Page 82 of Triplet Babies
Valentin studies his phone screen, scrolling through satellite images and architectural plans. “The compound is forty minutes north of here. It’s a private estate with multiple buildings inheavily wooded area. There’s the main house, the guesthouse, a security building, a vehicle garage, and various other smaller buildings that probably aren’t relevant. They’re likely for storage or other purposes, like a pool house, but we can’t afford not to search them. We’ll need at least four men for the perimeter search to ensure those buildings don’t house nasty surprises.”
“Find me four more men. Pull them from the docks or wherever. Get Luco, the gardener, and the chef from the estate if you have to but get them there.” I head toward our vehicles, my team falling into step behind me. “We’re leave now, so bring everything we have.”
The drive through the Connecticut countryside passes in tense silence broken only by radio chatter as my men coordinate with additional teams. I sit in the passenger seat while Valentin drives, my mind focused on what we’ll face at the compound. Katya has had months to prepare for our retaliation and position her men. She’s also had hours to hurt Sarah in ways I don’t want to imagine.
She made one critical mistake. She assumed Sarah was just another obstacle to be eliminated, not understanding that touching her means declaring war on everything I am and everything I’m willing to do to protect what matters to me.
The Nikitin compound comes into view as we crest a hill. It’s a sprawling estate with multiple buildings connected by covered walkways, surrounded by thick woods that provide both concealment and tactical challenges.
I count at least six guards visible on the perimeter, which means more inside. They’re professionals using proper positioning, maintaining overlapping fields of fire, and surely have securecommunication lines. Katya has prepared for a siege, but she’s also made herself a target by concentrating her forces.
I turn to address my team, keeping my voice low but clear enough for everyone to hear. “Sarah is somewhere in that compound, probably in the guesthouse. Our objective is to get her out alive. Everything else is secondary.”
One of my men checks his weapon and adjusts his gear, his face grim with determination. “What about the guards?”
“Neutralize any threats but remember that some of them might be regular security who don’t know what Katya is really planning. Use judgment, but don’t hesitate if they’re shooting at you.”
We approach the compound from three directions, using the wooded terrain for cover and the darkness to mask our movements. The perimeter guards are well-trained but not expecting a coordinated assault from multiple vectors. We take them down quickly and quietly, advancing toward the guesthouse. Our back-up team, clearing the buildings around us, check in periodically to announce another building cleared.
Suddenly, the shooting starts. Muzzle flashes erupt from windows on the second floor of the main house as Leonid’s men open fire on our positions. We dive for cover behind trees and outbuildings, returning fire while pushing steadily forward through the gardens. I leave half my team to deal with the main house guards and take Valentin and the rest toward the guesthouse, where four guards wait.
I work my way around to the side of the guesthouse, using the ornamental gardens and decorative fountains for concealment. A guard appears at the corner of the building, weapon raisedand scanning for targets, but I’m faster. He drops silently, and I continue toward the back entrance.
Inside, the guesthouse is dark except for emergency lighting that casts everything in red shadows. It’s larger than it looked from the outside but still a smaller space to search than the main house. I move through corridors lined with expensive artwork, my weapon ready for any threat that might emerge from the shadows.
The sound of gunfire outside is muffled by the thick walls, but I hear my team advancing through the compound. Each exchange of shots brings them closer to the main house or the guesthouse, while each step I take brings me closer to Sarah and ending this nightmare.
The guesthouse has two stories, and I reach a staircase leading to the upper floor and start climbing, testing each step for creaks that might give away my position. The house feels empty despite the guards we encountered outside, like most of the defending force is concentrated in specific areas.
That’s when the attack comes.
A figure lunges at me from the shadows at the top of the stairs. He’s a Nikitin guard, who’s been waiting in ambush. We crash into the wall, both fighting for control of our weapons in a deadly dance of violence and desperation.
He’s younger than me and strong, with the desperate energy of someone fighting for his life. He slams his fist into my ribs, driving the air from my lungs, and I taste blood where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.
I’ve been fighting longer, and I know how to use desperation as a weapon. I drive my knee into his solar plexus, then bring myelbow down on the back of his neck when he doubles over. He collapses, unconscious but alive.
I continue down the hallway, noting the expensive carpet that muffles my footsteps and the oil paintings that watch my progress with painted eyes. At the end of the corridor, light spills from beneath a heavy wooden door.
Sarah is behind that door. I can feel it with absolute certainty. I have to save the woman I love or lose her forever.
27
Sarah
The bedroom where Katya has imprisoned me feels like a medical facility stripped of all warmth. White walls stretch up to a coffered ceiling, white furniture is arranged with geometric precision, and there are white sheets on the bed I haven’t been allowed to use. Even the single window has been covered with white plantation blinds onto the white wooden floor.
I sit tied to a hard-backed chair—white, of course—in the center of the room, my wrists bound tightly behind me with the same rough rope Alex used when I was unconscious that’s already rubbed my skin raw. Each small movement sends sharp pains up my arms, and my shoulders ache from being pulled back at an unnatural angle for what feels like hours. There’s a dull throb in my skull that feels like a hangover and is probably from whatever sedation Alex used on me.
She paces in front of me like a caged predator, heels creating a steady rhythm that sounds like a metronome counting down tomy execution. She’s changed into a different outfit since I last saw her or just removed the cream coat. Maybe she was always wearing a sleek black dress that hugs her figure and makes her look like she’s attending a funeral. Mine, probably.
Each step she takes is precise, with her hands clasped behind her back in a pose that would look elegant if not for the cold fury in her pale blue eyes. She moves like a dancer, all controlled grace and deadly purpose, and I track her movements with the desperate attention of prey watching a hunter.
She stops pacing and turns to face me, her expression shifting to something that might pass for conversational if you didn’t look too closely at the pure rage lurking behind her composed façade. “I suppose you’re wondering why I went to all this trouble.”
I don’t respond. The duct tape across my mouth makes speech impossible anyway, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing fear even if I could talk. Instead, I meet her gaze steadily, trying to project confidence I don’t feel.
Katya resumes her pacing, her voice taking on the tone of a professor delivering a lecture to a particularly slow student. “Roman was so easy to manipulate due to his obsession with you, and all that desperate need to possess what he’d lost. I barely had to suggest ways he could get close to Yarik’s organization.”
