17. Ruslan
17
RUSLAN
The second I step into the Romanov Hotel, the air shifts.
Whispers trail behind me.
Heads turn.
Staff straighten like I’ve just marched into a damn inspection.
While they may snap to my attention.
I know that it is the Romanov domain.
Even though Konstantin is my second-in-command, here he is the boss, which means one of his staff members is already about to give him a heads up that I just walked in the door.
Pavel follows behind, silent and stone-faced.
He knows better than to speak right now.
I’m holding back the storm—but just barely.
“Boss!”
I glance to the side.
Alexi rushes toward me from the shadows of the lobby, his shirt half-tucked, hair still wild from sleep.
He looks like hell.
“Where is he?” I ask, not slowing.
“Upstairs.” Alexi straightens his hair with his hands.
“He has not come down or one of the men on shift would’ve alerted me.”
I nod but don’t break stride.
The porter who mans the private penthouse elevator immediately opens it for me.
I climb in, followed by Pavel and Alexi, and press the penthouse button.
The elevator ride feels like it’s taking a lot longer than normal.
I clench my fists, jaw locked, while my blood thrums like a war drum under my skin.
I’m not sure if I’m here for answers or vengeance.
Both feel the same right now.
It was my instruction—get close to Tara, do whatever it takes to get her away from Gavriil.
But every day Konstantin has been getting closer to Tara has been torture.
The more I tried to ignore it, to push it away, the more it seemed to stick.
Like one of those thorn trees that gets a hook in you, and before you know it, you’re tangled in it.
My obsession with the woman I shared one night with has both strengthened my cause and broken down a lifelong friendship.
The elevator dings.
The penthouse is too quiet when I walk in.
Tense silence.
Like the walls are hiding something.
I walk through the open space, straight to the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
My boots hit the polished floor with deliberate weight.
No one meets me.
No one stops me.
I don’t knock.
I slam open the door to Konstantin’s room.
He jolts upright on the bed, bare chest heaving, hand already diving for the Glock on his nightstand.
He’s halfway up, gun pointed, eyes wild with sleep-hazed reflexes.
“Jesus,” he hisses.
“Ruslan!”
“You were expecting someone else?” My voice snaps like a whip.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he groans and lowers the weapon, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I could’ve shot you.”
“Where is she?” My voice is low and level.
He frowns, confused for a moment.
“Who?”
I give him a look that could melt steel.
Realization hits.
I see it in the twitch of his jaw, the way his eyes flick toward the door.
He’s out of bed in a second, wearing nothing but loose pajama pants.
He crosses the hall and knocks gently on the bedroom door facing his.
“Tara?” His voice is soft.
Too soft.
No answer.
He hesitates, then opens the door.
The bed’s rumpled, but it’s empty.
I walk in and open the closet.
It’s empty.
There’s nothing on the dresser or in the drawers—she’s gone.
Konstantin finds a folded note sitting on the nightstand.
He reads it, jaw ticking, then passes it to me.
Konstantin,
Thank you for helping me.
I have to get back to Vegas.
Let me know when you’re back, and we’ll get a burger.
My treat.
It’s the least I can do after you helped me get to L.
A.
and for taking me to my interview.
Hugs,
Tara.
I read it twice.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
“Did you know I was coming?” I ask, eyes locked on him.
“Did you send me a message?” Konstantin asks.
“I don’t remember seeing one?”
“No,” I answer.
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
“That explains you barging into my room.” His eyes flash with something for a second.
“Why are you back in the States?”
“Get dressed,” I order.
“I’ve got breakfast on the way and we’ll talk then.”
Twenty minutes later, I sit at the penthouse dining table, steam rising from a fresh pot of coffee.
I pour myself a cup, forcing calm into every motion.
Across from me, Konstantin appears, showered, dressed, and collected.
He serves himself like this is any normal debrief.
It isn’t.
“Any developments?” I ask.
“Nothing new,” he says.
“Did you find anything on Lidiya Zorin’s mother?”
“No.” I shake my head, tapping my fingers against the mug.
“The Morozovs have their records sealed up tighter than the Kremlin vaults.”
Konstantin nods slowly.
“You think we’re veering too far from the mission? Tara’s not with Gavriil anymore. She’s got her UCLA job. She’s moving here. Maybe we should focus on rebuilding Drako Kremlin, and the plans to reclaim Dragunov Territory are on track.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I glare at him.
“She’s pregnant with a Mirochin heir. You said it yourself.”
“And you’re comfortable using that?” His eyes search mine.
“Leveraging a baby?”
His words are ice.
I stare at him, and something cracks behind my ribs.
I blink—and the past flashes in red.
A child’s cry.
A tiny hand, limp and bloody, in mine.
That feeling of utter helplessness, panic, and fear coursing through my veins.
I swallow hard.
“That’s why Tara is coming with me. I’m not leveraging the child,” I say through my teeth.
“I’m helping a single mom create a stable environment for a child whose biological father has no interest in it.”
“You mean you’re going to prey on a vulnerable single mother who will warm your bed as an added bonus,” he scoffs and shakes his head.
“Tara is intelligent and has her life mapped out. Do you even care about that?”
“Tara can have the same career anywhere in the world, including Russia,” I point out.
“As you say, she’s intelligent and I’m sure she’ll pick up Russian quickly.”
“She already speaks Russian and very well,” Konstantin tells me.
“Then she will have no problems pursuing a career in Russia.” I shrug.
“And you’ll afford her that opportunity,” Konstantin says in disbelief.
“Somehow I doubt it.”
“Tara planned to raise the baby alone,” I go on, ignoring his scathing remarks.
“I’m giving her something better. A stable life and a father for her child— Gavriil doesn’t want it. I do.”
His brow twitches.
“So what’s the plan? Keep her locked up like a princess in a tower? Make her your mistress?”
“No,” I say.
“My wife.”
His coffee cup freezes midway to his lips.
He sets it down slowly.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“All she and the child she is carrying mean to you is power and control,” Konstantin says, and I can see he is holding onto the threads of anger.
“What will General Morozov think of your plans for his granddaughter?”
“Who do you think suggested it?” I watch the surprise register on his face.
“Does the general know Tara is pregnant with Gavriil Mirochin’s heir?” Konstantin asks.
“I made him aware,” I reply.
“After which, he was even more on board with my plan to take Tara as my wife to protect her.”
“I told you, Gavriil is no longer in her life,” Konstantin growls.
“I will make sure it stays that way.”
“How gallant of you to offer to be her watchdog,” I mock.
“But it’s not just the Mirochins she needs protection from.” I lean back in the chair.
“Tara and Gavriil’s search for information on Lidiya Zorin has alerted the RMSAD, and they have hired someone far more dangerous than the Mirochins,” I inform him.
“Fuck, even I shuddered upon hearing the news.”
“There’s a bigger monster than you, my friend?” Konstantin looks at me challengingly.
“I would say you,” I hit back.
“But the mere fact that this person has never been seen and has proven time and time again they can get to anyone, anywhere, at any time…”
“Fuck no!” Konstantin pieces it together.
“What did Leonid Zorin do to warrant the RMSAD to send the Black Widow after Tara?”
I see the fear make him turn pale.
“He took something from them, and they want it back.”
“Does it have to do with why you asked me what was in the puzzle box?” Konstantin asks me.
“No. It has to do with the RMSAD's Jewel Initiative project.”
“What the fuck did Leonid Zorin take from there?” Konstantin’s brows knit.
“Subject number eleven—the New Jewel of Russia,” I tell him, and his eyes widen. “We know her as Tara Craft!”
His body stills. He blanches. “No fucking way.”
I nod. “She’s the Jewel.”
Konstantin leans back like I’ve slapped him. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
“And now she’s pregnant…”
“Second generation from one of their test subjects,” I finish for him. “Do you get it now? She’s more than an asset. She’s a legacy.”
He stares at the table, speechless.
“And I’m taking her as my wife.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind. “You do realize what that means? The RMSAD will come for her. For you. For the baby. They won’t hesitate. Not to mention they have their top fucking assassin on Tara’s trail.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“Then you’ve grown too overconfident, Ruslan.” He shakes his head. “We’re not ready. Our men are not ready.”
“We are now,” I say. “DS-Security is more than just a front. It’s the resurrected Dragunov Guard. And we’ve got the best general in the business training them.”
He’s quiet.
So I go for the jugular.
“Have you compromised the mission?”
His jaw tightens. “No.”
“What about your allegiance? I need to know where those are.”
“My allegiance has always been to you, Ruslan, and that has not changed,” Konstantin assures me, and I believe him.
He checks his watch and stands. “We need to get moving.”
I stand too.
“Did you fuck her?” I ask.
His shoulders go rigid and his fists clench.
“No.”
He looks me in the eye when he says it, and I believe him. But there is still something he is holding onto. I can feel it. He’s coiled like a spring.
I goad him. “Pity.” I shrug. “She sucks cock like she was born for it.”
The punch lands clean on my jaw.
Pain explodes through my cheekbone as I stagger back. Before I can react, he grabs my collar and slams me against the wall.
“You think that is fucking funny?” he snarls. “I’ve done every damn thing you’ve asked. Even when it kills me.”
His breath is hot on my face. His eyes burn like fire.
“I’ll deliver Tara to you. I’ll step aside and let you have your power wedding. If she wants you, I can’t stop that.” Konstantin’s lip curls angrily. “But know this, if you ever talk about her like that again, or if you hurt her—” His eyes bore into mine, his warning clear. “You and I will have a problem.”
Pavel bursts in. Alexi behind him. They grab Konstantin, pulling him off me.
I stand, breathing hard, chest heaving—not from the hit, but from what I saw in his eyes. And I know our friendship will never be the same. I know that he will still stand by, loyal and serve our cause, but the trust between us is now strained, and his message was clear: if it came down to it, Tara would be the one he chose.
Konstantin has fallen for her. And he is not a man to fall for a woman lightly.
“What do we do with him?” Pavel asks, gripping Konstantin’s arm.
“Let him cool off,” I mutter.
Konstantin glares at me like he wants to rip my throat out.
I step close, brushing off my collar. “You’ll stay here. Get your head right. Sleep with a few hookers. Whatever you need to erase this mess in your chest. But if I catch you near Tara again?—”
I lean in.
“I’ll fucking end you. That’s where I stand on this.”
He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t need to. The fury in his eyes says it all.
I turn, walking away.
But I pause at the door.
“Let’s not let a woman we’ve only known a few short months ruin a lifelong friendship,” I say coldly.
I leave him there, fists clenched, surrounded by my men. And for the first time in years, I feel something gnawing in my chest that’s not just rage.
Sorrow, for a lifelong friendship torn apart by the most lethal weapon there is—love.