12. Ruslan
12
RUSLAN
I guide my car through the winding roads overlooking Los Angeles, stealing glances at Aurora's delicate fingers—still sticky with blood—intertwined in mine. Her touch sends electricity through my body, awakening something primal inside me.
But the guilt weighs heavier.
I watched her. Just like the monster she's been running from.
Aurora's head rests against the window, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The setting sun catches in her hair, painting it gold. She trusts me completely right now.
She trusts me to keep her safe when I'm no better than the bastard hunting her.
The memory of Leslie's blood spraying my face floods back. I couldn't protect her from Vitaly nineteen years ago.
But Aurora's hand squeezes mine tighter, as if she senses my dark thoughts. Her touch anchors me to this moment, to this promise.
I will not fail her.
The city stretches below us like a concrete carpet. Up here, we could be the only two people in the world. Aurora's thumb traces absent patterns on my skin, each touch both innocent and maddening. She has no idea what she does to me.
"You're safe with me, zarechka ," I murmur, more to convince myself than her.
But the truth is, I don't deserve her trust. Not after watching her all week like some obsessed stalker. Not with the blood on my hands. Not with the darkness in my soul.
Yet when she looks at me with those haunted hazel eyes, I know I'll burn down the world to keep her safe. Whatever—whoever—she's running from won't touch her.
Not while she's mine to protect.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"You'll see."
The familiar route brings back memories I'd rather forget.
I turn onto the hidden access road, watching Aurora's expression shift from uncertainty to wonder as pristine hedges start replacing wild brush on either side.
The long driveway winding past hidden gardens hasn’t changed since I was a boy.
And neither have the imposing wrought-iron gates barring the entrance.
I press a button on the dashboard, and they swing open before us in silence.
In the distance, the mansion rises into view, and Aurora's sharp intake of breath echoes in the car. Stone walls rise three stories high, with multiple wings spreading outward like arms ready to envelop unwary visitors.
To me, it's a prison with the veneer of paradise.
But to her, it represents safety. Protection.
Armed men patrol the perimeter of the manicured grounds. Aurora's eyes track their movements, her fingers never leaving mine.
I bring the car to a stop at the grand entrance. Marble steps lead up to thick oak doors, and the Dragunov family crest is carved above them.
A bitter reminder of everything I tried to leave behind.
"What is this place?" she whispers, unable to contain her awe.
"The Dragunov estate," I tell Aurora, forcing warmth into my voice despite the ice in my veins. "Where I grew up."
I step out of the car, my shoes scattering the hated gravel from under me, as I walk over to Aurora's side and open her door.
I extend my hand to help her out. Her fingers tremble slightly as they slip into mine.
The massive oak doors creak open. Daria, the head housekeeper, emerges. Her silver hair is neatly pinned back as always. The sight of her brings an unexpected wave of comfort in spite of my own hesitation to be back here after nineteen long years.
Some things never change, even when the world burns around you.
"Ruslan Vitalyevich, good afternoon." She greets me warmly in Russian.
Her eyes drift curiously to Aurora's blood-spattered clothes, and then back to my face without so much as a blink. Her expression remains perfectly neutral and she keeps her questions locked behind pressed lips.
She's worked in my family's employ for long enough to know that you don't ask questions about these kinds of things.
"Daria Zakharovna," I reply, squeezing Aurora's hand reassuringly. "This is my guest Aurora Castellanos. She'll be staying with us for a while."
Aurora shifts closer to me, and I catch the faint scent of the coconut in her hair. The urge to pull her against me, to shield her from questioning gazes, even from Daria, surges through my body.
But I resist.
"Please show Aurora to one of the more comfortable guest rooms," I tell Daria. "Bring her a fresh change of clothing, and have the kitchen prepare something for her to eat."
Daria nods, her expression revealing nothing. "Of course, Ruslan Vitalyevich. Anything else?"
"Have you heard anything about the girls?" I switch to Russian.
"Yes, Tamara Denisovna has informed me that they are safe at home with her."
I clench my jaw at Daria's words. Of course Tamara chose to defy me.
But outwardly, I nod, choosing to focus on the fact that my nieces are safe for now.
"Welcome home, Ruslan Vitalyevich." Daria dips her head. "These walls have missed your presence."
Home, I think with disdain as I stare at the familiar visage of the hated mansion that I swore I'd never return to. The weight of nineteen years of absence presses down on my shoulders like a coffin lid.
"Thank you, Daria," I switch back to English. "Please, show Ms. Castellanos to her room. I'll come find her shortly."
"Of course, Ruslan Vitalyevich," Daria says softly, before she leads Aurora away.
I dial Artyom as I watch Aurora disappear into the house with Daria.
He answers on the second ring.
"I need a cleanup crew at Aurora's apartment. Now. Before neighbors start asking questions."
"What happened?"
"Some piece of shit tried to kill her. I got there first." I pause, crushing the urge to elaborate. "The body's still warm. Definitely related to my brother and nephew's death."
Artyom doesn't miss a beat. "Anything else?"
I run through a mental checklist, hating how natural all of this feels.
"I need it done quickly. Tell me when you have an identity on who this fucker might be, or who his boss was."
"Sounds like you have a list of suspects already."
"Nothing more than some educated guesses." I rake a hand through my hair. "Lev warned me about the jungle tearing itself down right before he got killed. I think that process just got started."
"Understood."
"One more thing, Artyom." I lower my voice. "Aurora packed a bag. Grab it and bring it to the family mansion after the funeral tomorrow."
"Consider it done."
I hang up and stare at the mansion looming before me. Nineteen years of staying away, of building something separate from Vitaly's legacy, of pretending like this place wasn't going to force me back…
All of it undone in a single day.
I spent my entire adult life avoiding this place and this life. Now I'm voluntarily walking back into its jaws, dragging Aurora with me.
The pristine white columns, the manicured gardens stained with memories of my childhood, the cool halls shrouded in shadows.
Every inch of this place is soaked in the blood money of the Dragunov bratva.
I turn my gaze from the mansion to the sky above. The setting sun bleeds crimson across the horizon, painting everything in the color of violence.
I hate this mansion with all my heart.
I hate this bratva with all my heart.
And now, in a dark twist of fate, I'm about to become the guardian to them both.