42. Ruslan
42
RUSLAN
"I understand you didn't know." I speak softly to Mikayla, trying to temper the frustration that threatens to burst from my chest.
Her eyes are red from crying, her shoulders slumped in a way that reminds me of a much younger girl, not the fierce fifteen-year-old who usually stands so tall.
"But I should have." She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "I should have realized Mama would?—"
"Your mother knew exactly what she was doing," I say. "She sent you that link knowing you would click it without thinking twice."
Mikayla nods, her dark hair falling across her face. "She said it was a wedding gift. For you and Aurora. She said it was a surprise."
The only surprise Tamara ever delivered was suffering. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You cannot trust her, Mikayla. Not anymore. What she did could have endangered us all."
"Uncle Ruslan, I didn't?—"
My phone buzzes. A security alert. Front gate opening.
I'm across the room in three strides, pulling up the security feed on the monitor. If Tamara is watching—and I know she is—she'll see exactly what I'm seeing: a black sedan leaving the property, the gates swinging closed behind it.
"Who authorized—" The words die in my throat as I recognize the car.
It's one of mine, which means someone inside gave the order.
"Uncle Ruslan?" Mikayla's voice trembles.
"Go to your sisters." I'm already reaching for my gun. "Now."
"But what's happening?"
"Go! Now!" My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Stay with them until either Artyom or I come for you."
I burst through the office doors. "Artyom!"
His head snaps up at my voice.
"Someone's taken a car," I say, voice tight. "Front gate just opened."
"Which car?"
"The black sedan." My fingers curl into fists as I watch him pull out his phone, barking orders into it.
"Lock down the property. I want all outdoor cameras reviewed in the last thirty minutes. Send me the feed to my phone now."
Daria appears at my side, her normally composed face pinched with worry. "Ruslan Vitalyevich..."
One look at her expression and ice slides down my spine. "What?"
"Aurora left." Daria's voice drops. "She took the sedan. She said Hannah is in danger and she needed to go."
"Fuck." The curse escapes through clenched teeth. "Was there a call? A message?"
"I don't know. She was upset, frantic. She mentioned Kristofer and Hannah."
Everything clicks into place with sickening clarity. The gift wasn't just a taunt—it was bait. The photos of my nieces, the handcuffs with my name.
And Tamara using her own daughter to breach our security.
"It's a trap." The words taste like ash. "Kristofer and Tamara are working together."
Artyom stops mid-stride, turning back to me. "What?"
"It's coordinated. Tamara breaches our security through Mikayla. Kristofer sends the gift to draw Aurora out. And now—" My throat tightens. "Now Kristofer ties up the loose end of Aurora, and Tamara comes for her daughters."
"You think they're planning an attack on the mansion?" Artyom's voice is deadly calm, the kind that only comes before violence.
"I'm certain of it." I catch his arm. "Raise the alarm. Get everyone on high alert. I want double patrols on the perimeter and armed men at every entrance." I pull my gun from its holster, checking the magazine. "They'll be here any minute now."
Suddenly, gunfire shatters the air.
I'm at the security monitor in an instant, my heart turning to stone as I watch the feed.
Six black SUVs have breached our gates, disgorging a stream of men in tactical gear. Their movements are fluid, synchronized, and unnervingly professional.
Only Triad hitmen are this well-practiced.
They fan out across the grounds with military precision, firing at my men who are scrambling for cover.
"It's the fucking Triad." The word falls from my lips like a curse. "This isn't Tamara. It's Semyon."
He's coming to take the girls.
And kill me.
My men are returning fire, but they're outnumbered and caught off-guard. Bodies crumple as the attackers advance with ruthless efficiency. What few are left are already falling back towards the mansion.
It seems that Semyon's alliance with the Triads is paying off dividends.
"Artyom," I bark, checking my weapon again. "Get to the girls. Take the east passage and get them to the panic room."
He hesitates, his eyes meeting mine. We both know what this means.
"Go," I order. "Now."
As he disappears down the corridor, a hollow feeling opens in my chest. Aurora isn't here. She's safe from this slaughter, at least.
But she's walking into Kristofer's trap alone.
I grind my teeth, rage boiling up inside me. The same helplessness I felt watching Leslie die threatens to overwhelm me. Once again, someone I care for is beyond my reach while danger closes in.
The surveillance feed shows the attackers breaching the west entrance.
On another monitor, I see Daria herding staff toward the safe rooms. At least someone knows what they're doing. The manor has become a war zone, and there's no time left for regrets.
I pull out my phone to track the sedan's GPS, but the sound of chattering rifles demands my attention.
"Pakhan! They're inside the house!" A guard shouts just before his head explodes in a spray of pink mist.
Aurora is beyond my reach now. I can only pray she's strong enough to survive what's coming.
And pray that I can survive this.
I duck as bullets send plaster dust raining down on my shoulders. The metallic tang of blood and gunpowder fills my nostrils as I step over one of my men. His eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling, throat torn open by a well-placed shot.
"Fall back!" I shout to the remaining men. "Upstairs! Now!"
Three of my guards provide covering fire as we retreat toward the grand staircase. The intruders move with coordinated precision as they scatter to take cover and start returning fire.
We manage to drop two more attackers before I reach the stairs. I take point, firing methodically as my remaining men scramble past me. My bullet catches one hitman between the eyes, dropping him instantly.
A small victory in what's rapidly becoming a massacre.
"Getting real low on ammo, my pakhan," Sergei pants beside me, his rifle clicking empty. He switches to his sidearm—six shots at most.
"Make them count," I growl, handing him my spare magazine.
I count our remaining force as we reach the landing. Seven men. We started with thirty, most of them dead when they were ambushed outside.
The odds aren't just bad—they're fucking catastrophic.
I might actually fail this time.
The thought slides into my mind like a cold knife. Not just fail at protecting my nieces, but fail completely. Die here, in this hallway, leaving Aurora to face Kristofer alone. My chest tightens with something more painful than fear.
Aurora. My zarechka .
Our last moment replays in my mind. Me ordering Artyom to keep her out, and that cold pakhan mask I wore while interrogating Mikayla.
No tender words, no moment of vulnerability or connection. Just the hard face of a bratva boss who couldn't bend enough to show the woman he?—
A bullet whizzes past my ear, embedding itself in the wood paneling.
"Pakhan!" Sergei shoves me into cover behind the marble balustrade
No time for regrets. No time for wishes. Just the brutal fight to stay alive.
We set up a defensive position, using the height advantage. For a moment, we hold them back, dropping three more intruders who try to rush the stairs.
Then Sergei crumples, blood spraying from his neck.
Beside me, Yuri's gun clicks empty. "That's it," he says grimly. "I'm out."
Yuri's eyes meet mine, a strange peace settling over his features. Blood streams from a wound in his side that he's been hiding from me.
"I'm proud to have seen it, you know." His voice is steady despite the pallor spreading across his face. "You becoming what your father always wanted. The pakhan this bratva needed."
I grip his shoulder. "Yuri!"
He shakes his head. "Make these next few shots count, Ruslan Vitalyevich."
Before I can stop him, Yuri launches himself upright, exposing his body to the hallway below.
"Fuck you, you Triad fucks!" he roars, drawing immediate fire from the remaining intruders.
Time slows. Bullets tear through Yuri's body, jerking him like a grotesque marionette. But he's given me what I need: a clear view of our attackers. They revealed positions in their rush to kill him.
I rise to one knee, aim dropping into that cold, mechanical space where emotion vanishes.
First target. A man with a dragon tattoo creeping up the left side. I squeeze the trigger. His head snaps back, body collapsing.
Second target. The leader, barking orders. His eyes widen when he sees me. Too late. Bullet through his throat.
Third target. Trying to retreat back to cover. My bullet catches him center mass. He pitches forward, weapon clattering down the marble steps.
Three shots. Three bodies. Just like Vitaly taught me as a boy.
But it's not enough.
Something slams into my right shoulder with enough force to spin me around. White-hot pain explodes across my vision.
I stumble backward, legs suddenly unsteady. My hand comes away slick with blood.
Missed one. The bastard got a shot off from the shadows. My gun feels impossibly heavy now, arm struggling to obey basic commands.
The wound is bad. Blood pulses between my fingers with each heartbeat. Too much blood.
Another shot catches me in the side, fire spreading through my ribs like burning gasoline. The impact knocks me sidelong, my remaining defenses crumbling.
"Fuck," I gasp, tasting copper.
The third bullet punches through my thigh, collapsing my leg beneath me. I stagger, grabbing the balustrade before I crash to the marble floor.
The solid marble beneath my palm is now slick with my own blood as another bullet tears through my abdomen.
Each ragged breath sends fresh agony through my chest.
So this is how it ends. Not in old age surrounded by safety and warmth, but bleeding out on cold marble in my father's house.
A house that I hated.
For a bratva that I hated.
Sounds begin to fade, gunfire muting to dull pops as blood rushes in my ears. Something detached inside me thinks just how absurd this all is, dying without ever telling Aurora what she truly means to me.
Would it have mattered? Does anything matter now?
I think of Artyom, praying he reached the girls in time. The panic room can withstand anything short of a bomb.
If they made it there, they'll survive even if I don't.
Somewhere deep in the house, beyond the shooting and shouting, Daria is protecting my staff. The woman helped raise me. She knows this house's secrets better than anyone.
She'll survive. She always does.
But Aurora...
My sweet, fierce Aurora, walking into Kristofer's trap, believing Hannah needs her. She'll face him alone because I couldn't protect her. Because I failed her.
Just like I failed Leslie.
The pain dims as cold spreads through my limbs. My vision narrows to a tunnel of light, darkness creeping in at the edges.
Aurora's face fills my fading consciousness—not afraid or angry, but as she was that morning in bed, sunlight catching in her hair. Soft. Radiant. Her body pressed against mine, heartbeat steady under my palm.
I wanted a lifetime of mornings like that. I wanted to wake beside her until we were old and gray, until our bodies were roadmaps of the life we'd shared.
Perhaps not in this life.
Perhaps in the next.
" Zarechka ," I whisper, the word falling from numb lips as darkness claims me.