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"Then Lev, Boris, and I will handle extraction," Damien interjects, a glint of battle-hardened excitement in his eyes.
"Gentlemen," I add, my mind racing ahead, anticipating the violence we're about to step into. “Whatever happens, make sure the women stay safe. My sister. My wife and the legacy she carries. Our child."
A protectiveness dawns in Ivan's eyes, a spark of familial protectiveness igniting. "We will bring her back, Boris. For you, for the family," he assures me with a firmness that somehow steadies the chaos within me.
"Thank you," I breathe out, the weight on my chest easing ever so slightly beneath the mantle of his support.
***
Fifteen minutes later, we close in on the Crescent Inn. Shadows drape over us like cloaks, the moon's silver gaze offering us little light.
"Keep it tight," I whisper, my eyes slicing through the darkness for any signs of movement, any glint of danger. Lev nods, his silhouette blending into the urban labyrinth as if he's part of the brick-and-mortar itself. Damien's gaze flickers toevery corner, calculating, always one step ahead. Ivan, steely and resolute, signals us forward with a subtle hand gesture.
We glide through the night, phantoms among the forgotten alleyways. I fear the traps lurking in the unseen, a spider's web spun by the Abatos family, itching to ensnare us. But tonight, we are an army and will not be caught unprepared.
"Tripwire," Damien breathes out, freezing inches from an almost invisible line stretched across our path. I nod, stepping over it with deliberate care, the others following suit.
The inn looms before us, its windows dark and uninviting. It looks almost abandoned. We slip inside after oiling the hinges. The door is silent as it opens—a testament to our meticulous planning. The hallway stretches before us, one we traverse with silent determination.
"Third door on the left," Lev mouths, and my pulse quickens. There’s some light beneath it.
We gather beside the door. I nod at Lev, and he kicks the door in with a fury that reflects my own raging heart. The room erupts into chaos, captors scrambling, reaching for weapons they'll never get to use.
"Robin!" I roar, my voice a storm unleashed as I scan the room. There, huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear and relief, is Robin—my Robin. Anoushka is beside her, fierce even in captivity, her spirit unbroken.
"Get down!" Damien commands, and they drop to the floor just as Ivan and his team distract the captors, unleashing hell on them. Shots ring out, sharp and deadly.
Damien, Lev, and I crawl on the floor to reach Anoushka and Robin without getting injured.
"Robin," I breathe again, my voice cracking with emotion as I rush to her side, lifting her gently into my arms. She clings to me, her body trembling against mine. Lev wraps an armaround Anoushka, pulling her close, a protective shield against the world.
By now, most of the Abatos family are dead or injured.
"Let's move," Ivan orders, and we're moving again, back into the shadows from where we came. We leave behind the stink of gunpowder and blood, carrying with us the precious cargo of family—reclaimed, restored.
My sister, wife, and child are safe, thank God.
We're halfway to the exit when a strangled cry slices through the adrenaline-pumped silence. My head snaps around, my gun up in an instant. Anoushka stumbles, crimson blooming on her dress, and the world narrows to the stark red against cream fabric.
"Anoushka!" Lev's shout is a raw wound in the night, his face ashen. The sight of her faltering, that vibrant life force dimming, hammers at my chest. She's always been the untouchable one, our wild spark. Not now, not her.
I look around and see the shooter dead on the floor, Ivan’s gun pointing at him. “Go see if there are others we need to capture,” Ivan shouts at his men. They disperse while some watch guard over us.
Suddenly, a war breaks out. We’re being shot at through the windows. Ivan and his men begin to shoot back.
"Cover me!" I bellow, moving without thought, every instinct honed by years of protecting what's mine.
I drop to my knees beside her, hands already pressing down on the wound, staunching the flow as best I can. Blood seeps through my fingers, warm and wrong.
"Stay with me, Anoushka," I command, my voice desperate. She looks up at me, her eyes swimming with pain but still fighting, still sassy even with death knocking.
"Didn't know... you cared so much, big bro," she chokes out, a ghost of her usual grin flickering on her lips.
"Shut up and fight," I growl, and she nods, gritting her teeth. Lev's face is a mask of terror and fury, but he stays focused, guarding us with a vengeance born of blood.
"Robin," I snap, without looking away from Anoushka. "You okay?"
"Y-yes," Robin stutters, her voice trembling like a plucked string. "I'm fine, Boris."
