re fighting for us. I need to understand the business I’ve inherited.”
Her requests are reasonable, which makes my instinct to shield her seem overprotective and condescending. “You want to know about everything?”
“The legitimate business, the money laundering, and the territorial disputes. All of it.” She crosses her arms. “I’m already involved whether I understand the details or not. Ignorance won’t protect me, but knowledge might help me protect myself.”
The logic is sound, even if every protective instinct rebels against exposing her to my world’s darker aspects. “Some of that information is dangerous to possess.”
“More dangerous than being a target without knowing why?” She leans against the desk. “You killed Alexei eight years ago, and Mikhail has been planning revenge ever since. That’s dangerous information but knowing it helps me understand why Henri is dead.”
I built my life around controlling information, using knowledge as both weapon and shield. Sharing operational details goes against decades of training. “You’re asking me to trust you with information that could get you killed.”
“I’m asking you to trust me, period.” Her voice softens, but steel remains underneath. “We’re having seven children together, we’re business partners, and we’re sharing a bed. Trust has to start somewhere.”
The reference to our physical relationship sends heat through me. “All right. We’ll start with business operations, then move to current intelligence.”
Relief transforms her features, making her look younger and less guarded. “Thank you.”
Over the next hour, I walk her through our money laundering network. Willa asks intelligent questions about cash flow and risk management that reveal she understands business fundamentals better than many of my associates.
“The restaurant chain grosses approximately two million annually in legitimate revenue,” I explain while showing her spreadsheets. “We inflate those numbers by running dirty money through fake transactions and events that exist only on paper.”
She studies the projections with focused attention. “What’s the markup on laundered money?”
“Fifteen percent, plus legitimate fees. The margin sounds low, but volume makes it profitable.”
She nods slowly. “And the shop?”
“Maison Laurent handles smaller amounts but serves multiple functions. High-end clothing sales and custom tailoring or orders provide perfect cover for unusual cash transactions, since we can structure them however is most beneficial amid the legitimate business.” I close the laptop and study her reaction. “Does any of this bother you?”
“Should it?” She leans back, one hand absently rubbing her stomach. “Henri was clearly comfortable with all this.”
I hesitate before admitting, “Not entirely, but the economy was terrible a few years ago. He was going to lose the shop and couldn’t stand that.
He and I had been friends for years, ever since he made my first suit for me, so when I offered an…
unconventional partnership, he agreed. It was lack of options, not because he wanted to be involved in my world. ”
“I assumed that was the case. I wish he’d told me then, but what’s done is done.” Her pragmatic acceptance surprises me. “Now tell me about Mikhail’s current operations.” She reopens her laptop, preparing to take notes. “What kind of operations is he running against you?”
“Intelligence suggests he’s been consolidating smaller crews in Atlanta and Miami for the past six months.
He’s offering better terms than established families, building loyalty through financial incentives rather than fear.
” I move to the window where guards maintain their patrol routes.
“He’s also been probing our operations systematically. ”
She stops typing. “What kind of probing?”
“Testing response times, identifying security vulnerabilities, and learning our operational patterns.” The systematic nature of his approach concerns me more than random violence would. “He’s preparing for something more ambitious than harassment.”
“Like what?”
I hesitate before saying, “Kidnapping attempts, or maybe major attacks on our businesses. He’ll employ violence designed to force me into emotional rather than strategic decisions.”
She saves her notes. “What would emotional decisions look like?”
“Abandoning careful planning in favor of direct action. Exposing myself to unnecessary risks because I’m focused on protecting you rather than thinking clearly.” We both understand that Mikhail’s strategy depends on my feelings for her, making those feelings both a strength and a vulnerability.
“Lov…being with me makes you weaker.” Her voice carries no judgment, just acceptance.
“Maybe, but it also gives me something to lose. That changes every decision I make.”
She starts typing again. “We need to make sure being with me also makes you smarter. What do you need from me?” she asks after reviewing her notes.
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“How can I help? I understand the business now. I understand the threat. What can I do besides sit here feeling sorry for myself?”
Her willingness to engage constructively rather than demanding impossible guarantees makes my chest tighten with something that might be pride. “You could help by being patient with security restrictions while we develop better intelligence.”
“I can do that.” She stands and moves around the desk. “What else?”
“Take better care of yourself. The breathing problems worry me, and stress isn’t good for the babies.”
She reaches out and touches my face, fingers gentle against my jaw. “I can do that too, especially if I feel like I’m contributing to solutions instead of just being protected from problems.”
The simple contact sends warmth through me. “Are you feeling better about staying here?”
“I’m feeling better about being here with you.” She leans down and kisses me softly. “Partnership works better than imprisonment.”
Later that evening, I meet Timur at Czar’s Table. He’s already waiting in our usual corner booth, his expression thoughtful rather than concerned.
“How is Willa adjusting to life at the estate?” He orders his usual vodka while I settle across from him.
“Better now that I’ve started treating her like a partner rather than a prisoner.” I order my scotch and consider how much to reveal. “She was becoming increasingly unhappy with the security restrictions.”
“Understandable. Intelligent women don’t respond well to being managed like assets.” He studies my face carefully. “What changed?”
“I started sharing operational information with her. Business details, intelligence about Mikhail’s activities, and strategic planning.” The server brings our drinks, and I take a small sip. “She wanted to understand the situation rather than just accept protection passively.”
Timur raises an eyebrow. “You’re comfortable with that level of disclosure?”
“She’s already a target because of her relationship with me and the babies she’s carrying. Knowledge won’t make her more vulnerable, but it might help her make better decisions. However, I did sanitize some of it. There are details she never needs to know.”
“ Da .” He leans back, considering this development. “Still, involving her in operational planning means accepting she’s no longer a civilian. She becomes a full participant with complete knowledge of the risks.”