Chapter 7 #3
“The buyer has already paid. Transport is scheduled.” He tilted his head a fraction. “And with respect, Mrs. Baranov... this isn’t about what you want. If Mr. Baranov gives the order to sell, it happens.”
I looked past him.
The mother elephant had sensed the shift. Her ears flared wide, massive and imposing, her trunk curling tightly around her calf. The playful sway was gone. Her body had gone rigid, protective, ancient instincts awakening beneath thick gray skin.
The calf pressed against her side, suddenly silent.
My throat burned.
“I’m asking you,” I said softly, the words scraping past emotion I refused to show. “Not as his wife. As a human being.”
Petros studied me for a long moment.
Not unkindly.
But unmoved.
Then he shook his head once—decisive.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The decision isn’t mine.”
He turned back to his men.
“Prepare for transport.”
They moved immediately—ropes uncoiled, harnesses lifted, murmured commands exchanged with practiced ease.
The mother trumpeted.
Low. Long. Mournful.
The sound pierced straight through my chest.
The calf shifted nervously, trying to tuck himself further beneath her, his small body trembling against hers.
I stood there, frozen, my hands clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails bit into my palms. Every instinct screamed at me to stop it—to throw myself in front of them, to shout, to fight.
But I knew better.
I wasn’t powerful here.
All at once, the air shifted—subtle but unmistakable. I felt it before I understood it. And when I turned on instinct, my breath caught.
Ruslan was in view.
He walked down the winding stone path with the same lethal grace he’d carried through the rain last night—every step precise, every motion deliberate.
Pure white suit, crisp shirt beneath, top button undone, sleeves perfectly pressed.
The morning sun caught him just so, turning the fabric luminous, almost angelic. But the danger radiating off him was undeniable: a predator wrapped in light, a man capable of ending lives without hesitation, without remorse.
The elegance only made it more terrifying.
The four men behind Petros immediately dropped their heads, shoulders hunched, hands clasped behind their backs, as though daring to meet his gaze would cost them their lives.
Even Petros—usually steady, unshakable—stiffened, the corners of his mouth tightening imperceptibly.
Ruslan stopped a few paces away, stance relaxed but coiled, like a panther deciding whether to pounce.
His eyes—hidden behind dark sunglasses—glided over me, then the elephants, then the men. Each movement was a wordless command.
Silence stretched like a drawn wire between us.
“We were just about to transport the calf,” Petros said quickly, voice low, careful, respectful.
Ruslan didn’t answer immediately.
His head tilted slightly, as if assessing the mother and her calf with the patience of someone who has waited lifetimes for this moment.
The baby elephant tugged at its mother’s trunk, squealing in delight, oblivious to the storm about to erupt around them.
“Right,” Ruslan said at last, voice flat, cutting through the tension like a blade. “And what is my wife doing here?”
The question hung in the air, addressed to no one, directed at everyone, and loaded with an authority that silenced the morning itself.
I swallowed, throat raw, heart hammering in my chest. “They told me the baby already had a buyer who’d paid in full. I... I asked them not to sell it.”
Ruslan didn’t look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the calf, on the way it clumsily stomped toward its mother and wrapped its little trunk around hers.
“Why?” The word was quiet, almost casual, but beneath it was the weight of absolute expectation, of final judgment.
“Be-Because...” I forced the words past the knot in my throat, grounding my voice in conviction.
“I saw how bonded they are. The mother keeps t-teasing him with the sugarcane—hiding it, pretending to eat it, then bringing it back when he’s about to give up.
It’s... playful. Loving. Taking him away would break. .. break her heart.”
A low rumble echoed from the mother elephant’s chest, almost in response, a sound that vibrated through the ground and into my own ribs. I shivered, both from awe and fear.
“And...” I added, softer, almost timidly, “I’d like them to stay here.”
As if I had any right to like anything in this house. As if my words could carry any weight against the man who owned everything—land, wealth, power, and lives.
The men behind Petros remained statuesque, motionless, heads bowed, as though inhaling too sharply might shatter them.
Petros cleared his throat, careful not to let it echo too loudly. “Boss... should we proceed?”
Ruslan exhaled once, slow, deliberate, each breath measured like the release of a coiled spring.
The faintest pause stretched between the raindrops of yesterday and the sunlight of today. Then he spoke, voice low but unyielding, still watching the elephants as though they were more than mere animals—they were a testament, a puzzle, a final test.
“Refund the buyer. The baby elephant is no longer for sale.
The ripple of shock that passed through the group was immediate and electric.
One man’s head jerked up instinctively before he snapped it down. Another’s mouth opened slightly before shutting as if swallowing a curse.
Petros’s jaw actually dropped—an almost imperceptible flicker of disbelief—before he clenched it tight again, regaining control.
“Boss?” Petros ventured, cautious, every syllable weighed.
“Refund the buyer,” Ruslan repeated, this time colder, sharper, the words carved into the air like stone.
No discussion, no negotiation.
The authority behind them made it clear: compliance wasn’t optional. “The calf stays with its mother.”
The men exchanged stunned, fleeting glances. Petros recovered first, inclining his head with a deliberate snap. “Yes, sir.”
They moved almost in unison, ropes and harnesses abandoned, equipment lowered, all the while keeping eyes on him, expecting the command to shift at any second.
The air hummed with tension, a line drawn in silence that no one dared cross.
I remained frozen, my hands clenching at my sides, pulse hammering, watching the mother elephant nuzzle her calf as if she knew she had been granted mercy.
Ruslan finally looked at me.
Not the passing glance he’d given earlier—not the detached assessment he used on men who worked for him—but a full, deliberate turn of his head.
His sunglasses came off in one smooth motion, revealing eyes the color of storm clouds just before they break.
“And what,” he asked calmly, “makes you think you have any say over my property?”
The gentleness from moments ago evaporated.
Whatever indulgence he’d allowed himself—whatever softness had surfaced when he watched the elephants—was gone. His voice sharpened, edged with steel, each word measured and precise.
“That,” he continued, taking a step closer, “is the culture.”
Another step. Close enough now that I could feel the heat of him, smell clean soap and something darker beneath it. “I sell the calves. We’ve done it for generations in Greece. This land, these animals—everything here—exists because of that tradition.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the clearing, where the mother elephant stood rigid, trunk coiled protectively around her calf.
“Of all my elephants, I have a particular fondness for Luna,” he said, eyes fixed on the mother elephant. “That’s why I brought her to California. My farm is in Greece, but Luna...” His voice flattened, almost brittle. “...she’s used to losing her young.”
The words landed like a slap.
I didn’t know if he was explaining himself—or warning me not to cross him again.
Fear clawed its way up my spine, cold and insistent, but I forced myself to stay where I was. To hold his gaze. To not shrink.
“I find it...” I said quietly, choosing each word with care, “...hard to speak when I’m being shouted at. Or when memories surface. Or when violence erupts around me.”
His brow twitched—just slightly.
“I’m not shouting, Elena,” he replied evenly. “I haven’t raised my voice.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m just... s-saying.”
For a long moment, he studied me as if I were a foreign language he hadn’t decided whether to learn or destroy.
Then he exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
“I don’t intend to disrespect you in front of my men,” he said. “But understand this: the calf was meant to be sold. That was my decision.”
I took a small step forward before I could stop myself.
“Please don’t.”
His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in calculation.
“I watched you kill a man last night,” I said softly. “The therapist. The one who betrayed me. Who sold me to my aunt’s husband so he could violate me.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I saw the rage in you,” I said quietly. “The way you destroyed him.” My voice trembled despite my effort to keep it steady. “And even though violence terrifies me... seeing his body floating there was satisfying. He deserved it.”
Silence fell between us—heavy, dangerous.
“Do not mistake that,” Ruslan said at last, voice low, lethal, “for permission to interfere in my affairs. That restraint is how you live longer than I originally planned.”
He turned away from me, already walking back toward the house.
I didn’t let him go.
Three quick steps and I was beside him, my pace matching his despite the way my heart hammered in my chest.
“I’ve never been to Greece,” I said, voice low but unyielding. “I never met you before the altar. I never met your pregnant wife. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone.”
He didn’t slow.
“I have no reason to lie to you, Ruslan.”
Still nothing. His expression remained carved from stone.
“I won’t be punished for a crime I didn’t commit,” I pressed. “What evidence do you have—real evidence—that convinced you so completely I was the murderer?”
He stopped.
So abruptly I nearly collided with his back.
He turned.
“Apologies,” he said quietly.