Nightfall came, and the town of Vyshgorod fell into complete silence. Alexsei hurried back to his cozy cabin, worries weighing heavy on his conscious – he feared for his life. Two months prior, Alexsei’s newlywed partner, Nastia, fell ill in the brutal frost of the Russian winter, and he had to take certain measures to ensure her survival. He had taken out loans with the local Russian mafia in order to pay for her treatment; thankfully, she recovered… but Alexsei was never able to repay his wife’s saviors. Nor did he reach out to the mafia to explain his financial shortcomings – he understood that they were unrelenting and did not make exceptions. So, Alexsei needed to protection in case the mafia grew impatient – he kept his old double barrel shotgun close by.
Alexsei twisted and turned beside Nastia, who was fast asleep – he couldn’t shake his anxiety. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom, when he jumped in his sheets at the sound of a loud metallic bang from the front of the cabin. Alexsei’s eyes darted to the bedroom door, and his feet began to quietly slip out from under the blankets. The springs of the bed let out groans and he planted his feet on the floor, bringing Nastia out of her slumber. She rubbed her eyes and placed a hand on Alexsei’s shoulder; he looked back at her and placed a finger on his lips. She became uneasy, confused by her husband’s tense behavior. She sat up in the bed, just in time to hear the front door of the cabin ominously squeak as it was pushed open.
Both stared at the bedroom door now, frozen by the creaks of the floorboards slowly increasing in volume. Eyes fixed, Alexsei reached for the shotgun by his bedside – he felt around the empty space until his fingertips met the weapon’s cold wooden butt. He lifted it up slowly and pushed it firmly against his chest -  pointed at the entrance – and carefully began to shift himself toward the foot of the bed.
Two slugs. The intruder steadily made his way up to the bedroom door, checking around the cabin for any movement. As he reached for the knob, a loose floorboard released a wretched moan under his boot – POW. A force had struck him through the door and thrown him down to the floor. One slug.
Horrified screams from the back of the room – Nastia panicked and jumped behing the bed, leaving Alexsei alone to progress toward the blown-out bedroom door. The infiltrator, in shock, heard the footsteps and frantically fired pistol rounds at the wreckage – seven shots, empty clip. Alexsei made sense of this and made a break for the man before he could gather himself. He swung the door open with his bare foot, and in front of him he laid, realizing his fate. POW, empty barrel.
Alexsei and Nastia fled Vyshgorod the same night, never to return; staying meant certain death by the mafia. Through the help of a friend living in the United States, the two were able to land themselves far away from Russia – New York. Two decades later, Alexsei – now Alex – and Nastia – now Natalie – lead a better life, but for their own sake, may never let their guard down. Even today, a shotgun stays close to the bedside.