“Mommy!” Alya runs to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Are the bad people here?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” I tell her; no point in lying. “But we’re going to be okay.”
“Where’s Viktor?” Oleg asks sharply.
“Holding them off,” Elena answers. “There’s at least a dozen of them. And Tatiana’s here. And—” She glances at the children, hesitating.
“Irina,” I finish quietly, watching Oleg’s face pale. “She’s with them.”
The name sends a ripple through the room. Lev and Nikolai exchange glances, their expressions unreadable. Alya’s grip on me tightens.
“Mama?” she whispers, the word barely audible.
My heart breaks for her—for all of them. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Oleg’s jaw works as he processes this information. “The panic room is secure. Double-reinforced steel, separate air supply. They can’t get in without the code.”
“Unless they already have it,” Julian points out grimly. “They got into the facility somehow.”
As if on cue, the panel beside the door beeps. Once. Twice. Someone is entering the code.
Oleg’s expression hardens. “Everyone back. Against the wall.”
He positions himself in front of the door, weapon raised. I push the children behind me, my own gun trained on the entrance.
The final beep sounds. The door slides open.
And there she stands—Irina Belova, the woman whose children now call me “Mommy,” whose husband’s baby grows inside me. Her smile is cold, triumphant.
“Hello, children,” she says softly. “Mama’s home.”
71
Bella
I’ve seen this scene before. The kind where the mob boss’s enemies line up their captives, guns pointed, and the only sound is the ticking clock before the bullets fly. The kind where the girl who thought she was just collateral realizes she’s the main event.
Except this isn’t some late-night mafia flick. This is real. And I’m not some faceless extra. I’m the idiot who thought marrying Konstantin would protect everyone.
The panic room was supposed to be the safest place in the house—a vault with walls thick enough to withstand a small war. But they never tell you what to do when the enemy’s already inside.
They’ve bound our hands with zip ties, cinched cruelly tight. Anatoly, Yelena, Oleg, Julian, Lila, Elena, and I—lined up against the wall like firing squad victims. Only the childrenremain free, huddled together in the corner, guarded by masked men with automatic weapons.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I keep them closed, I can pretend it’s still a bad dream. But the zip ties bite into my wrists, the cold tile presses against my spine, and the whimpers from Lila in the corner are too real to ignore.
This is happening.
And I have no idea how we’re going to get out.
I open my eyes again and force myself to look at Alya.
She’s shaking, her little fists clenched so tight her knuckles are white. Tears streak down her cheeks, and her gaze is fixed on her mother—a ghost made flesh, standing beside Tatiana like they’re old friends. Lev and Nikolai press in closer to their sister, each of them a shield in their own way, eyes darting between Irina and Anatoly, trying to make sense of a world that just flipped inside out.
Irina’s gaze sweeps over them, cold and unreadable. Like she’s assessing a room full of strangers. Like they aren’t her kids at all.
“Did you really think I would let you steal everything from me?” Tatiana asks, circling Anatoly like a predator. Her voice is eerily calm, belying the rage I can see simmering beneath her polished surface. “After all these years? After everything I’ve endured?”
Anatoly sits ramrod straight despite his bound hands, his face a mask of cold dignity. “You’ve lost your mind, Tatiana.”
