Page 73 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
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Tigran
Close to dawn, Viktor bursts into my office, where I’m already working, without knocking, his face grim and his weapon already drawn. “They’re here with multiple vehicles and heavy artillery. We have maybe two minutes before they reach the main gate.” He looks solemn and angry at the same time. “I intercepted a call from Boris, one of the groundskeepers, providing intel to make this possible.”
My stomach twists. At least now we know who the other traitor was. “What did you do with him?”
“I shot him.” Viktor shows no remorse, and I wouldn’t expect him to when Boris was putting our family in danger from his betrayal. He seemed solid, having been with my father as his groundskeeper, so we’d naturally transitioned him here when he passed the newest rounds of background checks. It angers me to have another traitor in our midst, but now isn’t the time to focus on it.
The attack I’ve been waiting for and dreading has finally arrived, but not with enough advance warning. It comes in the form of an immediate, overwhelming threat bearing down on our home while Zita sleeps upstairs, six months pregnant and completely vulnerable.
“How many vehicles are we looking at?” I’m already moving toward the weapons cabinet, muscle memory taking over while I process the tactical nightmare we’re facing.
“There are at least twenty vehicles with military-grade equipment, including what looks like an armored tank.” Viktor’s assessment is clipped and professional. “They’re not planning to leave survivors this time.”
An armored tank means Avgar has brought enough firepower to level the entire estate, which tells me he’s not interested in kidnapping or negotiation. This is total war designed to eliminate the Belsky bloodline permanently.
“Wake everyone and get them to full defensive positions.” I pull out my personal armament while Viktor coordinates with our security team through his radio. “I’m getting Zita to the panic room immediately.”
I take the stairs three at a time, my heart hammering with urgency that has nothing to do with physical exertion. Every second we waste gives the Federoffs more time to position their assault teams and find weaknesses in our defenses.
The bedroom door flies open under my hand, and Zita jerks awake instantly, her reflexes sharp despite the deep sleep pregnancy demands from her body. “What’s happening?” She’s already sitting up in bed, reading the danger in my expression with the intelligence that first attracted me to her.
“Federoff assault team has arrived with heavy weapons. We need to get you to the safe room immediately.” I move to help her out of bed, noting how her expanded belly makes even simple movements slow and awkward. “They’ve brought military equipment including a tank.”
“A tank?” Her mouth hangs open for a moment. “We never planned for anything like that when we were discussing strategy.”
I nod grimly. “I’m aware. He must have called in every favor anyone owes him to make this happen.”
She’s suddenly pale as she steadies herself. It could be from the change in position or panic. “How much time do we have before they breach the perimeter?”
“Maybe ninety seconds but possibly less if they move faster than our intelligence suggests.” I guide her toward the hidden entrance to the panic room, my hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through my system. “The safe room can sustain you for weeks if necessary, and the communications have a backup system even if Avgar takes out the power and the main network.”
The explosion that cuts me off is deafening, shaking the entire house so violently that Zita stumbles, and I have to catch her before she falls. The tank shell hits the section of house directly above the panic room, and debris rains down from the ceiling while Viktor’s voice shouts commands through my radio.
“The panic room!” Zita stares at where chunks of ceiling and twisted metal now block the hidden entrance completely. “They destroyed it.”
I check what I can see of the access area, and the destruction confirms my worst fears. The tank shell didn’t just hit the panic room. It obliterated the entire structural framework around it, making access impossible even if the room itself survived. Since the tank is still spitting out shells at various other points to breach the house, I can’t be sure he knew the location of the room and deliberately targeted it, or if he got a lucky shot.
“The entrance is completely blocked, and the structural damage makes it too dangerous to even attempt.” I turn back to Zita, who’s staring at the wreckage with wide eyes. “We’ll have to keep you with us and hope our defensive positions hold.”
“I don’t want to slow you down when you’re trying to fight for our lives.” She moves toward the closet where I keep emergency equipment, her movements careful but determined despite her condition. “What do you need me to do?”
“You need to stay behind cover and out of the line of fire while we handle the assault.” I pull out a spare bulletproof vest. “This vest is oversized because it was designed for me, but it’s the best protection we have.”
“I still remember the basics of how to shoot a gun from when Papa’s security team trained me years ago.” Zita struggles to put the vest on over her expanded belly, her movements clumsy but competent. “Plus the refresher training you made me do before the bed rest started.”
“That refresher course was months ago, and you haven’t touched a weapon since you’ve been confined to bed.” I help her adjust the straps while cursing the impossible situation that forces a pregnant woman into a combat zone. The vest is oversized, but the straps aren’t quite long enough. I expand them to the max and barely manage to latch them. It will have to do. At least itcovers her torso and belly reasonably well. “You’re going to stay in the most protected position we can find and only shoot if someone gets past every one of my men.”
“I understand the situation completely.” She accepts the pistol I hand her, checking the weapon with movements that show she remembers the fundamentals despite her obvious limitations. “I won’t take any unnecessary risks that could endanger the babies.”
The sound of automatic weapons fire erupts from the main floor, indicating the assault team has breached our perimeter defenses. Viktor’s voice crackles through my radio with updates on positions and casualties as our men fall back through the defensive positions we established months ago.
“There are multiple breach points on the ground floor with coordinated assault teams.” Viktor’s report maintains professionalism despite the chaos I can hear behind his voice. “They’re advancing with through both the east and west corridors simultaneously. I think they have some ex-Spetsnaz among the fighters.”
I grimace at that. Perhaps Avgar hasn’t burned every bridge in Moscow after all. “Fall back to the stairwell choke points and make them pay for every step they take.” I check my weapon while positioning Zita behind the heaviest furniture that can provide cover from multiple angles. “Don’t let them establish any foothold on the upper floors if you can. The panic room is blocked.”
He curses in Russian, obviously understanding that means Zita isn’t safe as we’d planned for her to be when we ran all the various scenarios. “Copy that. We’ll hold the line as long as ammunition and manpower allow.”
