5. Ruslan
5
RUSLAN
"You look like shit, Ruslan Vitalyevich," Potyomkin says when I sit down across from him.
I flip him the middle finger, not bothering with pleasantries. "Where the fuck is my wife?"
My shoulder throbs where the bullets tore through flesh and muscle. The private jet ride was brutal. Every pocket of turbulence sent fresh waves of agony through my body.
The painkillers are wearing off, and I can feel fever threatening at the edges of my consciousness.
Potyomkin's lips curl into something between a smile and a sneer as he crosses his office. Without asking, he pours amber liquid into two crystal tumblers, and sets them down on the desk. Then, he takes one more look at me, and brings the bottle as well.
"Your wife is safe. She's spending time with Vera." He slides one glass toward me. "Drink. You look like you need it."
I down the whiskey in one burning gulp. The alcohol burns in my empty stomach like fire, but the relief it brings to the pain is immediate.
"Your wife is quite extraordinary." Potyomkin looks at his glass before he takes a sip. "She managed to secure a deal that is rather detrimental to me."
Pride swells in my chest despite everything. My zarechka outmaneuvering a pakhan?
"What deal?"
"My men." Potyomkin shrugs. "For your guns.
"Sounds like a standard agreement to me, Slava."
"There's more." Potyomkin drains his glass before slamming it down on his desk.
"Is that so?"
Potyomkin's jaw clenches. "She demanded that my Vera come with her as well."
"Aurora has a soft spot for girls forced to marry monsters." I can't help but laugh, even though the movement sends pain radiating through my chest. "Just how did she negotiate such a deal from you, you old bastard?"
"She has an eye for detail."
"That she does."
"She noticed one of my men had Mikonov tattoos. Threatened to expose me to Gregor. And when I tried to threaten her back, she told me that she had nothing left to lose. Told me that if I killed her, your production company goes to your nieces, which means it goes to Semyon."
The laughter disappears from my face when I hear that he threatened Aurora. "I don't take kindly to men who threaten my wife."
"Oh I'm aware." Potyomkin waves his hand lazily at me. "Would you expect me to react differently if you did the same to my Vera?"
"No," I admit.
"Precisely." He smiles and refills both our glasses. "So, I agreed, and here we are."
The moment of levity passes quickly.
"Why do you have Mikonov men working for you, Slava?"
"I own a casino, Ruslan Vitalyevich." Potyomkin shrugs. "I like holding all the cards. I like hedging my bets. You and I both know the Vori are falling apart. I was trying to secure my future."
"Until Aurora ruined it," I say, satisfaction warming me more than the whiskey.
Potyomkin's face tightens with reluctant respect. "Until Aurora ruined it."
"But you'll still honor the deal you made with her?" I ask.
Potyomkin nods, his face an unreadable mask. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Semyon's men working for me isn't just a hedge. It's..." His voice trails off, and for the first time, I see a crack in his infamous composure.
"It's what?"
"It's a threat." His voice hardens. "Semyon is putting pressure on me, same as the Vori . The Triads want a piece of Vegas money, and Mikonov men serve as a constant reminder that Semyon's reach is just as long as Gregor's."
I watch as his fingers tighten around the glass. "I see how his men look at Vera. I know if Semyon turns on me, she won't be safe." His voice drops. "Especially now that she's three months pregnant."
I raise an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to congratulate you?"
"No." Potyomkin gives me a look that's almost vulnerable. "But things change when you're about to become a father. You start caring about things you never gave a shit about before."
"Since when do you care about anything but money and power?"
He swirls the whiskey in his glass. "Before I married Vera, I believed wives were only for children."
"Your wife was nineteen when you married her," I mutter, unable to keep the disgust from my voice. "Practically a child herself."
Potyomkin's eyes flash. "I married Vera to keep her safe from the rest of the fucking Vori after her family was murdered. I didn't touch her until she asked me to." His nostrils flare. "You think I'm a monster, Ruslan, but this monster has lines that I won't cross. Never forget that."
I remain silent, unconvinced.
"Part of why I agreed to your wife's deal was because I could see how much she loves you." Something softens in Potyomkin's harsh features. "She told me if you were dead, she had nothing left to lose. That's a powerful thing. Love. And it's something we've forgotten in our world."
At the mention of love, my throat tightens. Guilt floods me like poison seeping into an open wound. I take another drink, wincing as the burn matches the fire in my shoulder.
"I almost lost her forever," I confess, my voice hoarse. "Because I couldn't protect her."
Potyomkin refills my glass without comment.
"You know what keeps running through my mind?" I look up at him, my vision blurring slightly. "What if Artyom hadn't found me in time? What if you hadn't been there to save her in time?"
"Don't torture yourself with what-ifs and what-might-have-beens," Potyomkin says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "What matters is that Aurora is alive. She's safe. And whatever you think you've done wrong, she still loves you enough to risk everything to protect your family."
I drain my glass again, the alcohol no longer helping with the pain.
"Where is she?" I ask.
"She's in the guest room."
I push myself up from the chair, immediately regretting the sudden movement when pain rips through my shoulder and chest. The room tilts dangerously, and I grab the edge of the desk to steady myself.
"Fuck," I hiss through clenched teeth.
Potyomkin presses a button on his desk. "Shura!"
A tall, lean man appears almost instantly. "Yes, Vyacheslav Petrovich?"
"Escort Ruslan Vitalyevich to the guest room. And have someone bring medical supplies. He's bleeding through his bandages, and I don't want him to make a mess all over my floors."
Shura nods, stepping forward to support my weight.
"Go," Potyomkin says to me. "Your wife is waiting."
I lean heavily on Shura as we navigate the hallways of Potyomkin's penthouse. Each step sends fresh agony through my shoulder, and I can feel warm blood seeping through my bandages.
"Almost there, Ruslan Vitalyevich," Shura murmurs, supporting my weight as if I'm nothing more than a child.
We stop before an ornate door. My heart hammers against my ribs. I raise my good arm and knock, my knuckles barely tapping the polished wood.
The door opens, and Vera stands there, her delicate features arranged in careful composure. When she sees me, a slight smile touches her lips.
"Ruslan Vitalyevich," she says, her voice soft.
"I hear congratulations are in order," I say quietly in Russian.
"Thank you." She places a hand on her still-flat stomach, her smile turning shy. "Slava and I are both very happy."
"I'm glad, devushka ."
And I am, in spite of everything. In our world, happiness is rare enough to deserve acknowledgment.
Vera steps aside. "She's waiting for you."
I step through the doorway, and my breath stops in my throat.
Aurora sits on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the Las Vegas skyline. She's wearing clothes that aren't her own, some designer outfit Potyomkin must have provided. But it's not her clothes that make my blood run cold.
It's the angry purple bruise blossoming across her cheek.
It's the visible bite mark on her shoulder peeking out from under her blouse.
It's the haunted look in her eyes that I saw once before, when she told me about her stalker, about the words written in her family's blood.
" Zarechka ," I whisper.
She turns, and when she sees me, her eyes widen. She jumps to her feet.
"Ruslan?"
Her voice breaks on my name, and that sound—that crack in her perfect composure—nearly brings me to my knees.
I stagger forward, my own pain forgotten. All I can see is the bruise on her face. All I can think about is what that bastard Kristofer did to her. What he would have done if Potyomkin's men hadn't arrived.
Rage burns through me, hot and vicious. I want to tear Kristofer apart with my bare hands. I want to make him suffer for every mark on her body, for every moment of fear she felt.
But there's another emotion, too, coiling through my chest like smoke.
Guilt.
Crushing, overwhelming guilt.
I failed her.
I promised to protect her, and I failed.
Aurora reaches out, her gentle fingers tracing the outline of my face.
"Ruslan," she whispers, her eyes darting to my bloodied shoulder. "You're hurt."
I can't focus on my own pain. All I see are the marks on her. The purple bruise defiling her perfect cheek and the bite marks on her shoulder.
They're reminders of my colossal failure.
"Aurora," my voice is rough with emotion. "I should have listened to you. I shouldn't have pushed Mikayla like that. If I'd just listened."
She presses her fingertips against my lips, silencing me. "It doesn't matter now." Her voice trembles, but her eyes hold steady. "You're here. You're alive. We're going to be alright."
I brush my thumb across her unmarked cheek, careful not to touch the bruise. "I thought you were gone. I thought I'd lost you."
"I thought I'd lost you too." Her voice cracks. "They told me you were dead."
"I'm going to make him pay for what he did to you." The promise burns in my throat, dark and absolute. "Kristofer will never touch you again. I'll make sure of it."
Aurora shakes her head slowly.
"Later." Her fingers find the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Right now, I just need you here with me. I need to know this is real, that this isn't just a dream."
I wrap my good arm around her waist, pulling her closer. The pain in my shoulder flares, but I don't care. Nothing matters except the warm, solid reality of her in my arms.
"I'm real," I murmur against her hair. "This is real."
I press my lips to her unbruised cheek, soft as a whisper. Then again, and again, each kiss a promise.
She turns her face, catching my mouth with hers. The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as her fingers curl around the nape of my neck.
Slowly, carefully, she eases me down onto the bed, mindful of my injuries. Her body follows, pressing against mine as her lips never leave my own.
"Aurora," I breathe against her mouth. "My zarechka ."
Aurora deepens the kiss, pressing herself against me with a hunger that takes my breath away. She tastes like fear and relief and something uniquely her.
Something I was terrified I'd never taste again.
Then I feel wetness on my cheek.
At first, I think it's my own tears betraying me. But when she pulls back slightly, I see them. Tears streaming down her face, catching on her lashes before sliding down her bruised cheek.
"Hey," I whisper, brushing a tear away with the pad of my thumb. "You're okay now. You're okay."
She shakes her head, unable to speak. Her body trembles against mine, and suddenly she's sobbing. Deep, wracking cries that seem torn from somewhere primal inside her.
"I thought—" she gasps between sobs, "I thought you were?—"
She can't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.
I pull her against me, ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder.
"I'm here," I murmur into her hair. "And I'm not going anywhere else."
Her fingers dig into my good shoulder as she presses her face against my chest. Each sob feels like it's being ripped from her throat.
"He was going to… He tried to." Her words dissolve into incoherent sounds as her body shakes with the force of her crying.
I know what she's trying to say. What that monster almost did. The thought makes murderous rage surge through me, but I push it down. Aurora needs me here to calm her, to be present with her, to hold space for her, and not to lose myself in thoughts of vengeance.
It's like she said. That will come later.
"You're safe," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. "You're safe now."
I stroke her hair as she cries, feeling something break open inside my own chest. My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes. How close I came to losing her. How close both of us came to death.
This is what safety looks like. Not the mansion with its armed guards, not the bratva name, not the guns or the money or the power. Safety is this moment and this woman in my arms finally letting herself feel the full weight of what she's been through.
Because she still believes that I'll be here to catch her if she falls.
I press my lips to the crown of her head and let my own tears fall silently.
Her body shakes with sobs, her tears soaking through my shirt. The pain in my shoulder fades to a dull throb compared to the ache in my chest. She cries until her voice grows hoarse, until her tears run dry, until her breathing steadies against my chest.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice raspy.
"Never apologize for this," I tell her, stroking her hair. "Never. You did nothing wrong, zarechka. "
She shifts in my arms, careful of my wounded shoulder, and settles beside me on the bed. Her head rests in the crook of my arm, her hand splayed across my chest as if to reassure herself that my heart is still beating.
"I keep thinking about what would have happened if Potyomkin hadn't come," she whispers.
"Don't," I say, my voice harder than I intend. "Don't torture yourself with what-ifs."
"I can still feel his hands on me." Her voice is so small I have to strain to hear it. "His breath. His teeth."
"He will never touch you again." My arm tightens around her instinctively. "You're safe now."
"Because of you."
"Because of yourself, zarechka ." I correct her. "Because you remembered Potyomkin's name and title. Because you found a way to contact him even when that monster held you prisoner. Because you refused to be a damsel in distress."
She falls silent, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. I can feel the slight tremor in her touch, the aftershocks of terror still rippling through her.
"I've never been so afraid," she finally says. "Not even when my family died."
"And I've never been as afraid as when I thought I'd never see you again," I confess.
I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair and detect just a tiny hint of her coconut scent behind the hotel shampoo masking it all.
God, I missed that smell.
No, I correct myself.
I missed her .
The weight of her in my arms anchors me to reality. Every breath she takes convinces me that we've survived, that we're still here, and that we're still together.
We lie like that for hours, with nothing but the sound of each other's breaths and heartbeats in the darkness until the sky outside turns from black to indigo to the different hues of pink and gold.