LOGINFaina Green
The private jet touched down in New York just after ten at night. I could barely stay still in my seat. My heart was pounding—a mix of relief and longing that almost hurt physically.
“Easy, malen'kaya,” Heros murmured, squeezing my hand. “They’re fine. Your mother sent pictures two hours ago.”
Still, the moment the plane stopped, I was the first down the stairs. The armored car
Faina GreenThree days after the attack, the mansion still smelled of gunpowder and dried blood.Heros was stabilized in the makeshift infirmary room in the basement—alive, but weak, with three bullets removed and an infection that Noah monitored hour by hour. I barely left his side, but the hatred wouldn’t let me sleep. Olivier Lefèvre was no longer a name from the past. He was an open wound that needed to be cauterized.That early morning, we gathered everyone in the armored office. My father had brought two of his best men from Moscow. Luther projected everything we had gathered so far onto the large screen.“Olivier Lefèvre,” Luther began, his voice cold as steel. “47 years old. Born in Marseille, raised in Corsica. Officially, owner of a luxury
Faina GreenDarya stood frozen for long seconds that night, her body trembling with rage and pain. Then she dropped the suitcase to the floor with a dull thud and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door hard enough to make the chandelier shake.I stayed there in the middle of the hall, feeling my chest tight.I had just saved my daughter from a monster.And in the process, I had perhaps become one to her.The following years were the hardest of our lives.Michael’s death (officially declared a “disappearance”) left a deep wound in Darya. She spent months in silence, then in open rebellion. She screamed, cried, and locked herself in her room for days. There were nights when I slep
Faina GreenI couldn’t stop it.That same night, after my last confrontation with Darya, the boys acted.Yakov and Vasily didn’t ask for permission. They simply waited for Michael to leave her room one more time—almost two in the morning—grabbed him in the back corridor, and dragged him to the old shed behind the mansion, the same place where we stored old equipment and fuel for the armored vehicles.I only found out when Heros woke me, already dressed in black, his jaw locked.“They got him,” he said, his voice low. “Your sons.”My stomach dropped.“Where?”
Faina GreenI didn’t sleep that night.The images of the purple bruises on Darya’s pale skin wouldn’t leave my head. Each mark felt like a direct accusation against me — against us — for letting Michael into our home.By morning, I had already confronted my daughter three times.The first was right after breakfast. I pulled her into the office before she could go down for training.“Show me your arms, Darya.”She crossed her arms, stubborn, her green eyes blazing with anger.“Mom, stop it. I already told you it wasn’t him. It’s from the heavy training. I’m too pale and anything marks me.&rdqu
Faina GreenDarya had turned sixteen just over a month ago, and the mansion seemed smaller with each passing day. The air felt heavier. The walls are narrower. And the secret my daughter carried no longer fit inside her.I was in the kitchen alone, preparing breakfast for the quintuplets who were still sleeping, when Yakov and Vasily walked in. The two were sixteen now, almost identical to their father in height and posture, but with blue eyes and the same protective instinct I recognized in myself.They closed the door behind them. Neither smiled.“Mom…” Yakov began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “We need to talk to you.”Vasily glanced at his brother, then at me. His jaw was clenched.
Faina GreenThe following months passed in a blur of silent tension that only I seemed to feel with clarity.Darya was fifteen now. Fifteen years old, with a woman’s body beginning to take shape and the mind of a girl who still thought she could hide everything from me. I saw the small but impossible-to-ignore changes: the way she took longer to come down from her room after training, the phone she now kept face-down at all times, the smile that appeared on her face only when Michael entered the room.And the worst part: the way she was starting to lie.“It was just extra training, Mom,” she would say, her green eyes avoiding mine as she holstered her knife.And the lie was always the same — a phrase already memorized, one
Faina PetrovAndrey doesn’t share his father’s surname for reasons of cunning and security. My godfather wants his son to remain unlinked to him, preventing our enemies from using him as leverage. Just like my father did with me and my mother, always prioritizing the family’s protection.
I park in front of the next warehouse. The aged structure looks as discouraging as I feel. I get out, the cold New York air cutting my skin, but a sense of déjà vu follows me. The sound of my own suffering echoes in my mind: screams of denial and frustration.The scene repeats
Heros GreenThe chaos before us as we arrived at the school was a surreal spectacle. Police cars surrounded the area, their blue and red lights flashing hypnotically, casting shadows that danced on the walls. The air was thick with tension,
Faina PetrovFinally, we arrive at my father’s house. My heart races again, but this time it’s a dense mix of nervousness and excitement. As I get out of the car, the cold night air envelops me, bringing a familiar scent of pine







