15. Ruslan
15
RUSLAN
The smoke hangs thick in Alexei's office, curling around crystal decanters and between the fingers of California's most ruthless men. Everyone who matters to see the initial success for my plot to take over the Zapadniye Vori is here.
I can't help but notice how our host, Alexei Kusmich Voronin, keeps darting his eye towards the window.
The office has the perfect view of his Olympic-sized pool where our wives are enjoying the California sun.
Or more accurately, where he's trying to enjoy the view of our wives in swimwear.
I sit up a little straighter, deliberately blocking Alexei's sight.
"That's one hell of an idea, Ruslan Vitalyevich," Ivan Svarikov says, tapping ash from his cigarette. "I see nineteen years of absence haven't dulled your instincts."
I nod, half-listening, and watch Alexei's eyes slide toward the window again.
Keep your eyes off my wife. I glare at him when I catch him looking again. You old pervert .
I take a slow sip of whiskey. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that Gregor's losing his touch."
A murmur of agreement rumbles through the room, and someone brings up that we might even need to talk about redrawing territory lines.
Alexei shifts in his seat, trying to peer around me. I adjust my stance, enjoying the flash of annoyance in his eyes when he looks over at me.
Behind me through the glass, I hear something unexpected. Laughter.
Not polite tittering, but genuine, uninhibited joy.
I can pick out Aurora's laugh, bright and contagious, but also the ones from the other wives. I've never heard them laugh like this at these gatherings. They're usually as stiff and formal as mannequins, speaking only when required.
"Perhaps we should take a ten-minute bathroom break," Alexei suggests, his eyes darting toward the window again.
"Why?" I reply, not budging from my position. "Eager to have your cock in your hands?"
"My bladder isn't what it used to be." Alexei squirms in his seat like a schoolboy. "Age catches up with all of us eventually."
I don't bother hiding my smirk. "Strange how your bladder only troubles you when other men's wives are wearing so little clothing."
A ripple of chuckles spreads through the room.
"I don't know what you're implying," Alexei bristles, but the flush creeping up his neck tells me I've hit the mark.
Dmitri Balakirev, never one to mince words, leans forward. His massive frame makes the leather chair creak in protest. "We're here to hammer out the first portion of a deal, Voronin, not ogle each other's wives."
"I would never?—"
"Save it." Dmitri cuts him off with a dismissive wave. "Let's focus on business. You can play with your limp dick later."
Alexei slumps back, properly chastised. "Fine."
Pavel Korsakov unfurls a map of California on the table, and we lean forward to look at the current territory lines. I can see the hunger glistening in each man's eyes as they look at the spaces between our domains.
"One other problem," Dmitri says, tracing his finger along the coast. "Anatoly Baryshev isn't here to negotiate distribution for drugs. Nor are the Volkov siblings present to discuss their properties in Los Angeles. Those are significant revenue streams. And Baryshev has the ear of the politicians."
I shrug, careful to keep my expression neutral. "As long as the bankers, the shippers, and gun runners are in agreement, the lesser bratvas will fall in line."
Dmitri's lips curl up at those words. He controls the largest shadow banking operation on the West Coast, laundering money for half the organizations in this room alongside Potyomkin.
"Fair enough," he says, nodding appreciatively. "Shall we start bidding for territories? I have a particular interest in a very lucrative stretch of land in the San Bernardino Valley"
I listen as the pakhans murmur their agreement, voices mingling with cigar smoke in the stuffy room. The bidding starts, predictable as sunrise. Dmitri wants San Bernardino's roads where anything and everything is for sale. Pavel eyes the warehouses near Sacramento. Alexei, when he's not trying to peek at our wives, keeps mentioning Fresno's farmland.
Numbers fly across the table. Millions. Tens of millions. Percentages of profits. Exchanges of favors. Promises of men and guns when needed. The typical horse-trading that's defined these meetings for decades.
I remain silent through it all, nursing my drink and watching.
Everyone has a tell. Dmitri rubs his thumb against his glass when he's bluffing. Pavel's left eye twitches slightly when he's about to make a serious bid. Alexei's voice goes higher when he's desperate.
"Ruslan Vitalyevich," Dmitri finally says, turning those sharp eyes on me. "You've been quiet. No bids? No lines you want to redraw? Surely you didn't come just to block Alexei's view."
The men laugh, and I allow myself a small smile.
"No good tsar has ever stayed a tsar for very long by taking from his boyars," I reply, setting my glass down. "My interest isn't in acquiring territory."
I lean forward, placing both hands flat on the table.
"What I want is a simple rewriting of the rules. The Vori's long-term future must be safeguarded now that Gregor is willing to negotiate with the Triads behind our backs."
A tense silence follows. Mentioning Gregor's betrayal still feels like picking at a fresh wound.
"If that's the case." Ivan Svarikov clears his throat. "I wouldn't mind picking a few fights with the Triads for the ports and strip clubs in San Diego," he mutters, fingers drumming against the table. "And I want a freer hand to be more brutal with the cartels. They're clearly trying to form an alliance and they're stealing from my bowl."
"You can have that, Ivan Abramovich," I say. "But you cannot cross into Tijuana to start fights with the cartels. Not yet, anyway."
Svarikov considers this, then gives a curt nod. "I can agree with that."
Slowly, the deals have come together like a choreographed dance. The pakhans' signatures slide across contracts, and handshakes seal these initial promises.
I know this is no coronation.
Not yet.
Too many key players are missing for this to be anything more than a first step. But what a critical step it is.
The foundation for a new Zapadniye Vori , one that will stand against Semyon and the Triads, is taking shape before my eyes.
I drain my glass, half-listening to Pavel and Dmitri congratulating each other over their newly acquired territories. Their voices fade to background noise when I turn and catch sight of her through the window.
Aurora.
Even among these powerful men, my eyes find only her. She's watching me, those hazel eyes piercing through glass and smoke. I give her a curt nod, and she returns it with a small smile that warms me more than any whiskey could.
"Who's staring now?" Alexei slides up beside me, offering a fresh glass. "Seems I'm not the only one with wandering eyes."
I accept the whiskey, tilting it toward him in acknowledgment. "The difference is, I only have eyes for my wife."
Alexei chuckles, swirling his drink. "A rare man indeed in our world. One who's actually in love with his wife. Most of us would rather be anywhere else than in our marital beds."
"Is that so wrong?" I take a measured sip. "To love the woman who stands beside you?"
"I suppose not." A shadow crosses his face. "But one grows tired of monogamy."
I set my empty glass down on the ledge. "Thank you for hosting, Alexei Kusmich. But Aurora and I need to head home now."
"And what of our future meetings?" He grins, revealing crooked teeth. "Will we continue meeting here in view of my pool, Ruslan Vitalyevich?"
I finally let my agreeable facade drop.
"In the old days," I say quietly, "tsars had the right to blind and castrate any boyar who coveted things that didn't belong to them."
Alexei's smile falters and the room goes silent.
"I won't take any material goods from you, Alexei Kusmich." My hand lands on his shoulder, fingers digging into muscle. "Neither your money nor your properties. But this is the last time you'll so openly flaunt your perversions before me."
"I don't… I wasn't…"
"If you want to ogle women, do it with the prostitutes you employ." My grip tightens. "But if I catch you staring at my wife or any other man's wife again, I will take your eyes and balls."
Alexei's eyes dart to the other pakhans, searching for support. Finding none, his shoulders slump.
"I apologize, Ruslan Vitalyevich," he mumbles.
"Is that how someone apologizes to the pakhan of pakhans?" Dmitri calls out, his voice cutting through the silence.
"No." Alexei's face reddens. "No, it isn't."
With visible reluctance, he lowers himself to his knees before me. I know what must happen before it happens.
I extend my hand, the heavy gold band of my wedding ring gleaming under the hazy light.
Alexei takes it, pressing his lips against the metal.
"I apologize for my disrespect, Ruslan Vitalyevich," he says, voice stripped of all humor. "It will not happen again."
"Good, now rise," I command, and he does, no longer daring to glance toward the window.
* * *
The black sedan moves through the roads, carrying us away from Voronin's estate. Aurora sits beside me, her shoulder pressed against mine despite the spacious backseat.
The adrenaline of the meeting is slowly ebbing away, replaced by the warm satisfaction of success.
"You did it," Aurora says, her fingers finding mine. "You actually brought them all to the table."
I smile, her praise washing over me. "I couldn't have done it without you, zarechka . Your insight gave me the cover I needed."
"My insight?" She tilts her head, hazel eyes catching the passing streetlights. "All I did was point out the obvious."
"And yet no-one else thought of it." I bring her hand to my lips. "You see things others miss, Aurora. It's your greatest gift."
She nestles closer. "Speaking of seeing things, I noticed Alexei through the window. Then suddenly he was on his knees. What happened?"
A laugh escapes me. "I told him that I'd blind and castrate him if I ever catch him ogling you again."
Aurora's laughter fills the car, bright and unrestrained. "Did you really?"
"And I meant every word."
"Poor Alexei," she says with mock sympathy. "But I doubt anyone would notice if you removed his balls. They've probably shriveled to raisins by now."
I can't help but laugh with her.
When our laughter subsides, I ask. "How was your time with the wives?"
"Night and day difference once their husbands weren't hovering." Aurora looks away briefly. "They finally had a chance to voice their opinions, stories, and complaints." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Did you know Eleonora keeps a diary of all Alexei's affairs?"
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." I take her hand. "And what did they think of you?"
"At first, suspicious. I was the outsider who married into power. But when Eleonora vouched for me, and after I told them about our plan with the documentary." Her smile widens. "I think I've made some valuable allies today."
"That's my girl," I murmur against her hair.
"We'll need to figure out another meeting," Aurora says, tracing a pattern on my thigh. "This is just the first meeting of many."
"Yes." I nod, circling my thumb over her knuckles. "But I doubt Alexei will be eager to host us again."
A smirk curves across Aurora's lips. "Actually, I was talking with Anastasia Svarikov about that."
"Were you now?" I raise an eyebrow, curious what new scheme my wife has concocted.
"She had an interesting proposition." Aurora shifts to face me fully. "Since the documentary is still going through the casting process, we could invite the wives to audition for the dramatization roles."
The simplicity of the cleverness to her idea is impressive.
"And naturally, their husbands would accompany them to our estate."
"Exactly." Her eyes sparkle with triumph. "The wives get to have a few moments of freedom, the husbands get the cover they need to pay a visit to you, and we get to have the next round of negotiations on our terms and territory."
I pull her closer, marveling at how perfectly our minds work together. "That's brilliant, zarechka ."
Aurora nestles against my chest, her warmth seeping through my suit. "I thought you might say that."
I tilt her chin up, looking into those eyes that saw through me from the very beginning. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"
"You might have mentioned it," she whispers, leaning in until our lips almost touch. "But I never grow tired of hearing it."
I close the gap between us as I capture her lips against mine, overcome by the fierce certainty that with Aurora at my side, nothing—not Semyon, not Kristofer, not Tamara, and not even the ghosts of my past—can stop us now.