Chapter 23
Willa
T he ultrasound gel feels cold against my belly as Dr. Layton moves the wand across my skin. Harper sits in the chair beside the examination table, her phone ready to capture pictures if the babies cooperate for clear images today.
“Let’s see how our seven little ones are doing.” Dr. Layton’s voice carries warm professionalism as she adjusts the screen angle so we can both see clearly. “At fourteen weeks, we should be able to determine genders with about seventy percent accuracy if they’re positioned well.”
The familiar whooshing sounds of multiple heartbeats fill the room, and I watch the screen with fascination as seven distinct forms come into view.
They look more like actual babies now instead of the abstract shapes from earlier ultrasounds, with recognizable heads and limbs that move independently.
“Look at Baby A.” Dr. Layton points to the clearest image on the left side of the screen. “Perfect positioning. I can definitely see her gender. Do you want to know?”
“Yes, but not right now. Can you write it down for me? I want to share the information with Iskander and learn the genders when he does.”
Harper squeezes my hand as the doctor nods. “Of course.” She gestures to her nurse, who starts taking notes while she moves around the ultrasound wand.
Twenty minutes later, she’s identified all seven with remarkable clarity but doesn’t reveal the genders yet. “Each one measures appropriately for their gestational age in a multiple pregnancy, and they’re all showing strong heartbeats.”
The relief that floods through me makes me realize how much anxiety I’ve been carrying about their development.
“Everything looks excellent.” Dr. Layton wipes the gel from my belly gently. “Like I said, growth is right on track, the heartbeats are strong, and all the major organ systems are developing normally.”
She hands me a sealed envelope with the official gender results hand printed by her nurse folded inside. “I’ve included photos of each baby with their gender marked.”
I clutch the envelope against my chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to share this discovery with Iskander.
Despite our fight this morning and his absence from this appointment, I want him to experience the wonder of learning about our children together.
Maybe this gesture could serve as a peace offering and a way to bridge the distance our arguments have created.
“There is one concern I want to discuss.” Dr. Layton’s tone shifts to something more serious as she reviews my chart. “Your blood pressure is elevated today. It’s nothing dangerous yet, but higher than I’d like to see at this stage.”
Harper straightens in her chair, immediately alert. “How high?”
“One-forty over ninety. With a multiple pregnancy, we need to monitor any increases carefully because preeclampsia can develop rapidly.” Dr. Layton meets my worried expression with reassuring calm.
“The best treatment is rest and stress reduction. I want you prioritizing sleep, limiting physical activity, and avoiding situations that spike your anxiety.”
“I’ll make sure she follows orders.” Harper’s voice carries the authority of having helped me through every crisis since high school. “What else should we watch for?”
“Severe headaches, visual changes, sudden swelling in hands or feet, or upper abdominal pain. Any of those symptoms warrant immediate medical attention.” She hands me a printed information sheet. “Otherwise, I want to see you back next week for another blood pressure check.”
I nod, processing the implications while trying not to panic. Stress reduction seems impossible when I’m living in an armed fortress while the man I love wages war against enemies who want to kill us both.
Harper helps me off the examination table as Dr. Layton finishes her notes. “We’ll get you set up with the nurse for next week’s appointment, and then you’re going straight home to rest.”
In the small bathroom attached to the exam room, I change back into my regular clothes while Harper waits outside.
The envelope with gender results feels precious in my hands, like a secret I’m protecting until I can share it properly.
Through the thin walls, I can hear Harper and Dr. Layton discussing my care plan in hushed tones that suggest more concern than they’re showing me directly.
When I emerge from the bathroom, the doctor is gone, and Harper stands beside the examination table with an expression that balances worry and determination.
We wait for the nurse to return with scheduling information while I tell her about this morning’s argument and the ongoing conflicts between Iskander and me.
She takes a minute to process everything she’s heard before speaking. “You know I’ve never been Iskander’s biggest fan.” She settles into the chair she vacated earlier, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks no one’s paying attention though.”
I smooth my shirt over my expanding belly, surprised by this shift in Harper’s usual criticism of my relationship choices. “Where are you going with this?”
“I think he’s genuinely trying to balance impossible situations.
He’s building a legitimate future while dealing with people who want to kill him for walking away and that other guy…
Mikhail…? Wanting all of you dead.” She pauses, studying my face.
“That doesn’t excuse missing important appointments, but maybe it explains why he struggles to prioritize correctly. ”
The observation hits deeper than I expected because it mirrors my own conflicted feelings about this morning’s fight. “Are you defending him?”
“I’m trying to be fair to both of you.” Her voice carries the honesty that’s defined our friendship since we were teenagers. “You have every right to expect support from your partner, especially during pregnancy, but maybe threatening ultimatums isn’t the most effective way to get what you need.”
Heat rises in my cheeks as I remember the harshness of my words this morning. “I was frustrated and scared. The blood pressure thing proves I can’t handle much more stress.”
“So talk to him like an adult instead of backing him into corners with demands.” Her suggestion carries gentle challenge rather than criticism. “Tell him specifically what you need from him and when you need it. Give him chances to succeed instead of testing whether he’ll fail.”
The wisdom in her advice makes me feel foolish for how I handled our conversation earlier.
Instead of explaining my fears about carrying seven babies or my need for emotional support, I attacked his choices and questioned his commitment to our future.
My conversations with Alina spurred me on, encouraging the worst side of me to emerge in the throes of anger and frustration.
“I was planning to apologize when I get home.” The admission emerges with some embarrassment. “I thought showing him the gender results and learning them together would be a way to start over.”
“Good.” Her smile carries approval and relief. “You two want the same things. You’re just approaching them from different directions while dealing with more pressure than most couples ever face.”
A soft knock interrupts our conversation, and the nurse appears with an appointment card for next week. “Dr. Layton wants to see you Thursday at ten o’clock for the blood pressure recheck.”
I take the card and slip it into my purse beside the precious envelope. “Thank you.”
As we leave the clinic, Harper links her arm through mine while we walk toward the parking space right in front of the clinic, where Anton waits beside the black SUV.
The sunlight feels warm against my face, and for the first time in days, I feel hopeful about resolving the tension between Iskander and me.
“I’m glad you came with me today.” I squeeze Harper’s arm gratefully. “I would have been nervous learning all this alone.”
“That’s what best friends are for.” She grins at me with the same mischievous expression she’s worn since we were sixteen. “Besides, someone needs to make sure you actually rest instead of working yourself into early labor.”
We’re still laughing when the attack comes.
Anton stands just three feet away from us, scanning the area with professional vigilance, when masked figures emerge from behind parked cars like they teleported there. Everything happens so fast that my mind struggles to process the sequence of events.
A gunshot cracks through the afternoon air, and Anton staggers backward, clutching his chest. I pray he’s wearing his vest as he spins and falls down onto his belly.
Harper turns toward the sound, opening her mouth to scream, when someone grabs her from behind and covers her mouth until she slumps.
Then he chucks her over beside Anton’s fallen body like she’s trash instead of a human being.
I stand frozen in shock, watching my best friend drop to the asphalt. Before I can move or cry out, rough hands grab my arms from behind. “Don’t make a sound.” A man’s voice hisses against my ear while cold metal presses against my belly. “One wrong move and your babies die first.”
Terror floods my system as the reality crashes over me. The gun against my pregnant stomach, Harper unconscious and bleeding, and Anton motionless on the ground is all real. Everything Iskander warned me about and every precaution he insisted upon still wasn’t enough.
I struggle against the hands dragging me toward a waiting sedan, but the gun barrel presses harder against my abdomen, making me freeze with protective instinct for the lives depending on me.
“Please.” The word emerges as barely a whisper. “Don’t hurt them.”
“That depends entirely on your cooperation.” The masked man forces me into the backseat of the car while another figure slides in beside me, maintaining the weapon’s threatening position against my belly. “Stay quiet and still, and nobody else gets hurt.”
As the car pulls away from the clinic parking lot, I catch a glimpse of Harper’s motionless form through the rear window. Is she breathing? Is Anton alive? The questions spiral through my mind while panic claws at my chest.
The envelope with our babies’ gender results crumples in my fist as the masked man beside me maintains steady pressure with his gun.
These babies might never get the chance to be born if I make the wrong choice in the next few minutes.
“Where are you taking me?” I force the question through lips that feel numb with shock.
“Somewhere your boyfriend will come looking for you.” The driver’s voice carries satisfaction that makes me quiver. “Mikhail Balakin wants to have a conversation with Iskander Taranov, and you’re going to help arrange that meeting.”
Mikhail Balakin. The name Iskander spoke with such hatred. The enemy he’s been trying to eliminate before walking away from his criminal empire. Now I understand why he was so desperate to keep me protected though every security measure felt excessive until this moment when none of it mattered.
The car speeds through Charleston traffic while I sit trapped between armed men who see me as nothing more than leverage against the man I love.
Every bump in the road sends waves of anxiety through me, and I worry about my blood pressure spiking while carrying babies who need me to stay calm and safe.
My phone rests in my purse, probably useless since these men certainly anticipated Iskander would try to track me through it. The gender results envelope remains clutched in my hand, a symbol of the future we might never get to share if this goes wrong.
Through the car windows, I watch familiar Charleston streets pass by as we head toward whatever location Mikhail has chosen for his confrontation with Iskander.
The Spanish moss draped trees and historic architecture look surreal from inside this nightmare, like pieces of a normal world I might never see again.
“How long have you been watching me?” The question emerges despite my fear, driven by need to understand how completely I’ve been exposed.
The man beside me adjusts his grip on the weapon without answering, but the driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Long enough to know your schedule, your habits, and exactly when you’d be most vulnerable.”
I flinch. They’ve been studying me for weeks to learn my routines and identify opportunities to strike when Iskander’s protection couldn’t reach me.
They clearly chose my appointment day because it’s about the only time I leave his estate these days.
Every moment I felt watched but dismissed as paranoia was actually hostile surveillance by people planning this exact scenario.
I close my eyes and try to control my breathing, remembering Dr. Layton’s warnings about stress and blood pressure.
The babies depend on me staying as calm as possible while navigating whatever Mikhail Balakin has planned.
The envelope in my hand reminds me Iskander and I have too much to lose to let this destroy our future.
When I open my eyes again, we’re leaving the city limits and heading toward rural areas where screaming won’t bring help.
Whatever happens next, I have to survive it for the children I’m carrying and the man who loves me enough to go to war for our family.
The afternoon sunlight that felt so hopeful twenty minutes ago now seems to mock the terror filling my chest as we drive toward an uncertain fate.