Page 77 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“Jesus Christ.” Aden’s voice carries a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “The whole East Coast is talking about it. They’re saying she’s more dangerous than half the men in this business.”
“They’re right,” I say, ending the call moments later.
The first priority after confirming Avgar’s death was accounting for our people. The final tally is sobering. We lost Viktor and six other men during the assault, brave soldiers who died protecting what we’d built. Viktor’s body was found near the eastern stairwell, where he’d made his last stand against overwhelming odds before Avgar’s men overran his position.
“Sir?” Dmitri approaches with the grim efficiency that will make him an adequate replacement for Viktor. “We’ve completed the initial sweep. There are no surviving Federoff personnel on the grounds.”
I nod while reviewing the intelligence reports that accumulated during the battle. Viktor’s death leaves a significant gap in our organization, but Dmitri has proven himself capable during this crisis. “Status on the cleanup operation?”
“Chicago PD is maintaining a perimeter while federal investigators process the scene.” Dmitri’s assessment reveals the careful coordination required to manage the aftermath. “In the meantime, the other families are already requesting meetings to discuss what happened.”
“Meetings about what?” I start reviewing the requests he forwards to my email while noting how carefully worded they are. They’re all formal invitations rather than demands or challenges.
He answers even as I’m reading them. “Mostly, they’re peace negotiations or mutual respect agreements. They want to make sure they’re not seen as threats to your family.” Dmitri’s assessment is accurate and telling. “They’re afraid of what happened to the Federoffs happening to them.”
The shift in tone from other families is remarkable. Nine months ago, when I first inherited leadership of the Bratva, they viewed me with skepticism about whether I could maintain the power Nicky had built. Now, they’re treating our victory as evidence of strength that makes challenging us too dangerous to consider.
“Schedule the meetings.” I continue looking through reports about Federoff assets that need to be secured. “Make it clear we’re interested in stability, not expansion. We want peace with families that respect our boundaries.”
“What about the families that don’t respect boundaries?” Dmitri’s question gets to the heart of future policy.
“They’ll learn the same lesson the Federoffs learned.” I close the asset reports with a grim smile. “First, we’ll give them the opportunity to choose cooperation over losing everything they ever worked for.”
The afternoon brings a steady stream of intelligence updates about how the morning’s battle is being interpreted throughout the criminal landscape. The consensus seems to be that the Belsky organization has evolved into something unprecedented, becoming a family unit where both husband and wife are formidable in their own right.
“There’s something else you should know.” Dmitri’s tone suggests he’s saved significant information for last. “The Chicago police are officially classifying yesterday’s events as a home invasion that resulted in justifiable homicide.”
“How did that happen?” I’m genuinely curious about the legal maneuvering required to reach that conclusion.
“Dr. Kozlova’s testimony about the threats to Zita’s pregnancy, combined with security footage showing armed men breachingthe property, created a narrative that fits self-defense statutes.” Dmitri’s explanation reveals careful coordination between multiple parties. “The district attorney’s office seems more interested in closing the case quickly than investigating the complexities. A campaign contribution to the right judge sealed the deal.”
The legal resolution removes another layer of uncertainty from our future. We won’t be dealing with criminal charges related to defending our home and family. “What about media coverage?” The battle involved enough gunfire to attract attention from news outlets.
“Carefully managed. The story being reported focuses on a wealthy businessman defending his pregnant wife from armed intruders.” Dmitri hands me newspaper clippings that frame the incident in terms the public can understand. “No mention of organized crime or family conflicts, and we’ve kept Zita’s involvement with the shootings out of it so far as well.”
The sanitized version of events protects our privacy while reinforcing the narrative that we’re victims who successfully defended ourselves. One story heavily implies the men came to kidnap Zita, assuming her fragile medical state would prod me to pay quickly. It’s a story that generates sympathy rather than suspicion.
After everything dies down, we leave the house and check into a nearby hotel. While Zita rests, I spend the evening reviewing architectural plans for properties that could serve as our new primary residence. The Lake Forest estate served its purpose, but it will always carry the memory of today’s violence, and it will take months to make it habitable again. The NICU and obstetrics suite can be transferred to a new residence easilyenough, and our children deserve to grow up somewhere that represents hope rather than conflict.
The property I’m most interested in sits on sixty acres in Wisconsin. It’s far enough from Chicago to provide genuine privacy but close enough to maintain business operations, especially since I plan to work mostly from home once the babies are born. The main house has ten bedrooms, which will accommodate six children plus guest quarters for family and staff. The grounds include a private lake, swimming pool, stables, and enough open space for children to play safely.
More importantly, the property includes a private airstrip that would allow us to travel without relying on commercial airports or public transportation. Six children will require security measures that standard travel arrangements can’t provide.
“You’re planning for the long term.” Zita’s voice comes from the doorway of the bedroom in the suite, indicating she’s having trouble sleeping. At six months pregnant, her movement is careful and deliberate, but she was uninjured during the siege.
“I’m planning for our children’s future.” I clear space on the hotel’s basic desk so she can see the property layouts. “We need somewhere they can grow up knowing they’re safe and loved.”
“I’d also like somewhere that doesn’t have bullet holes in the walls.” Zita settles into the chair beside my desk, resting her hand protectively over her expanded belly. “Maybe somewhere we can build memories that aren’t connected to violence.”
“Exactly.” I point to areas of the Wisconsin property that would be perfect for playground equipment and chicken coops, remembering the time I spent caring for chickens as one of my duties at the first of three Russian military training campslabeled as schools, where Nicky sent me within months of murdering my mother. “They need somewhere they can just be children.”
The conversation continues for over an hour as we dream about our future with the kids, covering everything from names to educational philosophies to the childhood experiences we want to provide. It’s the most normal, domestic discussion we’ve ever had, and it feels like a luxury after months of focusing on survival and security.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Zita’s tone shifts to something more serious. “About how I feel about what happened this morning.”
“What about it?” I can see she’s choosing her words carefully.
“I’m not sorry I killed Avgar.” Her statement is direct and uncompromising. “I’m not traumatized or conflicted or struggling with guilt about taking his life.”
