Page 80 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“Your men are walking into crossfires designed by someone who knows their every tactical preference.” He laughs with bitter satisfaction. “Timur trained with the same instructors I did. His methods are predictable to anyone who understands military doctrine.”
The basement erupts in gunfire as multiple figures crash through the stairwell entrance, muzzle flashes strobing through shadows while tactical gear clashes in deadly choreography. I can’t tell if the advancing figures are a rescue or execution squad until familiar voices cut through the chaos.
“Contact front.” Timur’s voice carries over automatic weapons fire as our assault team engages Mikhail’s guards in brutal close-quarters combat. He catches sight of Willa seated in front of Mikhail like a shield and shouts, “Hostage behind the pillar! Adjust your fire to avoid her.”
I dive away from the guards behind me as bullets fill the air, their attention divided between containing me and engaging the new threats pouring into the basement. Concrete chips explode around my position while I search for cover among the support pillars, and a bullet grazes my shoulder, but I temporarily ignore the pain.
Mikhail maintains his position behind Willa’s chair, using her body as a shield while his remaining men try to establish defensive positions against Timur’s assault. The tactical situation deteriorates into chaos, where anything could happen to the woman I love.
“Drop your weapons!” Mikhail’s voice cuts through the gunfire. “Drop them now, or she dies before anyone can stop me.”
The basement falls into tense silence as our assault team weighs impossible choices between tactical success and civilian casualties. Willa’s life hangs in the balance while Mikhail exploits the leverage he’s been planning to use since this confrontation began.
“You have ten seconds to decide.” He adjusts his aim to center the pistol against her temple instead of pointing it at her stomach. “Her death or your surrender. Choose wisely.”
I meet Willa’s gaze across the smoke-filled space and see something in her expression that suggests she’s not as helpless as she appears. Her bound hands move slightly behind the chair, testing restraints while possibly seeing details I can’t see from my position.
“Five seconds.” Mikhail’s finger moves from the trigger guard to the trigger while Timur’s team holds position with weapons trained on targets they can’t engage without risking the hostage.
Willa suddenly lurches forward, throwing her weight sideways to pull away from the gun’s trajectory. The chair tips as she rolls toward the floor, creating the opening we’ve been waiting for while Mikhail struggles to maintain control of his weapon.
There’s no time to see how she landed, but she was rolling toward the side, so I pray she was able to shield her stomach as I surge from cover. His shot goes wide, and I cross the distance between us in desperate strides while he attempts to regain his aim. My shoulder connects with his midsection in a crushing tackle that sends us both crashing through debris and broken furniture.
We grapple for control of his pistol in brutal hand-to-hand combat that will determine whether this nightmare ends in rescue or tragedy. His strength matches mine, fueled by years of grief and hatred that have consumed his life since his brother’s death. I hear my men engaging again now that Willa is clear, but I’m too focused on my fight to see how theirs progresses. With Timur in charge, I have little doubt he’ll overtake Mikhail’s men.
As we’re tussling, his gun goes off during our struggle, but the bullet strikes concrete instead of flesh as we roll across the basement floor. I drive my elbow into his ribs with force that cracks bone, but he responds by slamming his knee into my wounded shoulder from the earlier graze.
Agony explodes through my left side while black spots dance across my vision, but adrenaline keeps me fighting for control of the pistol that will decide our fate. Willa’s safety depends on ending this confrontation before Mikhail can regain any tactical advantage.
Since I can’t get the correct angle to shoot him with his own weapon, I manage to pin his gun hand against the floor while wrapping my other arm around his throat in a chokehold designed to cut off blood flow to his brain. His face turns red, then purple, as consciousness fades with each passing second.
“This is for threatening my family.” The words emerge through gritted teeth. “This is for every sleepless night you cost us.”
His struggles weaken as oxygen decreases, but I maintain pressure until his body goes completely limp beneath mine. Only when I’m certain he’ll never threaten anyone again do I release my grip and roll away from his corpse.
Silence fills the basement except for my ragged breathing and the sound of Willa crying with relief. I crawl toward her position and cut through the zip ties with my ceramic blade, freeing her wrists from restraints that have left angry red marks on her skin.
“Are you hurt?” She rolls out of the chair, tipped on its side, and I gather her into my arms while scanning for injuries or signs of trauma. “Did he hurt you or the babies?”
“I’m okay.” She melts against my chest with desperate relief. “Dehydrated and terrified, but okay. The babies are okay.”
I hold her carefully, mindful of her pregnancy while processing that we’re both alive when everything could have ended so differently. Her warmth and steady breathing anchor me to reality after hours of imagining worst-case scenarios. “I’m sorry you had to see that violence.” I stroke her hair while speaking softly. “I’m sorry you witnessed what I become when people threaten what’s mine.”
“Don’t apologize.” She pulls back to meet my gaze. “I understand now. I understand what drives you to extremes and why peaceful solutions aren’t always possible.”
Her acceptance soothes the fear inside. For months, I’ve worried she’d eventually see the darkness in my nature and reject the life we’re building together. Instead, she’s offering understanding. “You felt it too.” I study her face and see truth reflected in her expression. “When he threatened our children, you wanted to hurt him.”
“I wanted tokillhim.” The admission emerges with surprising intensity. “I’ve never experienced rage like that before, but sitting in this basement while he planned to torture you, killTimur, and murder our babies...” She shakes her head. “I understand you completely now.”
Timur appears beside us, tactical gear bloodied but expression relieved as he surveys the aftermath of our confrontation. “The compound is secure, and a medical team is standing by for immediate transport.”
I kiss Willa gently, tasting salty tears while trying to convey everything words can’t express. She’s witnessed the worst aspects of my world and chosen to embrace rather than flee from the reality of who I am.
“We need medical attention for you.” I help her stand while Timur coordinates our extraction. “There’s a doctor standing by to examine you and the babies after everything you’ve endured. I don’t want you to wait until we can get to Dr. Layton.”
“Oh…the gender results.” She retrieves a crumpled envelope from the floor where it fell during our struggle. “I wanted to share this with you as a peace offering after our fight this morning.”
The paper feels precious despite being stained with basement dust and marked by hours of captivity. My hands shake as I open it, and she pulls out the paper, identifying our babies’ letter designations and their genders. We read it together: