Chapter 28
Tigran
The news travels faster than I expected.
Within hours of the last Federoff soldier falling silent, my phone starts ringing with calls from contacts across three states who’ve heard about the battle at our estate.
Word spreads through the criminal underworld with the efficiency of a well-oiled intelligence network, carrying details that become more dramatic with each retelling.
“Tigran, it’s Aden in Boston.” The first call comes while I’m coordinating with our surviving security team and emergency responders. “I’m hearing stories that sound too incredible to be true. Did your pregnant wife really kill Avgar Federoff herself?”
“She put the final shots in him to protect our children.” I see no point in diminishing what Zita accomplished. “She defended our family when it mattered most.”
“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 breaching the 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 easily enough, 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 camps labeled 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.”
“You shouldn’t be sorry.” I reach for her hand. “You protected our children and our future. That’s exactly what any good mother would do.”
“That’s not how people expect women to feel about killing someone.” Zita’s observation reveals she’s been thinking about social expectations and judgments. “They expect me to be haunted or damaged by the experience.”
“You’re not most women.” I bring her hand to my lips. “You’re someone who does what’s necessary to protect what matters most, and that’s one of the reasons I love you.”
“I feel powerful.” Zita’s admission carries wonder, like she’s discovering something new about herself. “For the first time since we got married, I feel like I have real agency in my own life.”
“You’ve always had agency,” I disagree gently, “But now you know you have it.”
“There’s a difference between having power and knowing you have it.” She shifts position to accommodate her pregnancy. “Today showed me I can shape what happens to us instead of just reacting to what other people do to us.”
The insight reveals how much she’s changed since our wedding day. The woman who once felt trapped by circumstances beyond her control has become someone who takes decisive action to create the outcomes she wants.
“What do you want to shape next?” I’m genuinely curious about her priorities now that the immediate threats have been eliminated.
“I want to shape how we raise our children.” Zita’s answer comes without hesitation. “I want to make sure they grow up knowing they have choices, and they’re not limited by other people’s expectations or traditions they didn’t choose.”
“What kind of choices?”
“Mostly, the choice to be involved in family business or pursue completely different paths. I want them to inherit opportunities, not obligations.”
“Even if that means they choose lives that involve the Bratva?” The question tests how far her thinking extends.
“I hope they choose lives that have nothing to do with the Bratva.” Zita’s response is immediate and certain. “I want them to have the freedom to build something entirely different if that’s what makes them happy.”
“What if they want to continue what we’ve started?” I explore the opposite scenario. “What if they choose to be part of transforming the family business into something legitimate?”
“Then we make sure they’re prepared for that choice too.” Zita’s pragmatism balances idealism with reality. “We give them the education and experience they need to make informed decisions about their futures.”
“You’re talking about raising children who are completely different from how we were raised.” I point out the magnitude of what she’s suggesting.
“I’m talking about breaking the cycle that trapped both of us.
” Her voice carries conviction. “Our children will never question if they’re valued for themselves or just for what they can provide to the family organization.
They’ll certainly never be saddled with a marriage contract they don’t want. ”
I nod. “It turned out well, but they should have choices. Do you really think we can give them that kind of childhood?”
“I think we can give them better than that.” She leans forward despite the limitations of her pregnancy. “We can give them love, security, and freedom that creates people who can change the world.”
“Six children who could change the world…” I repeat her words, testing how they sound.
“Six children who will definitely change our world.” She smiles with certainty. “They’ll inherit the best parts of what we’ve built and improve on everything else.”