Page 29 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
The ambush is total, clinical, the kind of slaughter you only get when the enemy knows your every move.
Chris has the playbook. He’s waited for us, every piece in position, every angle covered. It’s not luck. It’s not even just skill. It’s knowledge. He knew exactly where we’d be and when. Someone gave him the script.
Oleg goes down first—three rounds to the chest as he scrambles from the lead vehicle, blood fanning out over the white lines in the road.
Anton drags him behind the car, then takes a bullet to the leg before he even hits the ground. In the rear, Lui’s team pushes up the alley, but a grenade arcs overhead and explodes, flinging two men backwards like broken dolls.
Alexei and I are pinned behind the SUV, hearts pounding, lungs burning with every shallow breath. My gun is warm, almost empty.
I slam in a fresh magazine and risk a look around the tire. A dozen of Chris’s men are sweeping forward, rifles at their shoulders, faces painted with grim determination. I see Chris himself, grinning under the awning, his suit immaculate. He lifts a pistol and fires twice, the rounds pinging off our cover.
Rage boils through me, raw and dangerous. There’s only one way this could’ve happened. Only one person who knew the exact details, who could’ve given Chris every detail he needed to build this trap.
I can’t let myself think about her. Not now. Not while my men are bleeding out on the pavement and death is stalking every shadow.
“Ammo?” I grunt to Alexei, ducking low as another burst of gunfire tears through the car.
He checks his pockets, hands shaking. “One mag left. Maybe twenty rounds.”
“Make ’em count.” I grit my teeth, searching for an opening. The alley is closing in. We’re boxed, surrounded. Thesirens are closer now, a distant scream promising salvation or another kind of execution.
Another grenade lands near Anton’s group, sending a shower of debris across the tarmac. Lui yells over the radio, voice raw with desperation. “Boss! We can’t hold! They’re everywhere!”
I press the mic, words tight and clipped. “Fall back if you can. Regroup at the fire exit. Anyone who can walk, move now. No heroes.”
Shots crack past my head, tearing holes in the SUV’s door. The metal groans. The engine coughs and dies. I duck again, heart hammering in my throat, sweat stinging my eyes. I think of all the men we’re losing—Oleg, Anton, half a dozen others. Friends. Brothers. I taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.
Alexei nudges me, pointing to a fire escape just above the alley. “If we move now, we can make it.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus. The plan is gone. Survival is all that’s left.
We go together, covering each other as we sprint across the blood-slick street. Bullets chase us, chewing up the brick, sparking off metal. Alexei stumbles, grunting as a round grazes his arm, but he keeps moving. I empty my pistol in the direction of the shooters, just enough to buy us a second.
We reach the ladder, breathless. I haul Alexei up first, pushing him ahead of me as more shots slam into the rungs. Blood drips from his sleeve, painting streaks on the metal. I climb after, muscles burning, lungs screaming for air.
At the top, we duck onto the rooftop, hearts racing. The gunfire fades below, replaced by the rush of wind and the distantwail of police. I press my back to the wall, chest heaving, mind spinning. We’re alive. Barely.
Alexei leans against the brick, pale and sweating. “He knew, Markian. He fucking knew.”
I don’t answer. Not at first. I stare out over the city, rain streaming down my face, the lights blurred and distant. I can’t stop replaying the details in my head. The timing is too perfect. Someone betrayed us.
And the only person who knew the plan—the only person I trusted with the details I never share—was the girl who haunts my every thought.
Jessa.
For a second, the world goes silent. No gunfire, no rain, just the crushing realization that she’s the reason half my crew is dead or dying in the street. The girl I’ve held, fucked, comforted. The girl I let too close.
Alexei looks at me, jaw tight. “You know who did this?”
My hands tremble. “Not now,” I mutter. “We need to get out first.”
He studies me, seeing more than I’d like, but nods. “We move on your mark.”
I try to focus on the next step. Survival. Escape. Revenge. In the back of my mind, her face won’t let go—soft, hopeful, too innocent for this world. I want to believe she was scared. That she didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But fear is a luxury. In this world, mistakes get people killed.
We slip away across the rooftops, hearts pounding, pain and fury burning in every step.
I know, even as we disappear into the city, that this war just got personal. And when I see her again—when I find out the truth—there won’t be any more mercy.
