23. Aurora
23
AURORA
SIX WEEKS LATER
I stare at the screen as the credits roll.
My fingers are locked so tightly around Ruslan's that I'm not sure where my hand ends and his begins. We've just finished watching the first cut of the entire documentary.
Everything about my life, my wounds, and my family's murder has been condensed into ninety harrowing minutes.
I feel like I can't breathe, even though my lungs are working just fine.
Ruslan's thumb traces circles on my skin, grounding me when I feel like I'm floating away.
The lights come up slowly, but I keep my eyes fixed on the screen, now just a blank canvas.
It was one thing to play my mother and walk onto the set. But it was another thing entirely to see the finished product like this.
Like I was being cleaved in two.
One half of me was Aurora Dragunov reciting lines and slipping into her role. The other was Jamie Fields, screaming and collapsing again as her world ended.
"Are you alright?" Ruslan's voice pulls me out of my own thoughts.
"I..." I swallow, trying to find words. "I don't know. Seeing everything laid out like this. My past, my family, Kristofer, and becoming who I am now. I think I'll need a minute to take it all in."
My hand finds his again, squeezing it for reassurance.
"The editing team did a fantastic job," I admit. "It's better than I expected."
Ruslan turns toward me, lifting my chin with his finger until our eyes meet. " You did a fantastic job, zarechka . Everything from your acting to your interviews." He pauses, emotion flickering across his face. "Your courage shines through every frame."
I drop my gaze and my free hand instinctively moves to my belly, now gently starting to round at sixteen weeks.
When Ruslan sees this, he moves his large hand until it covers mine, warm and protective over our growing children.
"That's why we're doing this," he murmurs. "For them. So they'll never have to run or hide."
I know he's right. This documentary isn't just my revenge against Kristofer or a way to break his alliance with Semyon. It's a declaration for me.
A promise that I won't live in fear anymore.
"So, what happens next?" I ask softly.
"The documentary needs about a week for final cuts," he says, fingers trailing over my hand. "Then we'll have a test audience screening to gauge reactions."
"That's pretty quick," I say. "Way faster than I remember most projects taking."
"Most projects don't have me cutting all the red tape."
He's not wrong about that, and I marvel at how he's been able to juggle so many things at once. Facing down Semyon, scheming to take over the Zapadniye Vori , working on the documentary, and somehow he still finds time for me.
"And after that?" I ask.
"The trailer will release a week later," he says. "That should start the process of putting public pressure and attention on Kristofer."
"Which makes him less useful for Semyon."
"Exactly. While that's happening, we'll kick off our official marketing campaign." His golden eyes never leave mine as he talks. "If we stay on schedule, we can qualify for next year's Cannes Film Festival."
"Cannes? Really?"
For a flickering moment, I see myself walking the red carpet in a flowing gown, not hiding from cameras but embracing them. The dream I'd abandoned when Jamie Fields died.
But Ruslan's gaze remains steady and concerned. I know what he's really asking me.
Marketing means promotion. Promotion means travel, interviews, and cameras. Lots of cameras.
It means stepping fully into the light after seven years of shadows.
A flutter ripples through my belly, soft as a butterfly's wings, at the thought of it.
"That's the whole point of this, isn't it? To stop hiding. To show the world what Kristofer did. To show that I'm not afraid of him anymore."
I take a deep breath.
"And if we happen to drive a wedge between Kristofer and Semyon in the process? That's just a bonus."
Ruslan studies my face, searching for uncertainty as his hand threads into mine over my belly.
"I'm ready," I tell him.
For the first time, I truly believe it.
I lean forward and press my forehead against his. "Besides, I have something I didn't have seven years ago."
"What's that?" he asks, his breath warm against my face.
"You."
The fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface—it always will be—but it doesn't control me anymore. Not like it used to.
"I want our children to have a mother who faces her fears, not one who runs from them."
Ruslan's eyes soften as he covers my hand with his and turns his face to kiss my palm.
"You are the strongest woman I know, zarechka ," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. "Stronger than any of my boeviki ."
I laugh at that. "I don't know about that."
"You are, trust me," he insists, and the conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument.
"And what about you? I know you haven't just been watching me film. All those closed door meetings with the other pakhans every time their wives come over. What've you been up to?"
Ruslan's lips quirk into a smile as we start walking toward the door. "I've been solidifying our position with the other pakhans. The groundwork we laid at Alexei's through your brilliant idea of bringing the other wives together is bearing fruit."
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "That network of wives has been particularly useful, hasn't it?"
Ruslan chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates through his chest. "To hear Alexei Voronin tell it, it's almost like there's a secret spy network operating at the heart of their business. They don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."
"Good," I say with a smirk. "It's time those women take back some of that power after everything they've endured with their husbands."
"I owe it all to you." Ruslan nods, his expression growing more serious. "The pakhans are starting to understand that change is coming. That the old ways of doing things won't stand for much longer."
I think about Eleonora and the others. Women who've spent years as decorative accessories to powerful men. Now they're finding their voices, finding each other.
"Look at you, Aurora," Ruslan murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Look at all the amazing things you can do."
"All the things that you're helping me do," I correct him.
"You're giving me too much credit." Ruslan shakes his head. "With my help or not, this strength was always in you. This ability to rally people to your side, to adapt to new situations, to face what looks like impossible odds and emerge on the other side in one piece. That was always there in you."
"I don't think?—"
"It's true," he says, cutting me off gently. "You survived Kristofer when you were just nineteen. You built an entire new identity for yourself. You hid yourself so successfully for seven years that most of the Vori couldn't find anything on you."
My throat tightens as I absorb his words.
"And now? You've given power to the powerless. You negotiated with one of the most ruthless men in Vegas. You've looked your darkest trauma in the face." His voice drops lower. "You've done all this while carrying our children."
I blink back the tears that are threatening to spill. "Because I knew you'd be here to catch me if I fell."
"Maybe. But your strength wasn't something I could give you," he insists, his thumb brushing my cheek. "The only thing I did was create the space for you to reclaim your unbreakable spirit and your defiant will."
Before I can argue, he leans forward and captures my lips against his. I melt into his kiss, the warmth of it spreading through my body and chasing away my doubts.
As he deepens the kiss, his hand cradling the nape of my neck just the way I love, I feel it again—that flutter in my belly. But this time, it's stronger than before. More defined.
I freeze mid-kiss, my eyes flying open.
That's not from any kind of emotion. I press my hand against the curve of my belly, holding my breath.
There—it happens again. A distinct ripple under my palm.
My babies… I realize. I'm feeling my babies kick for the very first time .
Ruslan pulls back, concern flashing across his face. "What is it?"
I grab his hand and press it firmly against the curve of my belly, holding my breath.
"Here." I whisper, my voice trembling with awe.
Ruslan goes completely still, his golden eyes widening as understanding dawns. His palm spreads flat against my belly, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse.
The world narrows down to just us—to his hand on my stomach and the shared anticipation hanging in the air between us.
One heartbeat passes. Then another. And then another.
Finally, it happens again.
That unmistakable flutter beneath my skin, stronger this time, as if our children know their father is right here next to them.
A soft gasp escapes Ruslan's lips, and when I look up, tears are welling in his eyes.
"Is that…" he whispers, his voice cracking. His fingers tremble slightly against my belly. "Aurora, is that them?"
The complete awe in his voice breaks something open inside me. For a man who commands an entire bratva with unwavering strength, who faced down death multiple times, to be so utterly undone by this small miracle—it's almost too much.
"Yes," I choke out, my own tears spilling over. "I felt it earlier, but I thought it was just my emotions. But it's them, Ruslan. It's our babies."
Ruslan drops to his knees right there in the screening room, both hands now framing my belly, his forehead pressed gently against the curve where our children grow.
He whispers to them reverently in soft, shushing Russian, sending another flutter rippling beneath my skin in response.
The moment he feels that, he lets out a sound that's half a laugh and half a sob.
I thread my fingers through his golden-brown curls, my heart so full I can barely breathe. After everything we've endured—the violence, the fear, the near-misses with death—this moment feels sacred.
"We're going to be parents," I whisper, my voice so soft it barely disturbs the air between us. "It's really happening."
Ruslan remains on his knees before me, his hands spread protectively over my belly. His golden eyes are wet with tears, and I've never seen anything more beautiful than this powerful man marveling at the tiny lives we've created together.
"Our children," he murmurs back, his voice thick with emotion. " Our children, zarechka ."
Another flutter pulses beneath my skin, and I gasp. It's like they know we're talking about them, acknowledging their existence in a way that transcends every other moment before this.
"I think they're saying hi." I laugh softly, covering his hands with mine.
When Ruslan looks up at me, the reverence in his gaze takes my breath away. The protectiveness in his eyes now burns hotter than I've ever seen it before.
"This changes everything," he says, rising to his feet but keeping his hands on my belly. "Everything. All of what we do matters more now than ever."
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle into my bones. "I know."
Our eyes lock in silent understanding. The stakes have never been higher. This isn't just about my trauma or Ruslan's war or even the future of the Vori .
It's about shaping the new world for our children. To make sure that they will never live the traumas that we did.
"We have to win," I whisper fiercely. "For them."
One of our babies kicks again, stronger this time, as if in agreement.
"We will win," Ruslan promises, his words carrying the weight of an oath. "I promise you that."
He pulls me closer, pressing his forehead against mine, our hands still joined over our children. We stand like that for a long moment, the silence between us more powerful than words could ever be.