Chapter 12
Iskander
T he spray paint is still wet when we arrive at Willa’s former apartment, and crimson letters bleed down the living room wall like fresh wounds. You can’t protect what matters most. Mikhail’s message couldn’t be clearer if he’d signed his name beneath it.
I stand in the doorway while fury builds in my chest. It feels like my hands and feet are on fire, but my chest is numb.
Every piece of furniture has been overturned or destroyed. Books scatter across the floor with their pages torn and trampled. Photographs lie ripped from frames with the glass ground to white powder under heavy boots.
This isn’t mere vandalism.
It’s a psychological attack.
I turn to Timur, who stands beside me taking photographs for our intelligence files. “How many men?”
He gestures toward the kitchen, where cabinet doors hang from broken hinges. “I’d guess a minimum of four, based on the damage patterns and timeframe. They were pros who wanted us to know they were here. They took time to be thorough.”
Thorough is an understatement. The bastards went through everything Willa owned and violated her privacy in ways that make me want to put bullets in people.
Her clothes have been pulled from drawers and scattered across the bedroom floor.
Personal letters have been opened and read before being left in piles.
Even her bathroom has been ransacked with makeup and toiletries she left behind when coming to stay with me ground into the tile.
I study the mess while processing what this level of violation means for our security. “Any indication they found what they were looking for?”
Timur moves through the debris, his eyes scanning every detail of destruction.
“Doubtful. This certainly was not intelligence gathering, though they definitely knew where to look for personal items. They targeted photos, journals, or anything that might have sentimental value. Seems more like an insult… a message of sorts.”
The implications make my jaw clench. Mikhail has been watching Willa long enough to understand what matters to her and what would cause the most emotional damage when destroyed. The violation cuts deep.
Willa stands frozen in the center of what used to be her living room and stares at the ruins of her independent life. She hasn’t spoken since we entered the apartment, and her face has gone pale in a way that worries me more than tears would.
I move closer to her, wanting to offer comfort. “I’m sorry. I should have anticipated this.”
She shakes her head slowly while still staring at the message on her wall. “You couldn’t have known he’d target my apartment while we were learning about the babies.”
The babies are already changing everything about how I assess threats and plan responses.
They’re also seven reasons for Mikhail to escalate his campaign of psychological warfare and seven ways to hurt me through the woman I’m falling in love with.
I voice the conclusion we’ve surely both reached.
“He knows about the pregnancy. The timing isn’t coincidental. ”
Her voice comes out small and lost. “How?”
I run through the possibilities while studying the destruction around us. “Hospital staff, surveillance of medical facilities, or intercepted communications come to mind. The possibilities are endless when you have resources and patience. Mikhail always did his homework before making moves.”
She picks up a framed photograph from the floor, one of the few that survived with the glass intact. It shows her and Harper at some long-ago celebration with both women laughing at something outside the camera’s view. For a moment, her composure cracks.
She whispers while cradling the photo like something precious. “They touched everything. They went through all my private things and all my memories.”
The pain in her voice makes sends a surge of violence through me. Mikhail crossed a line when he brought this war into her personal space and violated the home she’d built for herself over years of careful work.
I try to offer what comfort I can. “We’ll replace whatever can be replaced. We’ll make sure this never happens again.”
The question carries accusation I probably deserve. “How? By keeping me locked in your house forever?”
My instinct is to surround her with enough security to ensure nothing harmful can reach her again, but that instinct doesn’t account for the independence she values above almost everything else. I shake my head. “The best and only way is by ending this war before it escalates further.”
She looks up at that and searches my face like she’s looking for meaning behind my words. “What does that mean?”
“Mikhail made a mistake when he decided to target you directly. Before, this was business on my side, but now it’s as personal for me as it is him.”
Before I can elaborate, Harper arrives with Timur’s men, and her face appears flushed from running up three flights of stairs.
She takes one look at the destruction and begins cursing with impressive creativity, though her voice shakes with rage.
“Those bastards.” She picks up a throw pillow that’s been slashed open, leaking stuffing scattered across the hardwood floor. “They destroyed everything.”
Willa moves toward her best friend, and they embrace with desperate intensity.
Harper’s eyes fill with tears as she holds Willa close, and for several minutes, they simply cling to each other while I direct my men to secure the scene.
When they finally separate, Harper wipes her eyes angrily.
“What do we salvage? What’s worth saving? ”
The practical question seems to ground Willa in a way sympathy couldn’t. She begins moving through the wreckage with purpose and examines damaged items to evaluate the difference between replaceable and irreplaceable.
“The photo albums,” she says while kneeling beside a scattered pile of pictures. “Most of these can be saved if we’re careful with them.”
Harper joins her on the floor, and they begin sorting through their memories. I watch them work together and note how they fall into a rhythm that reveals years of friendship and shared experiences.
“My grandmother’s jewelry box.” Willa stands up and goes to her room. I follow as she retrieves a small wooden container from beneath an overturned dresser. The lid has been splintered, but the contents appear intact. “She left it to me when I was ten. It’s the only thing I have from my family.”
The quiet pain in her voice makes me want to hunt down every man who participated in this violation and make them pay for the damage in ways that can’t be calculated in dollars. “We’ll get everything that can be saved. Take your time.”
Harper looks up at me with suspicion she’s never bothered to hide. “What happens to her now? She can’t stay here obviously, but she can’t live in hiding forever either.”
“She’ll continue to stay with me until the situation is resolved.”
She huffs lightly. “When will that be? Next week? Next month? Next year?” She speaks with a protective edge. “How long before she gets her life back?”
The question is uncomfortable because I don’t have an answer that will satisfy Harper’s concerns or address Willa’s need for independence, because the truth is Mikhail won’t stop until he’s dead or I am. “As long as it takes,” I say finally.
Harper’s expression hardens at the non-answer. “That’s not good enough for someone who’s pregnant.”
“Harper,” Willa says quietly. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right. None of this is all right.” Harper gestures at the destruction surrounding us. “You shouldn’t have to choose between safety and freedom.”
I surprise her by nodding. “I agree, but right now, those are the only choices available.”
“Maybe for you, but not for her. She’s not part of your world by choice.”
“She’s part of my world because we’re having children together. That makes her part of it whether she chose it originally or not.”
Harper starts to say something else but then freezes. “Children?”
“Oh, I haven’t had a chance to tell you.” Willa digs in her bag and brings out an ultrasound image with babies A-G labeled. She hands it to her friend. “Can you guess what that means?” For a second, she’s excited and carefree, as though the last several minutes haven’t happened.
Harper squints and turns it different directions before counting aloud. “One…seven.” She looks stunned. “Is that seven babies, Willa?” My lover nods, and Harper doesn’t seem to know what to say. Finally, she asks, “How are we going to manage seven babies, Willa?”
“I have no idea.” Willa is smiling now though.
I’m a little irked that Harper included herself in the “we” before realizing we’ll appreciate the help when they’re here. I hope I can convince her not to hate me by then. “You can see why staying with me is her only option, I trust?”
The blunt truth silences Harper’s protests, though her expression makes clear she doesn’t like the reality any more than I do as she gives me a grudging nod.
After two hours of salvage work, we’ve managed to rescue maybe twenty percent of Willa’s and Harper’s possessions.
We salvage a few photo albums, some jewelry, and books that survived with minimal damage.
Everything else will need to be replaced or abandoned entirely.
“I can offer you a room at my estate,” I say to Harper as we prepare to leave. “The security would be comprehensive, and you’d be close to Willa.”
She firmly shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ll stick closer to my job and my sister. I have responsibilities that don’t revolve around your war.”