6. Aurora
6
AURORA
I step out of the shower and secure the towel around my body, feeling cleaner but no less fragile. Steam billows around me as I push the bathroom door open. Ruslan is sitting on the edge of the bed, and his eyes immediately find mine.
For one perfect moment, everything feels normal.
Then his gaze drops to my shoulder, and reality crashes back.
"He did all of that?"
I don't need to look to know what he's talking about. Kristofer's teeth marks, purple and angry against my skin.
I nod.
"What else?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. For a second, I debate about showing him. Because what good would showing him do? It won't change what happened. It won't erase the marks or help them heal faster.
But something in me knows he needs to see.
I need him to see.
Slowly, I adjust my towel to reveal the bruises on my breasts where Kristofer's fingers mauled the tender flesh.
My fingers tremble as I open the towel further to expose the inside of my left thigh and the unmistakable pattern of fingers that pinched and squeezed during that endless car ride.
Then I drop the towel completely to the floor, and show Ruslan the welts on my hips, each one a vivid reminder of Kristofer's possessive grip.
"He kept telling me how I belonged to him." The words feel like broken glass in my throat. "The whole time."
Ruslan crosses the distance between us like a ghost, his movements so careful that it breaks my heart. His hands hover over me, not quite touching, as if afraid I might shatter.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, pulling me gently against him. "I'm so sorry, Aurora. I should have?—"
"Stop." I reach up, pressing my fingers against his lips. "You need to stop apologizing. You weren't the one who did this to me."
His eyes shine with unshed tears as he cradles my face in his hands. "I'll kill him for this," he promises, his voice rough with emotion. "I swear to you, he'll never touch you again."
I shake my head. "That's exactly what he'll expect us to do." My fingers curl against his chest. "And he'll be preparing for it."
Looking into Ruslan's eyes, I can see the murderous rage building behind his controlled expression. The muscle in his jaw twitches as his hands tighten on my shoulders.
"No amount of preparation by Kristofer will stop me from killing him," he growls. "I'll tear him apart with my bare hands."
"It's not that simple." I pull away and reach for the robe hanging on the bathroom door. "Think about what's happening."
"What's there to think about?" His voice turns cold as ice. "He hurt you. He dies."
I cinch the robe tight, feeling momentarily grounded by the soft fabric against my bruised skin. "Kristofer isn't working alone. He's working with Semyon."
Ruslan's brow furrows. "What makes you say that?"
"The photos of your nieces from your security cameras. They were in the same package addressed to me." I count off on my fingers. "Tamara gained access to those cameras, yes. But how did Kristofer get them?"
Ruslan paces across the room, his footsteps heavy.
"And when Potyomkin rescued me, one of his men was from the Mikonov bratva. I noticed the tattoos." I push damp hair from my face. "And Vera confirmed that more Mikonov men have been appearing in Vegas lately."
Ruslan stops pacing, his attention fully focused on me.
"Potyomkin told me he couldn't kill Kristofer because of his position as the head of police in Kansas City," I continue. "But that info came from the same Mikonov man. How could he know that unless Semyon had briefed them all?"
"Potyomkin told me that the Triads are also after Vegas money," Ruslan says. "And that Semyon sent him men under the guise of assistance. But in reality, they're a threat and reminder of Semyon's reach."
"That makes sense." I take a breath, steadying myself. "I thought it was weird that he agreed to my demand for Vera to come with me. But if what you say is true, then what he really wants is to keep her from all the Mikonov men in Vegas. He's scared of what Semyon might do to her. Especially now that she's pregnant."
Ruslan stares at me, and I watch his face slowly morph. His anger hasn't diminished, but now it's focused and calculating.
"You're right," he says, a note of admiration in his voice. "How are you thinking so clearly right now?"
"I had to stay rational in the car with Kristofer," I reply. "I didn't have the luxury to break down."
And that's when I realize that I've said his name multiple times now.
Something shifts inside me. It's strange how easily I can say it now, when I used to be unable to even think about it without my heart racing and my hands trembling.
Kristofer .
I say it again in my mind, testing how insignificant it sounds.
When he first kidnapped me, when he had me in that car. His hands crawling up my leg and his worm-like lips against my skin. I was terrified.
But underneath that terror was something else.
It was as if I realized that the monster who'd haunted my nightmares for seven years was just a man.
A sad, fat, disgusting man with stale breath and yellowed teeth.
He was nothing like the devil in my mind during those years of hiding.
I almost laugh at the realization. All this time hiding, all these years of looking over my shoulder, terrified of a shadow.
And when I finally faced him, what did I find? An out-of-shape cop wearing stained clothes.
The idea of Kristofer had been more powerful than the reality.
"What is it?" Ruslan asks, noticing the change in my expression.
"I just realized something," I say. "When I saw Kristofer again, it changed things."
"Changed how?"
"He wasn't what I remembered. Or what I imagined." I wrap my arms around myself. "For seven years, he was this all-powerful monster in my head. But seeing him now, realizing what he's become. He's just a man. A pathetic, cruel man."
I look up at Ruslan, strength flowing through me for the first time since the rescue.
"And I think on some level, I recognized that," I continue. "I saw his weakness. I played on his fantasy of me being his 'good girl' so that I can contact Potyomkin. It was because I knew that he's just a man. A man is dangerous, yes. But a man will make mistakes. A man will bleed. Even ones who think they're monsters."
"No, zarechka, a man will do more than bleed , " Ruslan corrects me. "A man can die."
"Yes. In time, Kristofer will die," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "It's the only way to make sure he doesn't come back to haunt us again."
I tighten the robe around me, using the small gesture to help ground myself. The physical pain from his marks is nothing compared to the psychological comfort of knowing I'm safe with Ruslan now.
"But before that, we need to draw him out somehow."
Ruslan nods, his golden eyes intense as he processes my words. "Kristofer most likely didn't expect Potyomkin to help you. And Semyon probably didn't expect me to survive the attack on the mansion." His jaw tightens. "We've bought ourselves some extra time for now."
"It's only a matter of time before Semyon orders his men into action here in Vegas against Potyomkin," I say, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The soft mattress provides a small comfort as I consider our next steps.
"Potyomkin knows this too," Ruslan says. "I don't think we can expect his hospitality for much longer."
"What could Kristofer possibly offer Semyon?" I ask, absently running my fingers over the bruise on my cheek. "All the way in Kansas City?"
Ruslan takes my hand in his. "As head of police, Kristofer enables Semyon to expand his reach further east, eventually opening up the possibility of making a play against the East Coast Bratvas. There's also the lucrative guns and drugs trade from the Midwest. All of that goes much more smoothly if you have a reliable man in your pocket."
"And if Kristofer is helping Semyon cover his tracks in Kansas City..."
"Then Semyon gets a foothold in territory that's been historically difficult for the Vori to penetrate."
I meet Ruslan's eyes, my mind racing with possibilities. "We need to drive a wedge between Kristofer and Semyon. Make Semyon realize that Kristofer isn't the dependable ally he bought."
"You're right about dividing them," Ruslan says. "But I don't see any clear way to do that."
"I don't either."
"We'll figure something out," he promises. His hand brushes over his shoulder where I know bandages conceal his wounds. "In the meantime, I need to get production at the studio back up and running."
"Why?" For a second, I'm confused.
"The weapons shipments won't move without the movie shoots as cover. Whatever fight is coming next with Semyon, we'll need those guns." He taps his fingers against the window. "We need to resume filming as soon as possible, even if it's just B-roll and small scenes."
Something turns in my brain. A flash of inspiration so clear it nearly takes my breath away.
"That's it," I whisper.
Ruslan turns. "What's it?"
I stand up, a surge of energy coursing through me. "The production company. That's how we drive a wedge between Semyon and Kristofer!"
"How do you mean?"
"If Kristofer becomes someone who can't cover Semyon's tracks, he is useless to Semyon," I explain, my words rushing out. "Right now, if we try and expose him, he'll pull his connections as the head of police to stonewall everything. But there's something that he can't influence. Something he can't touch."
"Which is?"
"A documentary," I say, the plan crystallizing in my mind. "About what Kristofer did seven years ago. About how he stalked me, about how he killed my parents and brother, and about the message that he wrote on the wall."
My voice doesn't shake as I say the words that would have paralyzed me just days earlier.
"We make it impossible for him to hide what he's done," I continue, pacing now. "We convict him in the court of public opinion. And once we do that, Semyon will have a liability instead of an asset on his hands."
"We use my own production company." A smile appears on Ruslan's face, and widens with each word. "To tell your story."
I nod. "And when Semyon realizes that Kristofer has become a very public liability..."
"He'll cut him loose," Ruslan finishes. "Or kill him for us."
"What do you think?" I ask, my heart racing with this new purpose that's filling me.
Ruslan's golden eyes light up. "It's brilliant, zarechka ," he says, stepping closer to me. "You're brilliant."
His hand reaches for mine, and I feel that familiar warmth spreading through me at his touch.
"Do you remember what you said to me that first night we met?" he asks, his voice soft with wonder. "When you were critiquing that ridiculous script?"
I think back to that night. It feels like a lifetime ago, when I was just a prop girl with strong opinions about storytelling and Ruslan was just a handsome stranger, before I knew anything about the man standing before me.
"I said a lot of things that night," I respond with a small smile. "Most of them terribly embarrassing."
"You told me that the heroine can't just be a damsel in distress," Ruslan quotes, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
The words hang between us, taking on new meaning in light of everything that's happened.
"That she'd have to be the one to confront her past," I recall, squeezing his hand.
"And he has to be the one who empowers her to do so." Ruslan's eyes never leave mine. "And that's exactly what we're going to do."
My own words from that night ring with startling clarity. Back then, they were just criticism of a script. I had no idea then that they'd become the blueprint for my own life.
I'm not a damsel in distress. Not anymore.
Not after I met Ruslan.
"Do you remember that night when we played truth or dare?" I ask him. "When I confessed that I still wanted to stand on stage under the spotlight?"
"Yes," he says without hesitation. "And I told you that when you are ready to do so again, you need only ask and I can make it happen."
I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my fingers. Strong and steady, just like him.
"I'm ready now," I tell him, my voice gaining strength with each word. "I'm ready to tell the world my story. To let them see what that monster did."
"And I'll be there every step of the way," Ruslan promises as he pulls me close. "Whatever you need."
I rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat drums steadily beneath my ear as a reminder that we're both alive despite everything that's happened.
I close my eyes and let myself feel the truth washing over me. A familiar refrain enters my head.
Jamie Fields is dead .
And it's the truth.
For so long, I've carried her like a ghost. Her fears, her memories, her nightmares. But I never truly believed in it. Somehow, somewhere, I've always thought that one day, she might come back to life.
But standing here, in Ruslan's arms, I finally understand. Jamie Fields truly is gone. The terrified girl who ran from her family's murder scene doesn't exist anymore.
She really did die on that road in the Eastern Sierras seven years ago.
In her place is Aurora.
Not Aurora Castellanos who hid in the shadows, who flinched at cameras, and who lived with one eye constantly looking over her shoulder.
Aurora Dragunov .
Wife of a pakhan. A woman with the resources to fight back. A woman who negotiated with the lord of Las Vegas and won .
A woman who rescued herself from monsters because her husband imbued her with power through his name.
For the first time in seven years, I feel hope blooming inside me. Gone is the quiet hope of making it through another day undetected. In its place is a fierce, burning determination of someone who's ready to live.
So yes, Jamie Fields is dead.
But Aurora Dragunov is alive.
And Aurora Dragunov doesn't run.
She'll fight.
And she'll win.