8. Ruslan
8
RUSLAN
ONE WEEK LATER
It's three in the morning, and I should be anywhere but here.
Yet here I am.
I've become a shadow in the night, watching her apartment from my car—windows tinted, engine off.
I convinced myself this is necessary. A protective measure. I made Sienna Voss delete that photo and ensured her career dried up faster than spilled vodka on hot pavement. Simple enough when you control half the production companies in Hollywood through various shell corporations.
No one fucks with what's mine.
Not that Aurora is mine. Not yet.
The gossip rags have been having a field day. "Mystery Woman Tames Russian Wolf." "Ruslan Dragunov's Secret Lover." "Hollywood's Most Eligible Bachelor Off the Market?" I don't give a shit what they say about me. But Aurora...
Artyom's background check on Aurora came back suspiciously clean. Almost as if she materialized in California seven years ago out of nowhere. The only record of another Aurora Castellanos was a girl out of Washington State.
At first, I thought that was the answer I'd been looking for.
But after a week observing her and some more digging, I knew that the only thing these two Auroras shared was a name. Nothing more.
I take another sip of now-cold coffee and shift in my seat.
Her fear of being seen had gone far beyond the desire for privacy. A review of the security footage after that night showed me that she ran into the bathroom and then fled from its window.
Everyone has secrets. But hers seem to terrify her.
Every day now, I've caught a glimpse of her in her window, like a ghost behind the glass. Each time I see her, I can't help but drink in her silhouette.
A delicate brushstroke against the curtain.
Even at this distance, I can recognize the telltale way she tucks her hair behind her ear. A gesture so small yet distinctly hers, and it makes my chest tighten.
The first time I saw her in that window, she approached carefully, scrunching her nose slightly as she peered into the darkness. For a moment, I dared to think that she could sense me watching.
Zarechka . My little dawn. Glowing even in the darkness.
She had squared her shoulders that night like a frightened animal approaching an extended hand, unsure whether she should trust or flee.
I let out my breath.
I should leave her alone. This is bordering on obsession.
But I can't shake the feeling that she needs protection. That whatever haunts those beautiful hazel eyes is real and dangerous.
Who hurt you, Aurora?
The question burns in my mind.
Someone broke her. And whoever it was, I want to break them in return. Slowly. Methodically. Piece by piece. With great fucking pleasure.
No one hurts my zarechka.
No one.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. I shouldn't care this much. I shouldn't get attached to Aurora, or even the idea of her.
Not after Leslie. Not after what my father did.
I learned that lesson in blood and screams. Love and attachment are a weakness in our world. They're vulnerabilities that others will exploit without mercy.
Yet here I am.
But there's something about Aurora that draws me to her like a moth to the flame. The way she looked at my script without fear in that alley. The way her body responded to my touch in the privacy of my car. The way she trembled against me in that VIP room before Sienna fucked everything up.
There is a wildness to her that she's kept hidden from the world. And it only ever comes out when she knows she is safe.
I had gotten a glimpse of it, and I want more.
My phone buzzes, breaking the silence of the car. I glance down, irritation rising as I see Lev's name on the screen and a simple text.
We need to talk.
Fuck.
I know exactly what this is about. The shipment coming through my latest production. Guns brought in as props, smuggled right past both the police and Feds. He probably wants me to increase the shipments, and want me to confirm it to his face.
I take one last look at Aurora's window. The light is still off, and her silhouette is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, I imagine ignoring Lev's demand and walking up those steps to knock on her door. I imagine taking her in my arms again and fucking her against the wall until neither of us can stand.
But duty calls. Blood calls.
I snarl and start the engine, pulling away from the curb with more force than necessary. As much as I want to unravel the mystery that is Aurora Castellanos, I cannot ignore Lev.
The bratva waits for no man. Not even for a woman who haunts my dreams.
* * *
I pace the refurbished VIP suite at Nikoforov, my footsteps silent on the new carpet. The glass has been replaced. Stronger this time. Bulletproof. In this business, I've learned to turn every mishap into an opportunity for improvement.
Lev sits on the black leather sofa, legs spread wide in that way of his that always screams dominance. Seven years my senior and he still needs to remind me who's in charge.
"Having trouble sleeping these days, little brother?" he asks, swirling his vodka.
"What's so urgent that it couldn't wait until morning?" I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and remain standing.
Lev's eyes narrow. "The rest of the Zapadniye Vori are concerned."
"They're always concerned about something."
"This is different." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And after Vadim Stravinsky's shit-show at Fashion Week last year."
"So what, Lyovushka?" I scoff. "Do half the fuckers in this town really think they can just keep selling people and expect no blowback from that self-righteous bastard in Seattle?"
"You're not wrong," Lev sighs. "But the situation is volatile. Everyone, from Jefferson to SoCal, is jumpy these days. Seeing shadows everywhere."
Like Aurora.
My mind can't help drifting to her, and I feel an unexpected emptiness and disappointment that I hadn't seen her from her window.
"Ruslan? Are you listening?" Lev snaps his fingers.
"I heard you," I mutter, taking a long sip of whiskey. "Everyone's jumpy."
"Thinking about that girl again?" Lev's mouth curves into a sly grin. "The skittish blonde the tabloids can't seem to identify."
My jaw clenches.
"I noticed Sienna Voss's Instagram post from last week disappeared." Lev's grin widens. "Along with her entire career. One hell of a way to publicize a breakup that happened weeks ago."
I remain stone-faced. But underneath my skin, a familiar anger churns. Aurora's panicked expression that night has haunted me for days.
"Is this what you dragged me here for? To discuss my non-existent love life?" I down my whiskey and slam the glass onto the side table. "Get to the point, Lev."
He sighs, suddenly all business. "I need you back, Ruslan. Completely back, and not just doing what you're doing right now."
"That's not going to happen."
"It has to." He sets his drink down and leans forward. "The Mexicans are consolidating territory south of the border. The Chinese think we've gone soft. Gregor Belov is getting old and unreliable. The jungle is about to tear itself down."
"That sounds like a you problem."
"I need an extra pair of hands. Ones I can trust. I can reverse Father's decision."
"The day he made that decision was the happiest day of my fucking life, Lev."
The familiar taste of bitterness coats my tongue as I stare down at my older brother.
"Things have changed," Lev says, his voice softening. "The family needs you, Lanchik."
"Family?" I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "The same family that made me watch as Leslie was killed in front of me?"
Lev flinches. Good. I want him to remember.
"That was Father's doing, not mine."
"And you did nothing to stop him!" I slam my glass down, whiskey sloshing over my fingers.
"Ruslan, it's been nineteen years."
"Not long enough." I pour another whiskey, needing something to occupy my hands. "My answer hasn't changed. If you want me to ship you more guns, I can do that. But don't you ever ask me to come back and help you run the fucking bratva."
I stare at my brother, watching his face fall as my refusal sinks in. The overhead lights cast shadows under his eyes, aging him beyond his years. For a moment, just a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.
"I didn't want to say this, but Mikhail..." Lev pauses, rubbing his temples. "He doesn't have what it takes, Ruslan."
"And that's my problem how?" I lean against the bar, putting distance between us. "Maybe Misha has the right idea. Kid's got talent. Let him act instead of following your footsteps."
"You think I don't know my own son?" Lev's voice rises and for a moment, he almost sounds like Father. "The bratva needs strength, not someone who cries on command."
I shake my head, disgust rising in my throat. "Have you ever considered giving it all up? For your kids' sake?"
"What?"
"You heard me." The words flow out, fueled by whiskey and years of buried rage. "Are you really okay with the fact that one day Mikayla will have to marry some monster who'll beat her the way Father used to beat Mother? Or that you're okay with Stella and Sofia being forced to marry men twice their age?"
Lev's face darkens, a familiar storm building. "Don't you fucking dare."
"Tell me I'm wrong," I challenge him.
"It's easy for you to criticize from the outside." He stands, pointing at me accusingly. "Those are my children, Ruslan. Not yours. Mine."
"At least I treat them like children." I step closer, refusing to back down. "Not like goddamn pieces on a chess board."
Something flickers in Lev's eyes. Doubt, maybe even shame, before it's buried again. He sinks back onto the couch, suddenly looking exhausted.
"You'll still increase the shipments when I ask?" he asks after a long silence.
"I'm a man of my word."
Lev nods, studying the carpet. Then he looks up, that familiar calculated gleam returning to his eyes. "I know what you've been doing, by the way."
My heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"That girl you've been watching." He smiles when he sees my reaction. "The one who avoids cameras and appeared in Los Angeles seven years ago out of nowhere. You're digging up something. And if I know you're digging up something, then so do others."
"Are you threatening me, Lev?" I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
My brother holds his hands up, a gesture of mock surrender that does nothing to ease the tension between us. "Not threatening you, Lanchik. I'm warning you."
"The past won't repeat itself." My fingers tighten around the whiskey glass. "I won't let it."
The memory of Leslie's terrified eyes flashes through my mind. The last living moment before the knife sliced open her throat. I blink away the image, focusing on Lev's face instead.
"That's not your choice to make. As much as I can make my presence felt within the Zapadniye Vori , this is ultimately something out of my control."
He stands, straightening his jacket with practiced precision. "If the Zapadniye Vori , or more accurately, if Gregor Belov decides that they want to force you back into the fold, they'll do it. Whatever it takes."
The implied threat hangs in the air between us. I've seen what "whatever it takes" means in our world.
Screams. Pleas. Blood.
"Is that why you're here? Did you ask me to come at your own initiative," I ask carefully, "or are you still dancing to Gregor's tune like a good little puppet?"
A flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe guilt—crosses Lev's features.
"What does it matter?" He spreads his hands. "You're on the outside looking in."
I step closer to Lev, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Listen to me very carefully. If Gregor or anyone else in the Zapadniye Vori tries to touch the people I care about—inside or outside the family—I won't hesitate to make them my enemy."
I lock eyes with him, making sure he understands the weight behind my words. "I may be on the outside looking in, but don't think for a moment that I have ever stopped being Vitaly's son."
Lev holds my gaze, his expression unreadable. But I see the slight twitch in his jaw, the almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment and pride.
He believes me. Good.
"You know, Lanchik, this is why I want to bring you back into the fold." His eyes gleam with something like pride. "One way or another, you are still a Dragunov."
He pats my shoulders affectionately as he used to when we were children. "I should go. Tamara will be wondering where I am."
My hands clench at my sides at the mention of her name, but I say nothing.
As he reaches for the door handle, he pauses, turning back to face me. A humorless smile plays at his lips.
"Remember what I said. The jungle is about to tear itself down. It's going to rebuild into something different. You can either chop the trees down, or you can be one of the thousands who'll get buried in the process."
He pauses, and his next words send ice through my veins.
"For your sake, and your new toy's sake, I hope you choose wisely."
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering threat in the air.