26. Aurora
26
AURORA
ONE WEEK LATER
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of my maternity dress—a flowing sky-blue gown that somehow makes me look ethereal rather than just plain pregnant—over my swollen belly.
"You really weren't kidding about extravagance being mandatory," I murmur, taking in the decorations visible through the reflection.
Blues and pinks intermingle throughout the sitting room downstairs, and there's a mountain of presents that I can glimpse through the doorway.
"You deserve the best, zarechka ." Ruslan steps behind me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "And you look beautiful."
"I feel like I swallowed two watermelons," I counter, leaning back against him.
His golden eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Then you're the most beautiful watermelon thief I've ever seen."
I laugh as my hand drifts to my stomach as one of the twins delivers a forceful kick.
"How's the trailer doing?" I turn to face him.
The trailer went live this morning. A two-minute distillation of the most traumatic moments of my life. Edited to perfection, designed to draw viewers in, but more importantly, fashioned to destroy Kristofer's reputation.
Ruslan's face shifts to quiet intensity. "Seventy thousand views since this morning. Good engagement across social media as well. It's picking up traction."
"I can't believe people actually want to watch it." My hands tremble slightly. "It's so personal."
"That personal touch is why it's picking up traction." Ruslan's eyes flash with vindication. "This is how we nail that bastard to the wall."
My throat tightens.
Just like on my wedding day, my family's absence feels more prominent than ever on my mind.
A tiny sound escapes my throat.
"What's wrong?" Ruslan asks.
"I miss them," I finally confess, stroking my swollen belly. "I wish my parents could be here for this."
I try to keep my tone light, but the ache in my chest makes it impossible. When I blink, I can feel the sting of tears building in my nose.
"I'm sorry." I shake my head. "This is supposed to be a happy day."
"You don't have to apologize." Ruslan's grip tightens on my hand. "It's okay to miss them, especially today."
"I wonder if they'd recognize me now." I take a shaky breath. "If they'd be proud of who I've become."
Those golden eyes of his soften.
"They would be so proud of you. Look at everything you've survived. Look at what you're building now. This life, this family. None of this could've happened if it weren't because you are who you are."
He caresses my growing belly adoringly.
"Your parents loved you. They may not be here, but their love hasn't disappeared. They're part of you, part of your babies, and part of all the stories you'll tell them."
"Thank you," I whisper against him.
He smiles at me, and kisses the top of my forehead gently. I turn and bury my face against his chest. The expensive fabric of his suit absorbs the few tears that have managed to escape despite my efforts.
"Stupid pregnancy hormones," I mutter, though we both know it's far more than that.
The door creaks open, and I hastily wipe my eyes as Hannah pokes her head in.
"There you are!" She bounces into the room, her red hair bouncing with her. "The bratva wives are starting to arrive. I've never seen so many diamonds in one place."
She pulls a small wrapped package from behind her back.
"Which is why I wanted you to have this before all the fancy gifts start rolling in." She holds it out. "It's probably nothing compared to what the other wives will bring, but..."
I unwrap it carefully and find two delicate ornaments for the nursery mobile, made from the small ceramic bird fridge magnet that we bought after we first moved into that apartment together, and a mini-mug from our favorite coffee shop down the street.
"Oh, Hannah."
"I thought the twins should have a piece of who you were before all this." Her voice softens. "Before you became Aurora Dragunov, queen of the bratva wives."
I laugh through my tears, pulling her into a hug. "I love it. These are perfect."
I'm arranging the ornaments that Hannah gave me on a small side table when I hear a dignified voice from the doorway.
"My son, what sort of host abandons his guests this way?"
Ruslan's face brightens instantly. " Mamechka ."
Liliya sweeps into the room, her silver-streaked hair pulled back neatly without a single strand out of place. Her expression grows warmer with each step.
To her credit, Liliya has never been anything but honest with me. Harsh at times, yes. But never cruel.
For that, I'm eternally grateful.
"Aurora," she greets me, smiling. "You look radiant."
"Thank you for coming," I say, accepting her kiss on both cheeks.
Stella's voice rings out from the hallway. " Babushka! "
All three nieces appear in the doorway, their faces lit with excitement. Stella and Sofia race toward Liliya, who opens her arms for them. Even Mikayla, usually so careful with her emotions, quickens her pace.
"My darlings," Liliya murmurs, embracing them all. "I've missed you all!"
After she's properly greeted each girl, she turns back to me, gesturing toward the nearest chair. "You should sit, Aurora. Baby showers are exhausting even when you're not carrying twins."
As Ruslan guides me to the seat, I catch Liliya watching us with approval in her eyes.
"I see that your nursery is nearly finished," Liliya comments. "I brought something for it. I had Artyom placing it in there already."
Ruslan's expression softens. "You didn't have to, Mamechka ."
"Nonsense." She waves a hand dismissively. "What kind of grandmother would I be if I didn't spoil these babies?"
"The same kind of mother who never spoiled her sons?" Ruslan teases.
Liliya arches an eyebrow. "Is that how you choose to remember the motorcycle I gave you at sixteen?"
"I believe your words at the time were that it's something to outrun your father's temper,'" Ruslan counters with a grin.
"And did it not serve that purpose?"
"It did."
I watch this exchange between them, feeling a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. This is what family looks like. The teasing, the shared memories, the unconditional love beneath it all.
Yes, I might've lost my family seven years ago on that awful night.
But in their place, I have this cobbled-together family. Not the same, equally precious.
I settle into my chair as Daria shows the first guests into the sitting room.
"Aurora, darling!" Eleonora Voronin makes her way toward me, her diamonds catching the light.
She presents me with a package, wrapped in shimmering blue paper. "For the babies."
I unwrap it to find two identical gold rattles, each engraved with delicate Cyrillic letters.
"They say 'courage' and 'strength,'" she explains, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Things I wish I'd been given as a child."
"But you've found them now, and that's all that matters," I squeeze her hand, understanding the deeper meaning. "Thank you."
Anastasia Svarikov arrives next, head held high and walking with a confident stride that's so different from when I first met her. She places an ornate wooden box in my hands.
"A collection of old Russian fairy tales that have long since faded from this world," she explains as I lift the lid. "Ivan's grandmother wrote them down from memory during Stalin's reign. I copied each one word by word and translated them so that you may know them as well."
"Anastasia, this is beautiful." I'm stunned by the gift's significance.
"You gave me back my voice," Anastasia says. "This seemed appropriate."
One by one, the other wives present their offerings. Natasha Korsakov brings handmade blankets, each embroidered with protective symbols around the edges. Varya Balakirev gives me a set of ancient silver spoons said to ward off evil spirits.
Each gift carries meaning beyond its physical form. They're tokens of the solidarity we've built together.
Finally, Liliya steps forward, holding a polished wooden chest. The room grows quiet with anticipation.
She opens it to reveal two tiny gold Orthodox crosses on delicate chains, nestled among faded photographs and yellowed letters.
"The original belonged to Ruslan when he was baptized," she explains. "I asked a jeweler in St. Petersburg to fashion another one just like it."
My fingers tremble as I touch one of the crosses. "Liliya, I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," she replies, her eyes softening. "Just promise me that these children will grow up knowing who they are and where they come from."
I look up at her, understanding washing over me. These aren't just heirlooms. They're a blessing from a woman who once warned me away from this life.
"I promise," I whisper.
The room quiets as Liliya steps closer to us, the small wooden chest still open in her hands. She looks between Ruslan and me, then at my belly where her grandchildren grow.
"My son," she says to Ruslan, her voice steady but tender. Then, she turns to me. "And my daughter. Months ago, you asked my blessing for your marriage, and I did not give it. I was wrong to do that."
"You did what you thought was one thing that might keep us safe, Mamechka ." Ruslan says.
"And it did nothing to keep either of you safe. Which is why I give you both my blessings today," she continues. "For this marriage, for your children, for the family that you are building together in the shadow of the families you have both lost."
Her hand reaches out to touch my stomach, and I feel a flutter inside as if the babies recognize their grandmother.
"May they grow strong and wise. May they know love and safety."
There's a weight to her words, a significance that makes the air in the room feel heavier. The other wives watch in respectful silence.
"But even now in your moment of happiness..." Liliya's voice drops lower so only Ruslan and I can hear. "I would be remiss in my duties if I do not warn you both that the path you've chosen comes at a price."
Ruslan stiffens beside me. I reach for his hand instinctively.
"Tragedies have a way of finding us. For that's the way of our people," she says, her eyes moving between us. "This world you're shaping and the power you're gathering. Neither comes without a cost."
My heart stutters.
She knows.
Of course she knows about Ruslan's meetings with the pakhans, about the alliance he's building to position himself at the head of the Vori .
"The higher you rise," she whispers. "The farther you have to fall. And those who would see you fall will target what you love most."
Her hand returns to my belly, and I feel a chill despite the warmth of the room.
"Be careful, my children." Liliya straightens her spine, the matriarch once more. "Be vigilant. Most of all, be worthy of what you're building with each other."
Ruslan's fingers tighten around mine. "We will, Mamechka ."
I meet Liliya's eyes, finding both warning and fierce love there.
"Thank you," I whisper back. "For everything."
She nods once, then turns to rejoin the celebration, leaving us with both her blessing and her warning hanging in the air between us.
Just then, a commotion rises from the entrance of the sitting room. My muscles instinctively seize at the sight of Tamara standing there.
The cold beauty is still there. Her perfect blonde hair still falls in soft waves. Those piercing blue eyes still seem to see right through me.
But there's something different in her appearance today. The mask-like quality of her face seems less severe today. Maybe it's the way she's styled her hair, pulling it back loosely rather than in the severe style she wore at my wedding.
Maybe it's the subtler makeup, or perhaps it's simply the red rims around her eyes.
Tamara's eyes meet mine across the room. There's still that calculated coldness there, but something else too. Something I can't quite name.
My mind flashes back to that horrible moment at our wedding reception, when she strode in with armed men behind her, demanding her daughters. I can still feel the shock that paralyzed me when she brought Jamie Fields back to life with her words.
I fled the room in panic the last time she and I faced each other.
But not today.
I feel Ruslan's hand squeeze mine, his body tensing beside me as he prepares to step between Tamara and me if necessary.
"Mama!" Sofia's delighted shriek splits the tension as she races across the room, Stella right behind her.
Tamara kneels to embrace them, her expression softening in a way I've never seen before. She presses her face into Sofia's hair, inhaling deeply as though breathing in a piece of herself she thought lost.
I glance at Mikayla, who stands frozen beside Liliya. Her face is a battleground of emotions.
Longing, anger, uncertainty.
She wants to go to her mother, I can see it in the slight forward tilt of her body, but the knowledge of what her mother had done holds her back.
"It's okay," I whisper to her. "Whatever you're feeling is okay."
Her eyes flick to mine, searching. "What if I'm still angry?"
"Then be angry. But take it from me, Mikayla, don't let your anger with your mother take away the time that you could've had with her."
She nods once, decisively, and walks toward Tamara with measured steps. Not running like her sisters, but approaching with the dignity of someone who deserves an apology.
Tamara looks up, her perfectly sculpted face showing genuine relief.
"Mika," she says softly.
"Mama." Mikayla's voice is steady, though I catch the slight tremble in her hands.
Tamara straightens to face her oldest daughter. "I know I shouldn't be here, but I wanted to see you. All of you. Before it's too late."
"How do you know that it isn't?" Mikayla says, fighting to keep her voice even.
"I don't. But that's why I must try, right, dorogaya ?"
When Tamara finally looks up at us, her ice-blue eyes are clear and direct. She straightens her spine, the picture of bratva dignity even now.
"Thank you for allowing me to be here."
Ruslan's hand tightens around mine. "Why are you here, Tamara Denisovna?"
"I missed my children, Ruslan Vitalyevich." She strokes Sofia's hair as Stella clings to her leg. "And I brought something. For your baby."
At the mention of the word "baby," a strange feeling washes over me.
Tamara doesn't know.
She doesn't know I'm carrying twins.
The realization comes with an unexpected twist of sadness that catches me off guard. Why should I care what Tamara knows about my pregnancy? This woman who orchestrated her own son's murder, who worked with my stalker, who would have sacrificed her daughters for power—why should her ignorance about my twins matter to me at all?
But it does.
Maybe it's because in this moment, with her daughters circled around her, Tamara looks more like a mother than the cold, calculating bratva princess I've come to know. The mask has slipped, revealing something almost human beneath.
Or maybe it's because I understand now, in a way I couldn't before, how motherhood changes everything. These twins growing inside me have already transformed how I see the world. They've made me more vulnerable, yet somehow stronger too.
I rest my hand on my belly, feeling that familiar flutter of movement inside.
"Twins," I correct her quietly. "We're having twins."
Tamara's perfect composure breaks for just a moment—a flash of genuine surprise crossing her face. "Twins," she repeats, and her gaze drops to my belly. Something shifts in her expression—a shadow of what might be regret.
"A boy and a girl," I add, not entirely sure why I'm sharing this with her. "Andrei and Nadia."
She nods slowly, and for just a second, I catch a glimpse of the young girl she must have been once, before the bratva world twisted her into the woman standing before me.
"Twins are a blessing," she says softly. "They will never be alone."
I feel Ruslan's hand tighten around mine, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am. In another life, maybe Tamara could have been different. Maybe we all could have been.
She reaches into her designer bag and pulls out a small package wrapped in cream-colored linen. "For you, Aurora."
My fingers tremble slightly as I accept it. The wrapping falls away to reveal a baby blanket, impossibly soft and slightly faded, embroidered with the Dragunov family crest.
"This belonged to Mikhail," Tamara says quietly. "It offered me comfort during those sleepless nights when he first came into this world. A reminder that I wasn't alone."
I stroke the delicate fabric, feeling the weight of its history.
"I was never a good mother," she says softly, her voice steady despite the admission. "Not the way my children deserved. You'll be different, Aurora. I can see that already."
Her gaze shifts to Ruslan, something ancient and resigned in her eyes.
"All these years, I prayed to God that you would save me, Ruslan." Her voice quivers. "But it's clear now that you were always meant to save someone else."
Ruslan doesn't answer, but I feel the subtle shift in his posture, neither accepting nor denying her words.
Tamara's attention returns to me, then to my growing belly. "I need to speak with you both. Privately."