14. Aurora
14
AURORA
"What happened?" I walk deeper into the office, closing the door behind me. "I saw Gregor leaving."
Ruslan's hands are braced on the polished surface of his desk. His face is twisted as his jaw works, like he's chewing on something too bitter to swallow. He turns to me with eyes that burn like molten gold.
"It was Tamara." His voice trembles with barely contained fury. "She gave Semyon the information about Lev and Mikhail's movements. She ordered the death of her own husband and her son."
My hand flies to my stomach, protectively cradling our growing child. "What?"
"Gregor confirmed it. She was working with Semyon and Kristofer." Ruslan's breathing grows ragged. "She would have been fine with her daughters dying too in the attack on the mansion, Aurora. Her own children."
I steady myself against the back of a chair as I listen.
"And Kristofer," Ruslan continues. "She was working with him. That's how he was able to gain access." Ruslan's voice drops to something dangerous. "Everything ties back to her."
I feel my blood turn to ice water. "And Gregor allowed this?"
"Not just allowed it. Approved it. For stability. For the Vori ."
The last word leaves his mouth like poison.
"What will you do, then?" I ask, but I know the answer already.
"Semyon will die. Kristofer will die. Tamara will die." He spits each name out as he says them. "But not Gregor... Gregor will live to see everything he's built crumble around him."
I search his face, seeing both fury and a question there.
"Am I going too far?" he asks softly.
He's waiting to see if I'll try to talk him down, to be his voice of reason.
For a moment, I think of the Aurora who existed before. The woman who hid from cameras, who shrank from confrontation, and who clung to the idea that there is still some justice in this world filled with injustices.
But that woman is gone, and instead, all I hear are what Mikayla told me in the garden right before my nightmares came true.
If you want to survive in this world, you must become a monster willing to do monstrous things.
"They've left us no choice." I take his hands in mine, feeling their tremor. "They targeted your family. They targeted me. They'll target our child if we give them the chance to."
I straighten my shoulders, feeling a coldness settle into my bones that I've never known before. "You know what must be done, and I will stand with you to see it finished."
"Should we tell the girls?" Ruslan asks, his voice hoarse.
I see the conflict in his eyes. The protective instinct to shield them from this ugly truth is fighting with the need to prepare them for what's coming. His hand finds mine, and I feel his thumb tracing nervous circles on my palm.
"Because I don't want to," he admits. "Especially not Stella and Sofia. They still love her."
I take a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you that first day the nieces came here? When Mikayla was angry and you tried to command her to apologize?"
His eyes meet mine.
"You can offer your nieces physical protection," I say softly. "But you can't control how they think or feel. You can't command away their pain."
"This is different." Ruslan's jaw tightens. "If I tell them this, I'll be telling them that I intend to kill their mother."
"But keeping this from them is still you trying to control how they think. It's making decisions about what they can handle." I rest my hand on his cheek. "You have to trust that they know enough to navigate this world. They've been living in it their entire life."
"And what if they won't accept my decision?" His voice breaks. "Stella and Sofia are children. How do I begin telling them their mother was willing to see them dead?"
"If that's what worries you, then maybe you can wait to tell those two." I move closer, our foreheads nearly touching. "But Mikayla should know. She's older, she understands more than you give her credit for. And she can help you explain it to her sisters when the time comes."
"It'll hurt her." Ruslan exhales slowly.
"I'm not saying it won't," I say, remembering her tears when we talked about Tamara. "But it will hurt her more if she finds out you kept this from her. She's spent her whole life navigating her mother's manipulations. She'll recognize what this means, and she'll understand why you need to tell her."
His eyes close for a moment. When they open, I see the resignation there, mixed with determination.
"When?" he asks.
"Because you've already made your decision, it needs to be said now."
My voice sounds steadier than I feel, but I've learned that sometimes you need to project the strength you wish you had.
"You need to seize the advantage of having this information before someone else can set the narrative."
I can see the weight of it all pressing down on Ruslan's shoulders. The burden of what must be done. The knowledge of what it will do to his nieces. My heart aches for him, for them, but I know there's no gentle way through this.
"Will you be here with me when I tell her?" Ruslan squeezes my hand so tightly I almost wince. "Please, zarechka ."
There it is again.
That simple act of asking permission. Everything from the way he looks at me to the gentleness in his voice speaks volumes about how far we've come. In this world of commands and unflinching authority, where men like Ruslan are expected to rule with iron fists, he continues to surprise me with these small moments of vulnerability.
"Of course." I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the scratch of his stubble against my lips before I give his hand a squeeze. "Whatever you need."
What strikes me most is how natural this feels. There's no power struggle between us, no battle for control. He doesn't just tolerate my input; he actively seeks it out and values it.
In a world where I once felt powerless, I now find myself an equal to one of the most dangerous men in California.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "For being here. For seeing me clearly."
I step closer, resting my head against his chest. "We're partners now, Ruslan. In everything."
Not just husband and wife, not just lovers, but true allies navigating this violent world together.
He doesn't try to keep me hidden from the harsh realities of bratva life or make decisions on my behalf.
He brings me into the fold, seeks my counsel, trusts my judgment.
And in return, I've found myself becoming stronger and more decisive through the power he imbues in me. The woman who fled from Kristofer for seven years is now standing her ground, and planning her revenge.
"Partners," he echoes, the word like a prayer on his lips, before he calls for Daria.
When she appears, Ruslan asks her to bring Mikayla to the office.
As the door closes behind Daria, a strange silence falls over us. Ruslan sinks into his chair, and I move to stand beside him, my hand resting protectively on his shoulder.
Suddenly, I can't help the small laugh that escapes my lips.
"What is it?" Ruslan looks up, his brow furrowed with confusion.
"This was exactly what I saw in Vegas, when I sat across the desk from Potyomkin, and saw Vera standing beside him." I shake my head at the memory. "When I first saw her there, I thought she was powerless. Just a decoration. But it was only after we started negotiating that I understood how powerful and influential she really was."
Ruslan nods, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he reaches up to cover my hand with his.
"This is the hidden reality of the bratva," he says softly. "Men will fight and die in the mud, but it's their wives who ultimately wield the power." His thumb traces over my knuckles. "Because they're the only ones who can drag us out from the mud and bring us back to the table for talks."
The door to the office opens and Mikayla steps through, her shoulders tense but her chin held high.
She glances between us, her eyes eventually settling on me for a few seconds longer than necessary. I know she's analyzing the way I stand beside Ruslan, and how my hand is resting protectively on his shoulder.
I don't speak, but I offer her a reassuring nod as she takes her seat across from Ruslan's desk.
Ruslan begins explaining everything Gregor revealed: how Tamara worked with Semyon and Kristofer, how she facilitated Lev and Mikhail's murders, and how she would have sacrificed her own daughters in the attack on the mansion.
While he speaks, I watch Mikayla carefully.
To her credit, she shows no sign of shock or fear. Her face is arranged in a perfect mask. There's no trembling lip, no widening eyes, not even a change in her breathing.
She absorbs the information that her own mother was willing to have her killed with an unsettling calmness.
I recognize that expression. It's the familiar facade of stillness that hides the hurricane of fear and anxiety raging inside.
But above all, I marvel at how practiced this seems for her.
This isn't the first betrayal she's weathered, just the most extreme. I realize with absolute certainty that one day, Mikayla will make a fearsome wife to a pakhan if she so chooses.
Or even a pakhan in her own right if this world will allow it.
The only tell is in her hands. Perfectly folded in her lap, with one set of knuckles white from how tightly she's gripping her other hand.
When Ruslan finishes, the room falls silent. He leans forward slightly, his voice gentler than before.
"I wanted you to hear this from me, not from someone else," he says. "I know it's difficult to process, but I need to know what you think."
For all her practiced stillness, I can see the internal struggle playing out behind her eyes.
"I understand why Semyon and Kristofer must die," she finally says, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "But my mother..."
She pauses, her knuckles turning white as she grips her own hands tighter.
"I cannot say I disagree with your decision, Uncle Ruslan, but I cannot bring myself to agree with it either."
Ruslan nods, respecting her honesty.
"As for dismantling the Zapadniye Vori ," she continues, "I think that would be a mistake. The Vori brings order to chaos. Without it, the streets would run with blood as everyone fights for territory." She looks directly at her uncle. "The bratvas need governance."
"True enough," Ruslan admits, running a hand through his hair. "But not the way that Gregor is running it."
To my surprise, Mikayla turns to face me directly.
"Aurora," she says, using my name with deliberate formality, "what do you think my uncle should do?"
The question catches me off guard. I feel both Ruslan and Mikayla watching me, waiting. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach where our child grows.
"Mikayla is right about the Vori ," I say slowly. "You can't dismantle it completely. Unless…"
Just then, an idea forms in my mind. Something dangerous and ambitious that makes my heart race.
"Unless you put yourself at the head of it."
The silence that follows is deafening. I feel my cheeks burning, my pulse throbbing in my neck. Did I overstep? The air in the room feels suddenly thick, and it's hard to breathe.
My mouth goes dry as I watch Ruslan's expression shift from surprise to contemplation.
Ruslan shakes his head. "This isn't something to consider lightly. The other pakhans have grown fat under Gregor's leadership. They won't take kindly to a shift like this."
"A deal has already been struck with Potyomkin in Las Vegas," I point out. "His money combined with your guns creates a powerful alliance. Yes, there will be challenges, but it's not impossible"
Ruslan doesn't disagree, but I can see the weight of this possibility settling on his shoulders.
"May I be excused?" Mikayla asks suddenly. "I need time to think about how to tell my sisters."
Ruslan nods, and she rises gracefully, leaving us alone with the dangerous possibility I've just unleashed.
Once we're alone again, silence returns, filled with possibilities.
"The other pakhans in the Vori ," Ruslan finally says. "Some might be persuaded, especially if Potyomkin stands with us. But others are firmly in Gregor's pocket."
"How many would follow you?"
"Not enough," he admits. "And those who might would need substantial convincing."
I watch his face as he mentally tallies the loyalties of men I've barely met. The furrow between his brows deepens as he considers each man's price. Money, territory, protection.
Each one will need to be negotiated with separately, and that's assuming they haven't already negotiated among themselves.
That's what he's really concerned with. If he tries to negotiate with them all one-on-one, they may simply choose to band together behind his back.
To achieve success, we'll need them all in the same place at once.
Then, an idea blossoms in my mind.
"I have an idea," I say, my voice stronger than I expected.
Ruslan looks up. "What are you thinking, zarechka ?"
"It's like you said." I move closer, excitement building. "Men fight in the mud, but women drag them back to the table."
His eyes narrow slightly. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"The wives." I pace back and forth, mind racing. "I know what I saw at our wedding. I saw how they kept their eyes down the entire time."
"Many of them are genuinely afraid of their husbands," Ruslan points out. "They're not like you or Vera. They can't influence their husbands the way you think."
"I don't need them to influence their husbands," I reply, turning to face him. "I just need them here. Because if they come, their husbands will follow."
Understanding dawns on Ruslan's face. "Because those old men would never allow their wives to plot together."
"Exactly." I nod eagerly. "Those controlling bastards would either send their most trusted men or come themselves to find out what's happening. And that's when you lay out your plan."
"It's risky," he says, but I can see the calculation in his eyes. "If we push this..."
"We're already pushing it," I remind him. "You've told Gregor that yourself. If we don't push now, we'll lose the initiative."
Ruslan stands and walks to the window, his broad shoulders tense.
"We have no idea if it'll work," he says quietly.
"That's exactly what a scared nineteen-year-old girl thought when she stared at that car wreck in the Eastern Sierras." I join him at the window, resting my hand on his arm. "But we will never know if we don't try."
The smile that breaks across Ruslan's face fills me with a surge of pride. His eyes shine with that golden warmth that never fails to make my heart skip.
"You are brilliant, zarechka ," he murmurs, cupping my face. His thumb traces the yellowing bruise on my cheek, his touch feather-light. "Absolutely brilliant."
The compliment warms me like sunlight. "I've had to think on my feet for seven years," I remind him. "You pick up a few tricks when you're constantly looking over your shoulder."
"Who would you contact first?" he asks, still cradling my face like it's something precious.
I think back to our wedding reception, to the women who stood beside their husbands with hollow eyes. One face stands out sharply in my memory.
Eleonora, Alexei Voronin's young wife.
The ghost of a smile that had flickered across her face when I joked about how her husband needed a new pool to get her wet.
"Eleonora Voronin," I say without hesitation.
Ruslan nods, considering. "Not a bad idea"
"Alexei already extended me an invitation to his pool," I continue, the plan taking shape as I speak. "And I'm sure Eleonora can persuade the other wives to join us."
"And if something goes wrong, it looks like Alexei's idea," Ruslan finishes, comprehension dawning.
"Exactly." I step closer, warming to my theme now. "The wives are just there to be with each other."
"And if it goes right..."
"Then you have all the pakhans in one place, ready to hear your proposition," I finish.
Ruslan shakes his head in wonder, his eyes never leaving mine. "You are very good at this. Terrifyingly good."
"Is that a problem?" I raise an eyebrow, feeling bolder than I have in years.
"No," he says, pulling me closer. "It's exactly what I need."
His lips find mine, gentle but insistent. When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine.
"I can get this process started soon," he whispers against my lips. "We'll need to move quickly before Semyon has time to solidify his position with the other families."