32. Aurora
32
AURORA
The car door closes with a heavy thud behind me as Ruslan helps me out. A strange emptiness seems to have settled over the mansion. One that I can't quite place my finger on.
"Are you alright, zarechka ?" Ruslan's voice is a warm caress in the evening chill.
I bring a tired smile to my face. "Just exhausted."
But it's more than physical exhaustion weighing on me. The mansion feels different now—hollower somehow. It's not just because Vera has chosen to return to Las Vegas with Potyomkin.
Their absence is felt, yes, but it's something else.
As we step inside, I realize what's changed. The sound of laughing children has been replaced with sobs. Somewhere upstairs, Stella is crying again. Sofia's quieter weeping joins her sister's, and even Mikayla's muffled attempts to comfort them can't disguise her own grief.
Ruslan's eyes catch mine in the dim light of the foyer, his golden gaze searching my face. He knows something is wrong. He always does.
"You're worried, zarechka. " He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his tattooed fingers gentle against my skin.
I sink onto the bottom step of the grand staircase as the weight of everything finally crashes down on me.
"Every time I think we're winning, we lose something else," I whisper. "We got the documentary finished. But at what cost? Tamara's dead. The girls are devastated. I thought I'd feel..." I pause, not wanting to admit the darkness inside me. "I thought I'd feel vindicated when we started fighting back against Kristofer. But somehow, it feels like he's still winning."
Ruslan sits beside me, our shoulders touching. His warmth grounds me in a way nothing else can.
"It just feels like we take one step forward, and two steps back." My hand instinctively rests on my growing belly. "Every victory feels hollow."
Ruslan doesn't disagree. He just takes my hand and presses it firmly between both of his.
"I know," he says finally. The simplicity of his acknowledgment breaks something inside me.
A heavy silence stretches between us, filled with the things neither of us wants to voice. The fear that our babies will be born into a war. The worry that no matter what we do, we can't protect everyone we love. The terrifying thought that we might not defeat Kristofer before he destroys everything.
Above us, Sofia's sobs grow louder, and Ruslan's grip on my hand tightens. His jaw clenches, and I can see his struggle reflected in the rigid set of his shoulders.
"Will it ever end?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the sound of grief permeating the mansion.
Ruslan doesn't immediately answer my question about whether it will ever end. Instead, he rises and extends his hand to me.
"Come with me."
I take his hand and let him lead me up the stairs, past the rooms where the girls are grieving, to our bedroom. He closes the door softly behind us and pulls me to the windows that overlook the sprawling estate grounds.
The moonlight bathes everything in silver, softening the harsh edges of our reality. His hand covers mine over my growing belly, the warmth of his palm seeping through my clothes.
"When I found you in that alley criticizing my script, I had no idea you would become my strength." His lips brush against my temple. "You make me believe we can win this."
I lean back against his chest, letting his words sink in. "Do you still believe that?"
"I do." His hand tightens over mine. "Semyon, Kristofer, Gregor. They have power, yes. But they're not fighting for anything. Not anything important."
I turn to face him, searching his golden eyes. "And we are?"
"Yes, we are. We're fighting for them." He gestures toward the hallway where the girls are. "For these two." His hand returns to my belly. "For each other."
"For family." I say.
"Exactly."
A soft knock at our door interrupts the moment. Ruslan's brow furrows as he steps away from me to answer it.
Daria stands in the hallway, her expression tense.
"I apologize for disturbing you," she says, her voice low. "But this just arrived for..." Her eyes flick to me, "for Jamie Fields."
My heart doesn't race the way it used to at the mention of that name. Instead, I feel heat rising in my chest.
Not fear, but something sharper.
Something fiercer.
Ruslan's entire body tightens like a coiled spring. "Who delivered it?"
"A courier service. They've already left." Daria holds out a small, elegantly wrapped box with a cream-colored ribbon.
I step forward. "I'll take it."
"Aurora, wait." Ruslan places his hand on my arm. "We don't know what's in there. It could be dangerous."
"It's not." I shake my head.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I know him." My voice sounds cold even to my own ears. "He wouldn't hurt me. Not like this. Not from a distance. This is just another game to him. He wants me rattled. Scared. To remember my place." I take the box from Daria's hands. "Thank you, Daria."
She nods, eyes darting between Ruslan and me. "Is there anything else that you might need?"
"No. We'll handle this."
Once she's gone, I turn the box over in my hands. It's lighter than I expected, wrapped in expensive gold paper that catches the light. Nothing ticks inside. Nothing leaks. It's just a box, designed to crawl under my skin.
"You don't have to open it," Ruslan says, watching me carefully.
"Yes, I do." I meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. "I used to be terrified when these would show up. I'd throw them away unopened." I untie the ribbon with deliberate fingers. "Not anymore."
What surprises me isn't the gift itself. It's how distant I feel from the fear that once defined my existence.
Now all I feel is rage, clean and clarifying.
I tear open the gold wrapping paper, my fingers steady despite the cold dread creeping up my spine. The box itself is simple—white cardboard with a lift-off lid. Taking a deep breath, I remove the top.
My heart stops.
"That bastard..." The words escape my lips as a whisper.
There, nestled in tissue paper, is my old teddy bear. Mr. Waffles. The one my father won at a carnival when I was five. The same bear that used to sit on my bed every night in Kansas City.
For a moment, I'm that little girl again, clutching my beloved teddy after a nightmare. Dad would sit on the edge of my bed, stroking my hair, telling me monsters weren't real.
He was wrong.
My fingers tremble now as I reach for the worn brown fur. The moment I lift Mr. Waffles, I can tell something's wrong.
He's too light. And when I turn him over, I see why.
A long, jagged cut runs across his belly. The stuffing spills out onto my hands—white cotton innards like tiny clouds escaping their prison. I drop the bear as if it's burned me.
"Ruslan." My voice is oddly calm.
He's beside me instantly, one hand on my shoulder, the other reaching for the bear.
"There's a note." He pulls out a folded piece of paper, and his fingers clench when he opens it, knuckles turning white with fury.
"Let me see it," I demand.
He hesitates but hands it over. The handwriting is achingly familiar. The same neat, controlled script that used to appear on love notes slipped into my high school locker.
Dear Jamie,
I hope you and that Russian bastard can enjoy these final days with each other. Because soon you'll be with me, and I'm going to cut out his bastard from your belly.
The note crumples in my fist. I don't realize I'm shaking until Ruslan's arms surround me, pulling me against his chest.
"That bastard." I manage through the rage building in my throat. "That fucking bastard! "
"He's trying to scare you," Ruslan whispers fiercely into my hair.
I step back from his embrace and look up at him, my hand protectively covering my stomach.
"Scared?" A mirthless laughter falls from my lips. "Oh, I'm not scared of him anymore, Ruslan. I'm done being scared."
I throw the bear across the room with violence. My body is shaking from a fury so intense that it feels like it might burn me from the inside out.
"He thinks he still has power over me?" My voice sounds strange, almost feral as I slam my fist against the wall. "After everything he's done to your family and mine, he still thinks he can scare me?"
I pace the length of our bedroom, heart hammering against my ribcage. The twins shift restlessly inside me as if channeling the same anger and rage coursing through my veins.
"Let him come." I'm practically spitting the words now. "I'm not running anymore. I'm not hiding. And I'm not letting him take one more thing from us!"
Ruslan watches me, his golden eyes never leaving my face.
"I'll kill him myself if I have to." The cold certainty in my voice surprises even me. "He took my parents. He took my brother. He took seven years of my life. He took your nieces' mother! He will not take my children too."
I turn to Ruslan, and the look on his face tells me he's never seen this side of me before.
Good.
Neither has Kristofer.
"I want to destroy him. Completely."
Ruslan takes my hand in his.
"I want to destroy him too," he says, his voice low and dangerous.
I feel his calloused fingers intertwine with mine. The touch grounds me, anchors me to this moment while everything inside me is burning with rage.
His golden eyes hold mine, unwavering in their intensity. In them, I see the same fury that's coursing through me—but also something else. A deadly calm, born from years of living in this brutal world.
"And we will," he continues. "Together."
"Together," I repeat, the word strengthening me.
I take a deep breath, my hand still in Ruslan's, feeling the twins shift inside me. Our children. Andrei and Nadia. Everything crystallizes in that moment.
Every decision, every sacrifice, every step that led us here.
"When morning comes," I tell him, my voice surprisingly steady. "Convene the Vori . All the pakhans."
Ruslan's eyebrow raises slightly, but he doesn't interrupt.
"It's time, Ruslan. Time for you to crown yourself pakhan of pakhans." I step closer to him, the heat of his body calling to mine. "It's time to take vengeance against everyone who dared to harm our families."
A slow smile spreads across his face, fierce and admiring. His free hand reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "My fierce zarechka . Burning so fiercely against the darkness."
"That fire has always been there," I breathe. "Waiting for the right reason to burn."
His eyes darken, and suddenly the air between us feels charged with something more than anger. His grip tightens on my hand, and he pulls me against him, our bodies flush against each other.
"Tomorrow we take back control," he whispers. "But tonight..."
My heart flutters in my chest as his eyes drop to my lips. The fury coursing through me transforms into something else.
Something just as powerful, just as consuming. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.
His lips crash onto mine, stealing the rest of my words, his kiss hungry and demanding. I match his intensity, pouring all my rage and determination into the kiss.