Chapter 26 – Timofey
The explosion outside the mansion throws the entire Rusnak estate into chaos. There’s no gradual shift. No warning phase. Just impact.
Glass rattles somewhere deeper in the house. Distant alarms begin to scream into life. Footsteps multiply in every direction as trained men move on instinct, not instruction.
I don’t think. I act.
My hand finds Valeria first—pulling her behind me without hesitation. Like muscle memory. She doesn’t resist. She knows better than to waste movement right now.
My other hand is already lifting the comms.
“Misha,” I say sharply.
He answers immediately. “I’m here.”
“Lock down the perimeter gates,” I order. My voice is steady. Too steady for what just happened. “No openings. No delays.”
A pause—then immediate confirmation. “Done.”
“Snipers to the roofline. Full coverage angles. I want visual control of every approach route.”
“Moving.”
“Armored vehicles to the driveway entrance,” I continue. “Block entry and exit points. I don’t care if it slows movement inside the estate—containment comes first.”
Another confirmation. Faster this time. Everyone understands the shift now.
“Inner security teams,” I add, already turning slightly toward the corridor, “fallback positions inside the main house. No one operates alone. Two-man minimum.”
“Yes, sir,” Misha responds.
I lower the comms for half a second, scanning the movement already unfolding beyond the windows. Shapes shifting. Shadows reorganizing into structure. The estate tightening itself into something harder than it was five minutes ago.
Within minutes, the Rusnak estate stops being a residence.
It becomes a fortress.
Controlled access points. Layered defense lines. Eyes on every angle.
I turn to Valeria.
Even in the middle of this, I see something steady in her eyes. Determination. She doesn’t break under pressure; she sharpens.
Something in my chest loosens despite everything happening outside these walls. And then I lose control for a second. I pull her in and kiss her.
It happens fast, instinctive, like my body refuses to accept the distance between us while everything else is burning toward confrontation.
She responds immediately.
No hesitation. No restraint. She meets me exactly where I am.
A sound slips from her into my mouth—soft, breathless—and it sends something sharp through me. My grip tightens instinctively before I even realize it. Heat spikes, raw and distracting in a moment that cannot afford distraction.
Fuck.
It takes everything in me to pull back. Only because I have to.
I break the kiss and hold her there for a second longer than I should, forehead almost brushing hers as I steady my breathing.
“Valeria,” I mutter, voice lower than I intend, “you will be the death of me.”
She lets out a short laugh, even now. Even here.
“Don’t talk about death right now,” she says.
That almost makes me smile. Almost.
I shake my head once, grounding myself back into the room, back into the noise outside the walls, back into what’s coming.
“No one is dying today,” I say firmly. Not as reassurance. As truth. “I don’t care what Anton does.”
My hand finds hers briefly.
“I will protect you,” I continue, voice hardening, “and our child. Nothing else gets through that.”
She nods once.
Then she lets out a quiet breath and says, “Let’s go.”
I move before I even think about it.
My hand closes around her wrist, firm enough to stop her completely. She turns back to me, surprised by the force of it.
“Timofey?” she says, brows pulling together. “They need us out there. Move.”
“You’re staying here.”
Her eyes widen instantly.
“What? No.” She shakes her head, trying to pull free. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t let go.
“It’s too dangerous,” I say, my grip tightening just slightly—not to hurt her, but to make sure she understands I’m not negotiating. “This isn’t a controlled situation anymore.”
She glares at me, fire flashing immediately.
“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?” she snaps. “I am Valeria Petrova. Daughter of Fydor Petrov. I can hold my own.”
Damn.
Even now, with all the alarms blaring, men mobilizing, the entire estate on the edge of war, she looks so fucking hot.
But I force myself to stay focused.
“I know exactly who you are,” I say evenly.
She steps closer instead of backing down, her voice dropping but losing none of its force.
“Then act like it,” she fires back. “I’ve stood in situations like this before. I’ve fought my way out of worse.”
I hold her gaze. Don’t flinch. Don’t soften.
“This isn’t about whether you can fight,” I say. “It’s about whether you should.”
A beat.
“My child is inside you,” I add, quieter now—but heavier. “That changes everything.”
Her jaw tightens. I can see the conflict flash through her eyes, but it doesn’t weaken her. If anything, it makes her push harder.
“I’m not hiding while you’re out there risking your life,” she says. “I won’t stand here and wait to hear whether you come back or not.”
Something sharp twists in my chest at that.
I step closer, lowering my voice, forcing her to focus only on me.
“You won’t have to wonder,” I say. “Because I will come back. But I need to know you’re safe while I make sure of that.”
Silence stretches between us. Tense. Fragile.
She’s not convinced, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.
“I want to go out there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less certain. “I want to find Anton myself.”
Of course she does.
I lift my hands to her face, holding her there—making sure she looks at me. Then I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. Slow. Grounding.
“I promise you something,” I say.
Her eyes flicker, searching mine.
“I’ll bring him to you. He’s yours to kill.”
She blinks, like the words take a second to fully land. Like she’s measuring them, testing them for truth.
“Promise?” she asks.
“I promise.”
That’s all it takes.
The fight in her eyes doesn’t disappear, but it settles. Trust replaces resistance. I turn and head for the door, already shifting back into command, back into the war waiting just outside these walls.
She leans in and kisses me.
Softer this time.
When she pulls back, I don’t linger.
I can’t.
I turn and head for the door, already shifting back into command.
She grabs my arm again.
I stop.
Gunshots crack louder outside now—rapid, overlapping, too close. The estate is no longer just under attack. It’s fully engaged. Every second I stand here is a second I’m not out there controlling it.
But I still turn back.
Her eyes catch mine immediately. Earnest. Unsteady.
I take a slow breath, holding her gaze. Not deflecting. Not softening the truth this time.
“I promise,” I murmur. “I’ll come back.”
The words sit between us. Not something I say lightly. Not something I say just to calm her.
Something I intend to keep.
She studies me for a second longer. Then she nods. Once.
And lets go.
“Lock the door,” I tell her, my voice firm again. “Don’t open it for anyone.”
The door itself is reinforced—impenetrable. One of the safest places in the estate. Still, I need to hear her acknowledge it.
She nods again.
Only then do I turn and step out.
The moment I cross the threshold, everything changes.
It’s like walking into another world.
Smoke hangs thick in the air, curling through the courtyard in heavy waves. The sharp scent of gunpowder burns through my lungs instantly. Somewhere to the left, another shot cracks, close enough to echo off the stone walls of the estate.
Men are moving everywhere. Fast. Controlled chaos.
Shouts overlap—orders, warnings, confirmations.
“South wall—hold that line!”
“Sniper ready—target moving!”
“Get cover!”
I hurry down the stairs. One of the armored vehicles near the entrance is angled sideways, blocking part of the drive. Its surface is already marked with impact dents. The front gates, still standing but scorched. Tested.
Anton didn’t come quietly.
He came to break through.
I step fully into the courtyard, my senses sharpening instantly, locking into place. Every movement, every sound, every shadow gets processed and filed in seconds.
A man breaks through the smoke on my right, weapon already raised.
I don’t think.
I fire first.
The recoil snaps through my arm as the shot lands clean. He drops instantly, his body hitting the ground before the echo fades. I’m already moving.
“Push the east flank!” I bark into the comms, advancing through the haze. “Don’t let them regroup!”
“Copy!” Misha’s voice cuts back through the noise.
Gunfire erupts again—this time from the left. Two of Anton’s men try to advance behind a half-destroyed vehicle. I pivot, firing twice in quick succession. One goes down. The other stumbles back, wounded.
I close the distance.
Before he can recover, I grab him, slam him hard against the metal frame, and wrench the weapon from his grip. He gasps, disoriented—
“Where is he?” I demand.
He hesitates. Wrong move.
I drive my elbow into his throat. His body folds instantly. Useless.
I drop him and keep moving.
This isn’t a search anymore. It’s a hunt.
Smoke thickens toward the courtyard entrance. Something must have detonated near the outer wall. Flames lick along one of the side structures, casting everything in a violent orange glow. Shadows move through it—enemy silhouettes trying to reposition.
I move straight into them.
One lunges out, knife in hand this time. Too close for a clean shot. I catch his wrist mid-strike, twist hard, and feel the snap before he can even react. The knife drops. I drive it back into him without hesitation.
Another comes from behind.
I spin, firing once.
Silence follows for half a second.
Then more gunfire. Louder now. Closer.
“They’re pushing the west corridor!” I hear Lukyan shout. His presence surprises me. I didn’t think he was at the house when the attack happened. After the meeting we had earlier, the one Valeria crashed, I thought he’d left.
No time to question it.
“Hold the line!” I snap back, already moving in that direction. “No one gets past that point!”
I push through the courtyard, boots hitting concrete slick with dust and debris. Another man appears in my path. I fire without slowing. He drops. I step over him like he was never there.
The west corridor comes into view: narrower, tighter, a choke point. Good for defense. Worse if breached.
Two of my men are already down. Another is crouched behind a pillar, firing blindly into the advancing smoke.
I step in and take control.
“Fall back two steps,” I order sharply. “Don’t waste your shots. Pick them off when they show!”
Another figure rushes forward from the haze—reckless, exposed. I take him down instantly. Then another. Then another.
They just keep coming.
Too fast.
Too careless.
Bodies start piling near the corridor entrance. The ground becomes uneven beneath my feet—spent shells, fallen weapons, blood mixing into the cracks of the stone. The air is suffocating now. Hot. Loud. Violent.
And still—they keep pushing.
I fire again. And again. Efficient. Controlled. Precise.
But something feels…off.
It creeps in slowly at first. A small irritation at the back of my mind. Then it sharpens. Refuses to be ignored.
This isn’t right.
A prepared man doesn’t fight like this.
Not like animals. Not like they have nothing to lose.
Anton’s men are supposed to be trained. Structured. Calculated.
This is chaos.
Too aggressive. Too exposed. Too loud.
Almost like they want to be seen.
My movements slow just slightly—not physically, but mentally. I start watching differently. Not just reacting. Reading.
Another man charges forward—no cover, no strategy. I drop him instantly.
Why?
Why would Anton waste men like this?
A shot ricochets off the wall near my head. I duck, pivot, return fire—but my attention is no longer fully here. Not just here.
It clicks.
Not fully. Not yet. But enough to send something cold down my spine.
I slow—just for a fraction of a second—and scan the battlefield again. Not as a soldier now. As someone who knows the man behind this.
I’ve been fighting my way through them for almost an hour.
And I haven’t seen Anton once.
Not a glimpse. Not a signal. No movement that suggests command of his presence. Nothing.
That’s when it hits me.
Anton isn’t here.
My jaw tightens as the realization settles fully into place. I know him. He doesn’t show his hand like this. He doesn’t burn resources without purpose. This—everything happening out here—was never meant to win. It was meant to distract.
A cold dread spreads through my chest. Because if he’s not here…then he’s somewhere that matters more. My head turns slowly toward the mansion. Toward the reinforced door.
Toward my wife and child.
“No…” I mutter under my breath.
Everything inside me collapses instantly.
I turn and race back to the house.