24. Ruslan
24
RUSLAN
I swear rocket engineering is simpler than whatever the hell this crib assembly manual is trying to tell me.
The instructions stare back at me, mocking my twenty minutes of frustration with cheerful cartoon illustrations that make no fucking sense.
"Any progress?" Aurora's voice drifts from across the nursery where she's kneeling on a drop cloth with Stella and Sofia, their hands covered in varying shades of blue and green paint.
"If by progress you mean I've assembled what looks like a medieval torture device, then yes." I toss the instruction booklet aside and survey the scattered wooden pieces. "I'm beginning to think our children might be better off sleeping in dresser drawers."
"You should try reading the instructions instead of just looking at the pictures."
"I think I would've made more progress if I had ignored the instructions and only looked at the pictures."
Aurora laughs, and the light sound makes my chest ache with how much I love her.
Her belly, now growing larger with each passing day, hides behind her loose t-shirt as she dips her brush into a container of sea-foam green.
"Uncle Ruslan, why is your face all red?" Sofia asks, her tiny forehead creased with concern.
"Because he's losing a battle with an inanimate object," Mikayla answers from the doorway, leaning against the frame with amused teenager judgment.
"I'm not losing," I growl, picking up the screwdriver again. "I'm strategizing."
"The pakhan of pakhans, defeated by woodworking." Mikayla steps into the room and picks up the discarded manual. "I don't think this is one thing you can glare into submission."
Aurora's eyes meet mine across the room, sparkling with amusement. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, a streak of paint across her cheek. Even with smudges of color on her hands and the oversized t-shirt that barely contains her growing belly, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Once you put one together," Aurora reminds me, resting a hand on her stomach. "The second one probably won't take you nearly as long."
I set the screwdriver down with exaggerated care and meet Aurora's laughing eyes.
"You're finding this terribly amusing, aren't you?"
"Not at all," she replies, but her twitching lips betray her. "I'm just impressed by how many fresh curse words you can mutter under your breath. I think I count at least twelve new ones I've never heard before."
"I'm glad my vocabulary is expanding your language skills. Very educational for the children."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the heat of exertion on my neck as I stare at the instructions. The smiley faces that appear on the random pages seem to mock me, and I can't help as another string of swears fall out of my lips.
Sofia giggles, dipping her tiny hand in blue paint. "What did you say, Uncle Ruslan?"
"Nothing you should repeat," Mikayla mutters before she snatches the instructions out of my hand.
Aurora carefully shifts her position on the floor, one hand supporting her lower back. "You know, in the script I was reading in the alleyway, I could've sworn the hero assembled an entire nursery in one montage scene. No sweat, no cursing."
"Funny how you didn't criticize that part as unrealistic." I sigh, picking up two pieces that should clearly fit together but refuse to cooperate. "I don't think there's a man on earth who's assembled baby furniture without questioning his entire existence."
"Should I call Artyom to assist you?"
"Why?" Mikayla beats me to it. "So you can watch both of them struggle?"
I can't help but laugh at Mikayla's comment. The girl's got her mother's sharp tongue but, thankfully, none of her venom.
"Fine, I accept defeat." I hold my hands up in surrender. "Mika, if you think you can make sense of this, be my guest."
Mikayla scoffs but sinks down beside me, her fingers nimble as she sorts through the wooden slats. "Well, for starters, this isn't part B." She points to another identical piece. "That is."
"When did you become an expert in crib assembly?" I ask, handing her the screwdriver.
She rolls her eyes. "I helped put together Sofia's dollhouse last Christmas, remember? The one that you bought? Same principle, just bigger stakes."
"You couldn't have come an hour earlier to help me with this nightmare?" I mutter, watching as she effortlessly connects two pieces I've been struggling with for ten minutes.
"And miss watching you huff and puff and suffer a mini-meltdown?" She smirks, tightening a screw with practiced ease. "You know me better than that, Uncle Ruslan."
Slowly, with Mikayla's help, the first crib starts to take shape.
"I can't wait to see the babies!" Stella pipes up, her face serious as she carefully adds another stroke of blue to whatever ocean scene they're creating. "I'm going to teach them everything I know."
"Everything?" Aurora asks, her voice warm with amusement.
"Yeah!" Stella nods solemnly. "I'm going to teach them all about unicorns, how to play hide and seek, and ice cream!"
"I think the babies are a little young for those things, Sofochka," Mikayla says.
"But everybody loves unicorns!" she pouts.
"You didn't want to learn about unicorns until you were almost three," Mikayla. "But tell you what, when the babies are old enough, we can teach them all about unicorns together. Sound good?"
"Yeah!"
Aurora rests both hands on her belly, smiling. "I think they're excited to meet all of you too. They've been kicking like crazy every time they hear your voices."
Stella scoots closer to Aurora on the floor, her eyes wide with fascination as she watches Aurora's belly.
"Can I feel?" she asks, her small voice filled with hope.
Aurora's face softens. "Of course you can, sweetie."
She takes Stella's tiny hand in hers and guides it to the side of her stomach where there's been the most movement. Stella's expression is reverent, hushed with anticipation as she waits, her palm flat against Aurora's shirt.
At first, nothing happens. Stella's face falls slightly.
"Sometimes you have to be patient," Aurora explains. "They're probably?—"
Then it happens. Stella's eyes go wide, and her mouth forms a perfect little 'o' of excitement and astonishment.
"I felt them!" she squeals, bouncing slightly. "I felt the babies kick me!"
"They're just saying hello to you," Aurora says.
Stella presses her hand more firmly against Aurora's belly, her face a picture of intense concentration. Another kick comes, and she gasps dramatically.
"Wow!" She looks back towards me with pure wonder. "Uncle Ruslan! The babies kicked my hand! They know it's me!"
I can't help but smile at her excitement. "They recognize your voice, Stellochka. They can hear you from inside."
Stella's eyes widen even further. "Really? They can hear me?" She leans down toward Aurora's belly, her face inches from it. "Hi babies! It's me, Stella! I'm gonna be your big cousin!"
She waits expectantly, her hand still pressed against Aurora's stomach. When another movement ripples under her palm, she lets out a delighted squeal.
"They answered me! Did you hear it?" She's practically vibrating with excitement. "One of them said 'Hi Stella, I love you!'"
Sofia abandons her painting to crawl over. "I want to feel too!"
Aurora laughs, taking Sofia's paint-smeared hand and wiping it clean with a nearby cloth before placing it next to Stella's.
"The babies are very active today," Aurora says, meeting my eyes with a soft smile.
"That's because they're happy," Stella declares with absolute certainty. "They're happy because we're making their room so pretty!"
I watch as my younger nieces huddle around Aurora, their faces alight with wonder. Something in my chest constricts at the sight of them together.
My family, both old and new, weaving together into something whole.
Stella's uninhibited joy is infectious, and even Sofia abandons her typically reserved nature to press her hand against Aurora's belly.
Mikayla, however, hangs back. While she keeps that half-smile on her lips, her eyes tell a different story. There's tension in her shoulders, a shadow behind her gaze that she's trying to mask.
She tilts her head toward the doorway. "Can we talk?"
"Yeah," I tell her.
Then, I turn to Aurora. "I'm going to take a quick break before getting started on the second crib."
Aurora looks up, her brow furrowed slightly. She senses something.
"Don't be gone too long," she warns with a gentle smile. "You still have another crib to build."
"Trust me, I'm well aware of the challenges ahead."
I follow Mikayla into the hallway, far enough that her sisters' ears won't catch our conversation but close enough that I can still see into the nursery.
Once we're alone, Mikayla's facade drops.
"Mama's been contacting me again," she says, her voice low. She pulls her phone from her pocket. "Not just texting, but calling as well. Don't worry, I've kept off the mansion's Wi-Fi. I know better now."
"What does she want?" I keep my voice level, though my muscles tense at the mention of Tamara.
"When I answered, she sounded scared. She said that Semyon's becoming unhinged." Mikayla's eyes flicker toward the nursery, then back to me. "Things aren't going according to plan, and he's not handling it well."
I allow myself a grim smile. "That's good. It means our plan is working, then."
"There's more." Mikayla shifts her weight, uncomfortable. "She wants to talk to you directly."
"Me?" I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"
"She's looking for options, I think. Hedging her bets." Mikayla's voice drops even lower. "She says she has information you might find valuable. I think she knows you plan on killing her."
The carefully constructed walls around Mikayla's emotions crack just slightly, and for a moment I see the young girl beneath the forced maturity. A child who's forced to grow up too fast in a world that's shown her nothing but cruelty.
"It has to be done, Mika." I keep my voice low, even as my resolve hardens. "Your mother was willing to sacrifice you and your sisters."
I can see her wrestling with this truth—the unmistakable reality of who her mother truly is.
"She gave Semyon all the information he needed to kill your father. She did the same to your brother." The words taste bitter in my mouth. "He was her son, Mika. And she still made that choice."
Mikayla's jaw tightens, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know that. I do. And I thought I could accept that you were going to do what you planned to do. But then I heard her voice on the phone, sounding scared and asking me to talk to you, and that was when it became real for me." Her voice cracks. "That I might never get to hear her voice again."
She backs up against the wall, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor. Tears stream down her face now, and she doesn't bother wiping them away.
"But now I don't know. I don't know if I can."
The sound of Stella's delighted laughter floats from the nursery.
"It's okay," I say, crouching down beside her. "Mika, it's okay."
"No." She shakes her head fiercely. "It's not okay. None of this is okay. It won't ever be okay."
I follow her gaze to the nursery where Aurora sits surrounded by my younger nieces, her hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly. The contrast is stark.
The warmth and pure joy blossoming in that room while Mikayla and I crouch in the shadows of the hallway, discussing death and betrayal.
"I know," I admit, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "It corrupts everything it touches. Even the bond between a parent and their child."
Mikayla looks up at me, her eyes red-rimmed and devastated.
"When I was little, before I understood what this world was really like, she'd brush my hair before bed every night." Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "Three hundred strokes, always counting out loud. Sometimes she'd tell me stories about when she was a girl."
Mikayla's shoulders slump slightly. "But even those memories feel tainted now."
"The bratva takes so much from all of us," I tell her. "It's not just lives. It's relationships. Trust. The simple bonds between parents and children."
She straightens up, forcing away her tears from years of practice. "Is this just how it is? Am I supposed to accept that one day I'll have to choose between my family and the bratva? Will my unborn cousins do that as well?"
I sit down next to Mikayla, my heart heavy with the burden of legacy she carries. In her eyes, I see reflections of myself at her age.
Lost in a world that never asked if we wanted to be part of it.
"I'm working to prevent that from happening, Mika." I reach out and take her hand in mine, feeling how small it still is despite her growing up so fast. "Maybe there is a world where devotion to family can triumph over the need to submit to the desires of the bratva."
She wipes her tears with her sleeve, looking at me with eyes far too old for her years. "But it doesn't change the fact that you still plan on killing my mother."
"No," I admit, not sugarcoating the truth. "It doesn't."
The words hang with brutal finality. In the silence that follows, I hear Aurora's laughter mingling with Stella and Sofia's. Those sounds portending bright futures and possibilities seem to mock the dark conversation Mikayla and I are having out here.
"Keep your line of communication with her open," I tell her after a moment. "Hear what she has to say. Information is power. And maybe—just maybe—we can find a way."
"Do you even think there's another option?" Her voice is small but hopeful.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "And I won't lie to you to say that there is. But I'm willing to look for one."
Mikayla nods, understanding the weight of what I'm offering. Not a promise of her mother's life, but a chance—however slim—for something other than blood.
"Thank you, Uncle Ruslan."
"Don't thank me yet," I caution her as I help her up on her feet. "Just keep the channel open. Let's hear what she has to say."
She gives me a small nod before heading back to join her sisters in the nursery.
Aurora's observant eyes see this, and then turn to me with questioning concern. She then makes her way over to me.
"Everything okay?" she whispers, her voice low enough that the girls can't hear.
I gesture toward the hallway, and we step further away from the nursery door.
"Tamara's been contacting Mikayla again," I tell her once we're out of earshot. "Apparently she wants to talk to me."
Aurora's brow furrows. "About what?"
"Information she thinks I'll find valuable." I run a hand over my chin. "It's likely a play to save her own life. She must know what I plan to do."
Aurora's hand moves instinctively to her belly, a protective gesture I've noticed more frequently as her pregnancy progresses.
"What did Mikayla say about it?"
I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.
"She said that hearing Tamara's voice reminded her that it's her mother that I'm talking about killing," I exhale slowly. "She told me that the idea of never hearing that voice again shook her."
I don't mention how it shook me too. Not out of any affection for Tamara, but because of the ripple effects her death would create.
"It reminds me so much of you," I continue. "How you relived your trauma on set. How you reacted when you previewed the documentary. But most importantly, it reminds me of the gravity of what I'm about to do. What I'm about to order."
Aurora's eyes soften. "You're conflicted."
"Part of me still wants blood for what Tamara did to Lev and Mikhail." My jaw tightens. "But another part can't stop thinking about the trauma I'd create with her death. Not just for Mikayla, but for Stella and Sofia as well."
I look into Aurora's eyes, searching for clarity. "What should I do, zarechka? I've lived so long in a world where the only justice is blood. I don't know if there's another way."
Aurora steps closer, her hand finding mine. "Sometimes, maybe the best thing you can do is to be merciful."
"Even if the other person doesn't deserve mercy?" I ask.
"That's the only time you can be merciful." Her voice is gentle but firm. "You can be merciful to Tamara without absolving her of her sins for what she's done. There is a path there you can take, Ruslan. And I'm sure you can find it."