— the girl whispered from behind, barely audible.
The girl turned and saw the child’s lips turning blue. Liza understood everything. Her eyes widened in terror, and her small hands clutched the blanket convulsively.
— They won’t take you, — Shura said firmly, though her own knees were trembling.
— Shurka, open up! — Uncle Vitya roared right by her ear, and the door shuddered from a powerful blow. — Come out the easy way, or I’ll break the door down!
With a strong pull, the men ripped the door off its hinges. The young defender leaned against the wardrobe. She knew that Liza would not survive this kidnapping. Her weak heart simply couldn’t withstand the cold and fear. But no matter how hard Shura tried, the wardrobe was slowly pushed aside under the relentless pressure, and she could already see the strained, red faces of those besieging the room.
There was no time to think. She grabbed a heavy bronze statuette from the dresser and stood directly in front of the bed, shielding the girl with her body. With a deafening crack, the wardrobe fell, and Uncle Vitya tumbled into the room, followed by his eldest son. They began to circle the bed from both sides, surrounding the girls.
— Alright, little one, playing house is over, — her uncle sneered, reaching his huge hands toward Liza.
— Don’t touch her!
Shura lunged at him with a fury she hadn’t known she possessed. She swung the statuette. Viktor recoiled in surprise.
— You little witch! Stepka, hold her! — the men lunged at the girl.
Shura resisted desperately, preventing them from getting to Liza, who was huddled on the bed. Stepan grabbed Shura, trying to pull her away. Uncle Vitya, having completely lost his self-control, stepped toward her.
— I’ll finish you right here! — he roared.
At that moment, when Shura’s strength was nearly gone and Liza was beginning to suffocate from terror, a noise came from downstairs. Someone had burst into the house. The space filled with shouts, the thud of many feet, and short commands:
— Everybody down! Police!
Men in uniform burst into the room. Uncle Vitya and Stepan were subdued in an instant. Right behind them, Kirill Borisovich ran into the nursery. His face was whiter than a sheet. He rushed to the bed, scooping up the unconscious Liza into his arms, and then turned to Shura. The girl was sitting on the floor, the sleeves of her sweater torn, but in her eyes still burned the fierce fire with which she had protected another’s child.
After the detainees were led away, the police remained in the house, documenting the damage and making an inventory. While they worked in the nursery, the family gathered in the living room. Galina Vasilyevna sat on the sofa. She was very pale and kept pressing a bag of frozen peas to her forehead. Her hands were trembling noticeably, but when she saw the girls, relief and joy flickered in her eyes.
— Alive, thank God, alive, — the housekeeper whispered.
Kirill Borisovich stood by the window, breathing heavily. His jacket was unbuttoned, his tie askew. He slowly turned to Shura, his gaze full of suspicion.
— How did they find the address?
