Page 75 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“West side movement,” Tigran calls back while taking aim through the doorway. “I see four advancing through the main hallway.”
What follows is the most intense firefight I’ve ever witnessed—of the two I’ve witnessed, counting the day in my dad’s office. The professional soldiers advance through our home while Tigran and Viktor coordinate their defense despite being outnumbered and outgunned. The confined space of the hallway works in our favor, creating chokepoints that prevent the Federoffs from using their numerical advantage effectively.
Tigran moves with lethal precision, every shot calculated and deliberate as he eliminates threats while maintaining cover. His training shows in the way he conserves ammunition, anticipates enemy movements, and how he protects both his own position and mine simultaneously.
“Reloading.” Viktor’s shout carries urgency as his position comes under heavy fire.
“I’ve got your cover.” Tigran increases his rate of fire, forcing the advancing soldiers to take cover while Viktor changes magazines.
Through the chaos and smoke, I catch glimpses of enemy soldiers advancing through the hallway, their movementsprofessional but hampered by the defensive advantages Tigran has established. Bodies fall on both sides, but our superior positioning and knowledge of the layout keep us alive despite overwhelming odds.
Then the gunfire from Viktor’s position stops abruptly.
“Viktor, report?” Tigran keys his radio while continuing to engage targets.
Static. No response.
“Viktor?”
More static, then a different voice comes through the radio. It’s older, accented, and carrying cold satisfaction. “Viktor is finished, Belsky. It’s just you and your pregnant wife now.”
Avgar Federoff’s voice through Viktor’s radio makes me tremble not just from fear but also rage. He’s killed Tigran’sSovietnikand now, he’s taunting us with it, trying to break my husband’s concentration before the final assault.
“You want me, Avgar?” Tigran’s voice carries deadly calm as he adjusts his position to cover both stairwell approaches alone. “Stop hiding behind your soldiers and come face me yourself.”
“Oh, I’m coming.” Avgar’s voice grows louder as he advances up the main staircase. “I’m bringing something special for your wife and those babies she’s carrying too.”
The threat against our children makes me vibrate with rage. This man isn’t just trying to kill us. He’s specifically targeting our unborn children, who’ve never done anything except grow inside me while we fought to build a future for them.
“He’s not just threatening us.” I keep my voice low enough that only Tigran can hear. “He’s threatening the babies specifically.”
“I know.” Tigran’s jaw tightens as he prepares for what’s coming. “Stay behind that cover no matter what happens. If he gets past me, you empty that magazine into him and don’t stop until he’s dead.”
“What if you?—”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He cuts off my question with absolute certainty. “We’re both walking out of this room, and our children are going to be born into a world where Avgar Federoff doesn’t exist.”
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway tells us the final confrontation is beginning. Through the doorway, I can see movement as Avgar advances with his remaining soldiers, their shadows dancing in the smoke and dim light filtering through our damaged home.
“Tigran Belsky!” Avgar’s voice carries the fanatic intensity of a man who sees this confrontation as the culmination of years of planning. “I’m going to kill your pregnant wife so you can get the full Belsky experience of watching a beloved spouse die, just like your father. Then I’ll execute you after you’ve suffered for a while.”
The graphic threat against me and our children pushes Tigran past any restraint he might have maintained. He steps into the doorway with his weapon raised, no longer concerned with defensive positioning but focused on eliminating the man who just threatened to murder his family.
“Come and try!” After a brief pause, he starts shooting at multiple targets simultaneously.
Avgar advances through the hallway with three remaining soldiers, their movements coordinated but desperate as they realize this assault isn’t going according to plan. Bodies fall on both sides as the confined space turns into a killing ground, where superior positioning matters more than superior numbers.
I watch in horror and fascination as Tigran fights like a man possessed, every shot designed to protect me and our children from people who want to destroy us. His movements are fluid and deadly, combining years of training with protective fury to create something terrifying and beautiful.
One soldier breaks through the defensive fire, advancing toward my position with his weapon trained on where I’m hidden. My training takes over despite months of inactivity and the awkwardness of my pregnancy. I rise from behind cover, my sight alignment automatic despite my shaking hands, and fire twice at center mass.
The recoil surprises me after so much time away from practice, but both shots land just beneath the edge of his chest plate—one in the lower abdomen, and the other near the femoral artery. He stumbles, drops his rifle, and collapses to the ground, bleeding out fast.
I stare at what I’ve done while adrenaline floods my system. I’ve never killed anyone before, but protecting my children from someone who wanted to murder them makes the choice feel inevitable rather than horrifying.
“Stay down,” Tigran shouts as another soldier tries to flank around his position.
I drop back behind cover as more gunfire erupts, the sound deafening in the confined space of our bedroom. Through the chaos, Avgar shouts orders to his remaining men, his voice carrying increasing desperation as his numerical advantage disappears.
