26. Aurora
26
AURORA
Hours later, I watch Ruslan cut steak into tiny pieces for Sofia at dinner. His golden eyes soften when she argues with Stella about who the best Disney princess is.
My body still hums from what happened between us earlier. My lips feel swollen. And the taste of Ruslan lingers no matter how many sips of water I take.
We've done everything except the final act. And with each passing moment, my hunger for him grows.
But it's not just physical. That's what terrifies me most.
"Try the sauce, Stella," he says gently to his middle niece. When she pouts, he switches effortlessly to Russian.
I love how his voice deepens when he does that. It becomes richer somehow. When he catches me watching, his eyes darken momentarily. A silent reminder of what we shared on this very table.
Heat floods my cheeks.
I can't stop thinking about how he finally opened up to me about her. His first love. The girl that left him with the broken-winged bird tattoo.
The confession wasn't planned; I could tell by the shadow that crossed his face. It wasn't information he intended to share, and yet he gave it to me anyway.
We're more alike than I ever could have imagined when I crashed into him chasing my runaway script.
Both haunted by monsters who took everything from us.
Mikayla continues to watch me with suspicion. She's protective of her uncle, still uncertain about this stranger who appeared from nowhere. I don't blame her. I'd be suspicious too.
"Uncle Ruslan, can we have ice cream?" Sofia asks, batting her eyelashes.
"After you finish your vegetables," he answers, stern but kind.
My heart squeezes watching him with these girls. He's the perfect uncle. Patient, attentive, present. No wonder Tamara wanted him for herself. The thought of that woman makes anger flare in my chest at what she did to him.
I watch Sofia shove one broccoli after another into her mouth with aggressive gusto, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. She chews twice, swallows hard, then beams up at Ruslan.
"Finished!" she announces, proudly displaying her empty plate.
"Good job," Ruslan praises, his voice warm with affection. The tenderness in his expression makes my chest tighten.
Not to be outdone, Stella attacks her own vegetables with equal fervor.
"Ice cream now," she demands the moment she's done, already pushing back her chair. "You promised!"
Ruslan chuckles. "So I did." He stands, giving me an apologetic glance. "We'll be back shortly."
As they leave, Sofia's excited chatter about chocolate sprinkles echoes down the hallway until it fades completely, leaving me alone with Mikayla.
The silence between us is thick. Uncomfortable. Her eyes never leave me, calculating and cold. I shift in my seat, resisting the urge to check if there's something on my face, and I have to remind myself that she's still fifteen.
"Thank you," she finally says, her voice startling me, "for standing up for me the other day."
I open my mouth to respond, but she raises her hand to cut me off.
"Not many people dare to stand up to a pakhan."
"I just thought?—"
"The reason they don't," she interrupts again, leaning forward, "is because it's very stupid."
Her gaze is unblinking, direct in a way that reminds me of her uncle.
"You know very little about how this world works," she continues. It's not a question.
I fold my hands in my lap. "You're right. I don't." I meet her eyes. "But I'd like to learn."
Mikayla studies me for a long moment, then gives a short nod before her jaw tightens. "I don't like the reason why we're here, but I've come to understand it."
"It was for your safety," I say softly to Mikayla. "You and your sisters."
She drums her finger against the polished table. "That may be true." Her eyes lock with mine. "But what about my mother's safety?"
The question hits me unexpectedly. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
When Ruslan and I crafted this plan, Tamara was just a concept. A name. An obsessed woman who'd do anything to have him.
I'd formed a villain in my mind without ever seeing her face.
But now I'm sitting across from her daughter.
"I..." I struggle to find words. "I don't know."
Mikayla's lips twist. "My grand-uncle Semyon is like the pakhans of old before Gregor Belov united the Russian families of California. Ruthless. Cruel. Vindictive." She says this matter-of-factly. "He accepted that my mother was the solution to the Mikonov family's survival after Vitaly first defeated them in war."
My stomach tightens as I process her words.
"If she can no longer be that solution," Mikayla continues, her voice dropping, "then Semyon will find another use for her."
Her eyes burn into mine as she leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper.
"You have no idea what she endured. You never heard her screams."
"Mikayla, I?—"
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
"You sit there judging her because of what Uncle Ruslan told you, but you weren't there." She's blinking fiercely now and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "You didn't have to cover Sofia and Stella's ears with pillows at night. You didn't have to comfort them when they asked why Mama was crying in the morning. You never had to explain why she wore high collars to hide the bruises around her neck."
I swallow hard, shame washing over me. I never considered she might be a victim in her own right.
"Whoever Semyon forces my mother to marry will be someone just as awful," Mikayla continues, her voice breaking slightly. "It'll be a man who won't see her as a person but just another asset to be traded. A womb on a pair of legs."
The realization washes over me cold and clear: a marriage between Tamara and Ruslan would've been as much about safety for Tamara as anything else.
And now...
"I'm sorry," I whisper, the words tasting bitter. "I didn't realize."
"Uncle Ruslan might not care for my mother after what she did to the Garza girl," Mikayla continues, her voice so small it barely carries across the table. "But it's impossible for me not to care."
My heart stutters. The Garza girl. That must be who Ruslan was referring to whenever he spoke of his childhood sweetheart who died because of Tamara.
"She's cold and distant, yes, but she's still my mother." Mikayla's voice cracks. "Stella and Sofia still run to her when they have nightmares. And now…"
A tear slides down her cheek, followed by another.
In that moment, I see past the bratva princess facade to the scared fifteen-year-old beneath. She's watching her entire world collapse around her. First her father and brother, and now she fears losing her mother too.
"I know what's coming." Mikayla wipes at her tears, but they keep coming. "I know how all of this will inevitably end."
Her voice breaks completely.
I understand what she can't say. She's seeing a future where both her parents are dead because of bratva politics. My chest aches for her.
Before I can second-guess myself, I rise from my chair, walk to her side of the table, and wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders.
Her body shakes with silent sobs. After a moment, she turns her face into my shoulder and cries in earnest, clinging to me like she's drowning.
"This is our reality," she finally chokes out. "This is the way it has always been. The moment Gregor chose Uncle Ruslan to take my father's place, everyone's fate was sealed."
I hold Mikayla as her body shakes with sobs, her tears soaking through my blouse. My arms tighten around her, this fifteen-year-old girl carrying burdens that would crush most adults. Each desperate cry cuts through me like glass.
"We'll find a way to keep everyone safe," I whisper, stroking her hair. "Your mother included."
The words only make her cry harder. Her fingers dig into my arms as she clings to me.
"You still don't understand," she chokes out between sobs. "There is no other way! Not in our world."
I pull back slightly, lifting her chin so I can look into her eyes. "Mikayla, I promise you?—"
"Don't make promises you can't keep!" She wrenches away from me. "My mother will never give up her dream of marrying Uncle Ruslan. Never."
I open my mouth, but no words come. What can I possibly say that won't sound like me grasping at straws?
"She's been obsessed with him since they were children. She believes he's meant to save her." Mikayla wipes furiously at her tears. "To love her the way that my father never did."
I swallow hard. "But?—"
"And you're just an obstacle to her." Mikayla's eyes bore into mine, suddenly clear despite her tears. "A temporary inconvenience to be removed."
The bluntness of her words steals my breath.
"You may want to save my mother," she continues, her voice steadying, "but she will not hesitate to destroy you."
She wipes fiercely at her red-rimmed eyes.
"You have no idea how cruel our world can be," she says. "Or how impossible it will be for you to leave it."
My stomach twists. I've spent my entire adult life running from one monster. Now I'm marrying into a family with another waiting in the wings.
"My mother has found every secret she sets her mind to. Every weakness. Every vulnerability." Mikayla's voice drops to a whisper. "That's her gift. What makes you think she won't do the same to you?"
A chill runs through me at the raw certainty in her voice.
"She'll find out who you really are," Mikayla says. "Whatever you're hiding, she'll find it and use it against you."
The room feels suddenly airless.
Jamie Fields is dead.
But what if Tamara is the one who will bring her back to life?
"You're a good person, Aurora." She says it like a diagnosis, not a compliment. "I can see that."
I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, trying desperately to push my racing thoughts away.
"But you cannot be a good person and expect to survive here." Her voice hardens with each word. "You must become a monster willing to do monstrous things."
The certainty in her voice chills me. How can a fifteen-year-old speak with such conviction about becoming a monster?
"Your kindness is a weakness," she continues, eyes never leaving mine. "And that weakness will get you killed."
I want to argue with her, to tell her she's wrong, that there's always another way. But the words die in my throat. What do I know about survival in this world? I've spent seven years running from my monster, not standing up to one.
"It seems like Uncle Ruslan cares for you," Mikayla says, her voice dropping lower. "What do you think he'll do if you become the second person he cares about to die because of my mother?"
I stare at Mikayla, her words echoing in my head like a death knell.
The second person he cares about to die because of her.
Tamara didn't just have a hand in Ruslan's childhood sweetheart's death.
She was responsible for it.
But as much as I want to ask Mikayla for answers, I know that these aren't secrets for a fifteen-year-old to reveal, no matter how wise beyond her years she might be.
I look at this girl, this child who grew up in a house where marriage meant pain. Where love was a fairy tale told to children who would later be bartered away.
Where monsters come in the form of fathers and uncles, and not the boogeyman under the bed.
Or bloody messages written on the walls.
And I'm about to marry into this world.
For protection. For safety.
But did any of that ever really exist?
Or did I do it because I was so desperate to hide from my own monster?
"I don't want more blood spilled because of me," I whisper.
Mikayla's smile is sad and knowing. "Then you'd better learn to become a monster yourself," she says. "Before it's too late."
Excited shouting voices rise up down the hallway, and Mikayla's entire demeanor changes in an instant.
She straightens her spine and quickly wipes away the last traces of tears with trembling fingers.
"Please don't say anything," she whispers urgently. "I don't want Stella and Sofia to know that I was crying."
I nod, understanding completely. She's not just their big sister anymore. She's their protector.
Their shield against the horrors of this world.
And shields don't cry.
Her face transforms with remarkable speed, vulnerability replaced by practiced composure.
If I hadn't witnessed her breakdown seconds ago, I'd never know it happened. The skill with which she hides her pain makes my heart ache even more.
"Thank you," she says, her voice steady now. "For listening. Nobody ever..." She swallows hard. "Nobody has ever listened to me before."
This girl has been carrying the weight of her entire family. Their secrets, their pain, and their future. Yet no one has ever taken the time to simply listen to her?
"Mikayla," I say softly, "if you ever need someone to listen again, you can always come to me. I mean that."
Something flickers in her eyes. Hope, maybe, or disbelief. She gives me a small nod before I return to my seat.
A few seconds later, Stella and Sofia burst into the dining room, ice cream smeared across their faces.
Ruslan follows behind with a bemused expression.
I watch as the younger girls excitedly show off their desserts to their older sister. Mikayla plays her part perfectly, smiling and asking questions about their ice cream adventures as if her world hadn't crumbled moments before.
Across the table, Ruslan catches my eye. His gold gaze is questioning, noticing something different in my expression.
I force a smile, but my mind is racing.
The Garza girl. His childhood sweetheart. The one whose death was caused by Tamara somehow.
I need to know what happened. I need to understand exactly what kind of monsters I'll be dealing with.
And what kind of monster I might need to become if I want to survive.