2. Ruslan
2
RUSLAN
Seventeen Months Ago
Vegas stinks of desperation hidden behind too much cologne and illusion.
From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Diamond Hotel suite, I stare down at the Strip.
It pulses and glitters like a machine running too hot, too fast.
My reflection stares back, expression cold, untouched by the city’s delusions.
I didn’t need to come.
Petrov could’ve been handled by any one of my attorneys from my law firm back in Moscow.
It wasn’t because I didn’t trust any of them with Petrov, but because Petrov isn’t the only reason I’m here.
My younger sister Irina is.
I take a sip of the premium vodka clutched in my hand.
A few days ago, I was walking past Nadia’s private living room in my penthouse in Moscow, and heard her talking to Irina.
I wasn’t intending to eavesdrop, but the word adoption hit me like a gunshot.
Adopting?
That was not the plan or the real reason I agreed to let Irina marry Gavriil Mirochin under the guise of joining the Dragunov and Mirochin families to cement an alliance between us.
An alliance that only benefited the Mirochins, as they used our village port and boats for their own gain.
I feel the familiar burn of anger start to flare in my gut, and I down the rest of the vodka.
Irina married Gavriil Mirochin to produce a Mirochin-Dragunov heir and win the trust of the Mirochins and, by extension, the Molchanovs.
In return, Irina gets to study her PhD in America, I would give her freedom, and ten years to achieve the goal set for her.
That would give her enough time to make the Mirochins trust her, and give me leverage over their empire while I rebuilt ours and ensured we were strong enough for what was to come.
I held up my end.
So far Irina hasn’t.
Her mission started on her nineteenth birthday, the day she married Gavriil.
She will be twenty-nine in little over nine months and still there is no child but talk of adoption.
I roll my cuff down, fasten the button.
I warned Irina four months ago—twenty-nine is coming.
She sounded distant, vague.
Now I know why.
I have as suspicion my sister’s allegiances may have shifted and Irina’s under the impression that if there is no blood heir I have no hold over the Mirochins or her.
She forgets she has a twin sister and I have more than one plan in play.
So here I am in Vegas.
Not as Ruslan Dragunov, but as Damien Romanov.
A ghost with perfect credentials and no history.
I brought Konstantin with me and he has gone to get my sister and bring her to me—alone.
“She’s here,” Konstantin tells me now, entering the bedroom.
“She’s waiting in the living room.”
“Did she come alone?”
He nods.
“Da. It is just her.”
“Thank you.” I start to walk toward the door and he steps aside.
“I’ll call you when she’s ready to go.”
Konstantin nods and walks out.
I walk into the living room and I’m greeted by a stormy Irina.
Her jaw is tight.
Her posture is rigid as her outrage is hurled at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demands.
“Hello to you too, little sister.” I tilt my head.
“I’m in Vegas for a client.”
“Bullshit,” Irina hisses.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Irina—”
“Don’t Irina me in your placating voice and think it will calm me down or make me believe what the real intent of you being in Vegas is.” Her arms fold across her chest.
“You’re spying on Gavriil. Or maybe Oleksi. Or… you’re getting antsy because I haven’t yet produced an heir.”
“If I wanted to spy on you or the Mirochins, I could do it from Moscow.” I glance out the window, my stomach clenching at the sight of the Vegas strip.
I have no love for this city or this country.
“Sure!” Her voice is filled with disbelief.
Her phone bleeps and she looks at it shaking her head.
“If you’re not here to spy on my husband and his family, why are you checked into their hotel under the name Damien Romanov?”
“Because of the sensitivity of my client’s case it’s best that opposing counsel doesn’t get wind that his attorney is in town.” It’s not a complete lie.
“Then why all the cloak and dagger sending Konstantin to discreetly get me here alone?” Irina asks suspiciously.
“Or has that got to do with you having to maintain cover too?”
I walk toward the bar and pour us both a drink.
“No, I wanted to talk to you alone.” I hand her the glass but she doesn’t take it so I put it on the coffee table.
“Because the last time we spoke, you sounded... distraught.”
“Wow!” Irina looks at me in disbelief.
“You were so concerned about me that it took you four months to come check on me?”
“Part of our deal was that I give you your space and freedom with no interference,” I remind her.
“I was hoping that you’d call me and tell me what was going on.” My features soften and I sit on the sofa watching her as I give her a small smile.
“There was a time when you came to me with all your problems.”
“There was a time when I had a big brother with a big heart and who really cared about those he loved.” Irina’s eyes narrow and her voice is thick with accusation.
“I felt safe with him and knew that no matter what, he’d always have my back.”
“I’m right here.” I feel a twinge as her words pull at my heartstrings but ignore it.
I have no time for sentiment or petulant younger siblings.
“And have always been.”
“Another lie.” Irina’s voice is soft and her eyes flash with hurt and betrayal.
“You haven’t been there for any of us since…” My eyes narrow warningly as I know where she’s going with this.
“For thirteen years.” She changes direction.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip of vodka, letting it swirl around my tongue before sliding down my throat as I stare at her, deciding which way to steer this conversation to get to the point.
“My concern grew when I overheard you and Nadia talking on the phone a couple of days ago.” I see her brows rise.
“You mean when you were spying on Nadia as you have her trapped in your penthouse like she’s ten and you’ve grounded her!” Irina’s voice rises a bit.
“You know what the English say about eavesdropping. No good ever comes of it. Especially if it’s a telephone conversation and you can’t hear the other side of the story.”
“Nadia is not a prisoner,” I tell her.
“She is laying low after accusing an official’s son of abuse.”
“Of course you wouldn’t take Nadia’s side,” Irina accuses.
“Nadia was playing a very dangerous game,” I point out.
“And then you were the opposing counsel against her in the case,” Nadia says.
“Now she has lost her medical license.”
“She is lucky it was just her license.”
“So what did you overhear?” she asks me.
“That you and Gavriil are looking to adopt a child!”
My sister doesn’t even flinch.
“That’s right.”
“Is everything okay with you, Irina?” I swirl the vodka in my glass watching her intently.
"Are you having problems conceiving or is this an attempt at rebellion?”
Her eyes flick with fire, but her voice becomes quiet. “You want to know why we haven’t had a child?”
“Yes.”
She hesitates.
Then she mumbles, “I’ve had four miscarriages.”
I stare.
She takes a breath, choking on it. “The last one nearly killed me. The doctor said I need to rest. Wait for a year to fifteen months.”
My chest tightens. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to fail you. Or our people.” Her voice cracks. “But I’m not ready to give up. I just need more time and all the stress and pressure of trying to have a baby before I’m twenty-nine…” Her eyes tear up and she looks at her hands. “It’s part of the problem.”
My heart squeezes for her. “Do you want out, Irina?”
“I…” Her eyes meet mine. “I want more time.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. You have another year. But that’s all I can give you before we need to go to plan B.”
“What exactly is Plan B?” She looks at me curiously.
“Don’t worry about that,” I tell her. “You just worry about completing your mission.”
“I do need you to leave me alone and give me space,” Irina tells me. “No more pressure as it’s not good for me.”
“Okay,” I agree. “But I want you to check in with me. It's not just about your mission, Irina. Your calls once a month mean more to me than that.”
“Sure.” She nods. “Enjoy your stay in Vegas, Damien. I hope you’re able to help your client.”
She turns and walks out without a backward glance.
As the door shuts, Konstantin steps out of the shadows.
“Get her back to the club, and I want you to follow Gavriil,” I order. “Find out if the rumors about him fucking someone at the Ember Club is true.”
Konstantin raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”
He nods and disappears.
I grab my keys and head to my meeting with Petrov. On the way, I drive past the Ember Club. It’s sleek, tasteful, with a sleek black awning and polished brass accents. The windows are tinted, offering nothing to the street but reflection.
Then everything slows.
A woman bolts across the street.
My brakes screech. Tires burn. My chest jerks forward, and the SUV lurches to a stop.
She stands frozen, caught in my headlights like a wild creature. Her eyes meet mine—they are hazel, blazing. Her body is lean, with long legs cased in denim, with a pink cotton shirt caressing her torso and hair a dark brown halo. Fuck, she’s beautiful, and even standing staring at me in a dazed shock she has a graceful poise.
I roll down the window, heart slamming against my ribs.
“You really have to be more mindful,” I say. “It would be a real shame for someone as beautiful as you to end up as a hood ornament.”
She flushes. “Sorry.”
“Maybe use the crossing button,” I advise her.
“Will do.” A honk of a horn makes her head snap around before she turns, then rushes away, leaving her image branded into my brain.
I sit there, gripping the wheel. Her face, her form—every bit of her electric in my veins.
All I can think is, Who is she?
The question haunts me all the way to Petrov’s house.
The meeting’s mechanical. My brain’s stuck somewhere else. The woman I nearly ran down with the hazel eyes—eyes I can’t forget. It’s been a long time since a woman has affected me like this. I don’t let myself think about the past, the ghosts that shape our future. I’m on my way back to the hotel when my phone buzzes.
It’s a message from Konstantin. I’ve found her. Name’s Tara Craft. Sending a photo.
The photo from Konstantin comes through, and I freeze—it’s her. The woman I nearly ran over, and who is embedded in my mind.
She’s the club manager, is a physicist working to get her PhD.
I stare at her photo.
Change of plans. Follow Tara Craft.
Looks like we might just meet again after all, Tara Craft. But this time I won’t be behind a windshield.