8. Aurora
8
AURORA
The garden sunlight feels too bright and cheerful against the awareness crawling under my skin. I sit stiffly at the small table bedecked with flowery china teacups and finger sandwiches.
Stella carefully pours imaginary tea into each cup while Sofia arranges cookies on delicate saucers. Their childish delight feels surreal against the backdrop of armed men patrolling the perimeter.
Just like last time.
My teacup trembles slightly in my hand. The last tea party I attended with these girls ended with Kristofer's gift and me falling back into his grasp.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the scent of roses rather than the memory of his hot breath against my ear.
Mikayla notices my unease. Her eyes, too old for her face, track the way I scan the property line. She shifts her chair imperceptibly closer to mine.
"More sugar, Aurora?" Hannah asks, her voice deliberately light as she taps my wrist.
I force a smile. "Yes, please."
I can't stop staring at the cut on Hannah's cheek. Every time I see it, guilt cuts me like a blade.
"I've been meaning to ask," I say, keeping my voice low so the girls can't hear. "How did you get away from him after we left?"
Hannah's fingers tighten around her teacup. "I kept screaming and I just wouldn't stop. A neighbor finally called the police." She gives a bitter laugh. "Ironic, right? When he's a police officer himself."
"And then?"
"The responding officers didn't know what to make of me. I was still tied to the chair when they arrived. I told them some bullshit story about a robbery gone wrong, then called Artyom as soon as they left." Her eyes meet mine. "That's when he told me about the attack on the mansion."
My throat tightens. "Hannah, I'm so sorry."
"It's alright." She cuts me off with a shake of her head. "You'd have done the same for me."
Vera sits quietly beside us, cradling her cup with delicate hands. Her heavy ring catching in the sunlight.
Hannah turns to her. "So why exactly are you here with us, Vera? Last I checked, Las Vegas was quite a ways from here."
Vera's eyes flicker toward me before she answers. "Aurora negotiated my presence as part of her arrangement with my husband."
"Arrangement?" Hannah raises an eyebrow.
I sip my imaginary tea, remembering the moment I saw the Mikonov tattoo on Potyomkin's man. How I leveraged that small detail into Vera's safety.
"Let's just say I made her husband an offer he couldn't refuse," I explain quietly.
Hannah leans forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes despite the cut on her cheek.
"Look at you," she says, nudging my arm. "Negotiating with a Vegas crime boss like you were born into the family business."
I roll my eyes, feeling warmth creep into my cheeks. "I didn't negotiate anything. I just noticed something that gave me leverage."
"Noticed something," Hannah mimics, her voice dropping into an exaggerated mobster accent. "And made him an offer he couldn't refuse."
"Stop it," I mumble, but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. It feels good to have a moment of lightness after everything.
Vera sets down her teacup with surprising authority, the delicate clink drawing our attention.
"You shouldn't downplay what you did," she says, her voice soft but firm. "I've seen plenty of people try to negotiate with my husband and fail. Strong men. Powerful men. Pakhans who have built empires from nothing." She looks directly at me, her eyes clear and steady. "None have succeeded where you did."
The table falls quiet. Even Stella and Sofia pause their make-believe pouring.
"I didn't do anything special," I say, uncomfortable with the praise. "I just saw an opening and took it."
"That is exactly what makes it special," Vera replies. Her fingers trace the heavy wedding band on her finger. "Most men come to Slava with threats or money. You came with truth. You saw through to the heart of things."
I remember standing in Potyomkin's office, the weight of my desperation and the clarity that came with it.
"When you have nothing left to lose," I say quietly, "you see things differently."
Vera nods, a small smile on her lips. "And that is why you will survive in this world when so many expect you to fail."
I stare into my teacup, watching the imaginary tea ripple with my shaking hand. "But I'm not sure if I can succeed at any of this."
"Why do you believe that?" Vera asks, her voice gentle yet probing.
My eyes drift to Stella and Sofia, their innocent faces alight with joy as they arrange cookies in perfect patterns. How can I speak about my doubts with them present?
Mikayla, perceptive as always, catches my hesitation.
"Sofia, Stella," she says, rising with practiced grace, "I think Daria might have hidden some ice cream in the kitchen. Want to go find it?"
"Ice cream!" Sofia jumps up, nearly knocking over her teacup. Stella follows eagerly, and Mikayla leads them toward the house with one last knowing glance over her shoulder.
I wait until their small voices fade before letting out a shaky breath.
"For seven years, I've lived with one certainty," I admit, tracing the rim of my cup. "That if I ever let myself love someone—truly love them—Kristofer would find me and hurt them. And look what's happened."
I gesture vaguely toward the mansion. "Ruslan is walking around with bullet wounds. Hannah has a cut on her face. The mansion was attacked. All because Kristofer found me."
"But it wasn't your fault." Hannah says.
"Even if we defeat Kristofer, even if this documentary plan works perfectly... I'm terrified of opening my heart completely. Because I know Kristofer won't be the last. What if next time, I lose Ruslan for good?"
My voice cracks on the last words, the fear that's lived inside me for seven years finally spoken aloud.
Vera reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her touch is surprisingly strong for such delicate fingers.
"You're making one crucial mistake in your assumption," she says firmly. "Ruslan doesn't care about being hurt on your behalf, because he cares so much about you that he's willing to die for you."
Hannah nods emphatically. "Exactly. And I'm not afraid to stand with you because I love you, Aurora. You're my best friend, and that means something to me." She gives a small, fierce smile. "And if you were to ask Ruslan why he's willing to fight for you, I guarantee it's for the same reason."
"Because he loves me?" My voice sounds small, uncertain.
"Yes," Vera says simply. She studies me with those knowing eyes that see too much. "The real question is: do you love Ruslan back to honor his determination to sacrifice himself for you?"
"Yes," I whisper, the word falling from my lips before I can even think about it.
The garden around us seems to still as the truth settles into my bones.
I love him. I love Ruslan Dragunov.
When did it happen? I know it didn't happen in that alleyway when I first crashed into him. It didn't happen when he showed up at my apartment doorway, killing that man to save me.
But did I feel that first inkling of love during our game of truth or dare, when he revealed his vulnerable side to me? Or was it when he held me after Tamara revealed my real identity at our wedding?
I can't pinpoint the exact moment. Love isn't that clean or simple. It grew like a vine, gradually wrapping around my heart until I couldn't separate myself from it anymore.
"I do," I admit, looking between Hannah and Vera. "I love him."
The words feel like freedom after being caged for so long.
"God help me, I love everything about him. His protectiveness, his intelligence, his loyalty to family." I trace the rim of my teacup, searching for the right words. "But what I love most is how he sees me. Not as a damsel in distress who needs to be saved, but someone worth fighting alongside."
That's it. That's the difference between how Kristofer viewed me and how Ruslan does. Kristofer saw me as a possession to control. Ruslan sees me as a partner to cherish.
"He gives me space to be myself," I continue, the realization crystallizing. "He doesn't try to make me into something I'm not. Even when he's being overprotective, it's never about controlling me for his purposes. It's about keeping me safe so I can continue being exactly who I am."
Tears prick at my eyes as I remember how Ruslan listened when I stood up for Mikayla. How he valued my insights about Semyon's involvement. How he encouraged me to stand on my own terms.
"With him, I don't lose myself. I find more of myself." I meet Vera's knowing gaze. "That's worth fighting for, isn't it?"
"That," Vera says with a smile that softens her entire face, "is the only thing worth fighting for."
Hannah cocks her head, studying my face. "Have you told Ruslan any of this? That you love him?"
I look down at my teacup, suddenly fascinated by the delicate floral pattern. "No, I haven't."
"Why not?" Hannah's voice is gentle but insistent.
I draw a deep breath. "Because I understand the ghosts haunting him. We're afraid of the same thing, just from opposite sides." I trace my finger along the tablecloth, organizing my thoughts. "I'm terrified that loving him will bring pain to him, while he's afraid he won't be able to protect me from pain."
My gaze drifts toward the mansion where Ruslan is probably reviewing security protocols or coordinating with Artyom.
"He told me about how his childhood love was killed because of him. And that after she died, Ruslan decided he couldn't protect anyone he loved so he should close his heart off to anyone and everyone." I give a hollow laugh. "We make quite the pair, don't we?"
Vera leans forward, her face softening with understanding. "If you truly love him, you cannot be ruled by your fears of losing him, nor can he be ruled by fears of losing you."
She folds her hands on the table.
"That's the cruel thing about love. It will always come with the fear of loss. Always." Her voice takes on a quiet strength. "But true love allows both people to overcome their fears together. As long as you have each other, nothing can stand in your way."
Her words strike something deep inside me and I look at her youthful features. Like Mikayla, Vera has proven that she is far older and wiser than her age suggests.
"Is that what happened between you and your husband?" I ask Vera.
Vera's hands tremble slightly as she sets her cup down.
"Slava saved me in more ways than one," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "After my parents were murdered by the Vori , they put me up for auction."
My stomach turns. "Auction?"
"I was nineteen when it happened." Vera's eyes grow distant. "The same night as my parents' murder."
Hannah's face pales. I reach across the table and take Vera's hand.
"You don't have to continue if you don't want to."
"No, I want to," she insists. "Slava was there that night at the auction. I remember being terrified of him most of all. His scowl and his eyes. When the bidding started, he immediately doubled the highest offer. No one dared to challenge him."
She twists her wedding ring, her expression softening.
"I thought I was going from one nightmare to another, but he took me to Vegas and gave me my own room. For months, I waited for the other shoe to drop, but he only asked that I join him for dinner every night."
Vera takes a deep breath.
"Slowly, I realized that behind that fearsome exterior was a man desperate for connection but terrified of vulnerability." A small smile touches her lips. "I started noticing little things. How he always made sure I had fresh flowers, how his voice changed when he spoke to me, and even the gentleness in his hands when I'm around."
She looks at me directly, her eyes suddenly fierce.
"A year later, I went to him willingly. My choice, my decision. By then, I didn't fear him anymore. I admired his strength and his hidden tenderness reserved only for me. And now..." Her hand rests unconsciously on her belly, "I know I love him. I've peeled back his layers to find the goodness underneath."
I think of Ruslan. His intimidating exterior hiding a man capable of the same kind of tenderness. The way he can command a room with brutal authority one moment and gently comfort his nieces the next.
"How did you know it was safe to open your heart to him?" I ask softly.
"I didn't," Vera admits. "But sometimes love requires a leap of faith. I knew that if I jumped, he would always be there to catch me."
Slowly, Vera's composed expression crumbles. Tears begin flowing down her cheeks, silent but relentless. Her shoulders shake with the effort of containing her sobs.
I know exactly what's tearing her apart inside.
She's left Vyacheslav alone in Las Vegas, surrounded by Mikonov men who'd put a knife in his back the moment he shows any weakness. All because he thinks that she'll be safer here with us.
The weight of that decision must be crushing her.
I reach across the table and take her trembling hand in mine. "Vera..."
She squeezes my fingers. "My family's fate is in your hands now, Aurora Markovna."
I nod, understanding the weight of what she's entrusting to me.
"Not a moment goes by that I don't imagine what it would be like to lose my Slava," Vera confesses, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "But I trust him. I trust Ruslan. And above all else, I trust you, Aurora." Her red-rimmed eyes meet mine. "I trust in this plan of yours."
I look down at the ring, doubt creeping in again. "But what if we fail?"
"You can't torture yourself with what-ifs," Vera interrupts. "You will always have doubts about how things will unfold. But you can never, not for a single moment, doubt the depth and power of the love between you and Ruslan."
She leans forward, her voice gaining strength. "I've seen how he looks at you. Like you're the dawn after his darkest night." A small smile breaks through her tears. "And I've seen how you look at him. Like you've found home after years of running."
"As long as you believe in that love," she continues, "then anything is possible."