9. Ruslan
9
RUSLAN
"You're not giving me a straight answer, Ruslan Vitalyevich." Artyom's voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade. "Semyon could come at us again any day now. Potyomkin's men won't arrive for three more days. That's three days where we're exposed."
"I know the fucking timeline." My words snap harsher than intended. "We've survived worse."
Artyom leans forward, hands clasped between his knees. "Have we? Because losing Lev and Mikhail in one day nearly destroyed us. The only reason we're still breathing is because Semyon's attack failed to kill you."
The bitter truth of it sits heavy in my chest. Failure has become a familiar shadow clinging to me since Leslie's death, and since Aurora's kidnapping.
"The documentary will work. It has to." I press my fingertips against my temple. "Once Kristofer's crimes are public, Semyon can't protect him. No alliance survives that kind of scrutiny."
"You still haven't answered my original question." Artyom's eyes narrow. "Are you pushing this documentary because it's strategically sound, or because Aurora needs it?"
My jaw clenches. The answer sticks in my throat.
"I need to know where your head is at." Artyom doesn't back down. "When bullets start flying again—and they will—I need to know if you're making decisions as a pakhan or as a husband."
"What's the difference?" I growl.
"I've known you since we were boys, Ruslan." His voice drops lower. "I've followed you into hell more times than I can count. But this? This feels different."
The words I want to say crowd against my teeth. That I'd burn the world down to keep Aurora safe. That her healing matters more than bratva politics. That the raw courage in her eyes when she said she wanted to tell her story made me love her more than I thought possible.
"You need to be honest with yourself." Artyom's gaze remains steady. "Is this about destroying Semyon's alliance, or is it about giving Aurora back her voice?"
"Both," I finally admit, my voice rough with emotion. "It's both. But if I'm being honest." I stand, unable to stay seated with this confession burning through me. "This is for her. Even if it doesn’t help us a damn bit against Semyon, I'll still do it."
The weight of that truth is heavy. I run my hands through my hair, pacing across the office.
"I fucked up, Artyom. I became exactly what I swore I'd never be." The memory of shutting the door so that I could speak to Mikayla in this office while Aurora pleaded outside makes my stomach turn. "I became controlling. Just like my father. Just like Lev. I tried to force my protection on her instead of standing beside her."
Artyom says nothing, just watches with those calm, knowing eyes.
"That control pushed her away." My voice breaks. "And as a result, she ran straight into Kristofer's trap because I wouldn't listen."
I stop at the window, staring out at the tower where Aurora sleeps. "I'm afraid I'll lose her love. Not to Kristofer, not to Semyon, but to my own fucking need to control everything."
"She came back, Lanchik," Artyom points out quietly. "Willingly, mind you."
"She came back because she needs me to protect her." The words feel hollow even as I say them. "She needs the guns, the men, and the security. She doesn't need me."
Artyom stands now, crossing to where I stand. "Do you really believe that?"
"Yes." The admission feels like swallowing glass. "I do."
"You're missing the point," Artyom says, interrupting my spiral of self-doubt. "Aurora negotiated with Potyomkin on her own. Think about that for a minute."
I shake my head. "Because she had no choice?—"
"Let me finish." Artyom's voice hardens with the authority I've granted him. "She could've accepted whatever protection Potyomkin offered. Instead, she argued to pick up the reins that you left behind."
"That doesn't mean?—"
"Ruslan, when Aurora negotiated with Potyomkin, she was under the impression that you were dead ." He steps closer, forcing me to meet his eyes. "In that moment, everything you claim she needs—guns, men, security—could've come directly from Potyomkin. But what did she pick?"
I wait for him to answer.
"She chose you,” Artyom says. "She chose to have all the things that would remind her of you. And that's not because she needed your guns or your protection. That's because she needed you ."
My throat tightens. "How can you be sure of this?"
"Because I watched her face when she came back with you from Vegas." Artyom's expression softens. "I saw how her hand never left yours even though you can hardly stay on your feet. She didn't look at you like you were her shield. She looked at you like you were her entire fucking world."
Artyom sighs, running a hand across his face.
"You can be controlling, Ruslan. I've seen it firsthand."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"What I mean is—" Artyom leans against the desk, his expression softening. "You try to exercise control because you've lived under someone else's thumb for so long. First your father, then the bratva obligations Lev pushed on you. Control is what you naturally gravitate toward when you don't know what to do."
I turn away, unable to deny the truth in his words. Living under Vitaly's iron fist shaped me more than I care to admit.
"But with Aurora..." Artyom continues, his voice gentler than I've heard in years. "With her, I've seen something entirely different from you."
"Different how?"
He meets my eyes directly. "Even someone as jaded as me can see that you care for her. Deeply." A pause. "One might even say you love her."
The word freezes in the air between us.
Love .
I'd been avoiding that word even in my own thoughts.
"You want to do everything in your power to keep her safe," Artyom says. "Yes, maybe you were controlling because that's the only way you knew to exercise authority. But Ruslan…"
He steps closer.
"You're not Vitaly," he states firmly. "When Aurora pushed back, you listened. You respected her boundaries. That's something your father never did for anyone. Nor are you Lev, who dragged you back into this bratva that you hated."
His words settle into me like a balm over an open wound. Not erasing the pain, but making it bearable.
"What if I can't stop myself next time?" The question escapes before I can trap it behind my teeth. "What if I go too far with control when something threatens her again?"
Artyom's expression doesn't change, but his eyes sharpen.
"What if the documentary makes Kristofer more obsessed? More dangerous?" My voice rises with each question as fears I've been holding back tumble out. "What if it only proves to Semyon that Kristofer is valuable precisely because he gets under my skin? What if?—"
I slam my palm against the desk.
"What if all this ends with me building higher walls around Aurora to keep her safe, and she feels just as trapped by me as she does by Kristofer?" My throat tightens. "What then?"
Artyom studies me for a long moment, his face impassive except for a slight softening around his eyes.
"Do you hear yourself, Ruslan?" he finally asks. "You wouldn't be this terrified of trapping her if you didn't love her enough to care about her freedom."
There it is again.
Love.
"Aurora survived seven years on her own before you," Artyom continues. "She escaped Kristofer not once, but twice now. The second time, she managed to negotiate protection from Potyomkin himself. Something that even fucking Gregor Belov had a hard time with. That woman is many things, but she's no damsel in distress."
He's right. I'd told Aurora the same thing when I held her in my arms again in Potyomkin's penthouse.
"She doesn't need your walls, Ruslan." Artyom's voice cuts through my thoughts. "She needs your trust."
I turn away, staring out the window at the garden where Aurora sits with Vera, her blonde hair catching sunlight. Even from here, I can see the bruise on her cheek that makes my blood boil.
"Tell her," Artyom says softly.
"Tell her what?" But I already know.
"Tell her you love her." His words are simple but land with the force of a command. "If she knows your protection comes from love, not control, she'll never feel trapped. She'll feel cherished."
I press my forehead against the cool glass.
"Trust her strength, Ruslan. The way she trusts yours."
"I can't tell her I love her." The confession feels like acid on my tongue. "Not until I know I can keep her safe."
I stare down at my hands, the same hands that held Aurora while she sobbed in Potyomkin's suite, the same ones that touched the bruises Kristofer left on her body.
These hands failed to protect her.
"It would be a lie otherwise." I finish.
Artyom crosses his arms, his face hardening. "That's bullshit and you know it."
"Is it?" I snap back. "I promised to keep her safe, and look what happened."
"And what would you rather do, Ruslan?" Artyom's voice cuts through my self-pity like a blade. "Wait until there's no more threat to your lives before you tell her you love her? If you do that, then you'll never tell her. There will always be another Semyon, another Kristofer, another enemy waiting to strike."
I turn away, unable to meet his eyes. "Maybe this is just a sign that I'm not made for love."
"What?"
"Maybe I don't deserve the love of someone as good as Aurora." The words taste bitter but honest. "Maybe we're all just repeating the same cycle."
Artyom crosses the distance between us in two strides, gripping my shoulders hard enough to hurt.
"Don't you dare finish that thought." His eyes flash with anger. "You are nothing like your father. And you are nothing like Lev."
"I failed her?—"
"Stop it!" Artyom's voice is like iron. "You're wrong. Dead wrong. Everyone deserves love, Ruslan. Even people like us. Especially people like us."
His grip softens, but his gaze doesn't. "Aurora sees something in you that's worth loving. Are you going to tell her she's wrong? That she's wasted her heart on you?"
I flinch at his words. The thought of dismissing Aurora's feelings like that feels worse than questioning my own worth.
"She chose you," Artyom continues, more gently now. "Not just once, but every day since. Even knowing what this world is. Don't insult her choice by deciding you're not worthy of it."
Artyom's words hit their mark, like they always do. Determination surges through me like a current, washing away the doubts that have been drowning me.
"Thank you." My voice comes out rough. "For saying what needed to be said."
Artyom gives a small nod. "For what it's worth, using the documentary is strategically sound." He straightens his jacket, returning to business. "We don't know how Kristofer will behave on the board, but we know how Semyon will. He hates uncertainty."
"And Kristofer becoming a liability would create plenty of that."
"Exactly." Artyom's eyes gleam with the confidence I've always admired in him. "The moment headlines start linking Semyon's new ally to a brutal family murder, Kristofer transforms from partner to problem overnight."
I run my thumb over the tattoo on my hand, the small bird with broken wings that I got with Leslie. For the first time in years, touching it doesn't feel like reopening a wound.
"The shipments?—"
"I can handle it." He cuts me off firmly. "That's why you made me avtoritet , isn't it? So you could trust someone to handle things while you focus on things that matter?"
I look out the window toward the garden where Aurora sits with Vera and Hannah. Even though I can't see her through the hedges, I imagine sunlight threading through her hair. Even from here, I can feel the strength in how she holds herself despite everything she's endured.
She survived seven years before she found me.
She negotiated with Potyomkin when she thought I was dead.
She's ready to face her monster on camera to protect us all.
"You're right." I nod to Artyom. "Thank you, Artyom."
As I head for the door, I feel lighter than I have in days.