18. Ruslan
18
RUSLAN
The air in Vegas hums with heat and false promises.
Glitter and shadows.
I’ve walked into war zones with less tension than what knots in my gut right now.
The building where Tara lives looks unassuming, a typical beige shell with too many secrets behind each door.
I raise my fist, rap twice.
Wait.
The door swings open.
A woman—mid-twenties, maybe—leans against the frame like it’s her personal stage.
Dark hair tucked behind one ear, brown eyes scanning me slowly like I’m a piece of meat she’s debating whether to taste.
Her tank top clings to curves she’s clearly proud of.
A sultry smile lifts the corner of her lips.
“Well, hello.”
I give her a polite smile, the one that usually makes people step aside.
“I’m looking for Tara. Is she home?”
For a second, her brows flick up like I just asked her something unexpected.
“Wow. Okay. I wasn’t expecting that. I was sure you were going to ask for Sabrina.”
My patience thins by the second.
“Is Tara here?”
She crosses her arms, chest pushing out slightly.
Still playing.
“No. Sorry, she’s not. And she’s not expected back for four weeks.”
I shift my stance, jaw tightening.
“Is Sabrina here?”
“Nope. She’s gone away for a week with her friend Leigh. That’s why I’m here. Apartment-sitting.” She leans in slightly, voice dropping a pitch.
“You could always join me for a drink?”
“I appreciate the offer,” I say tightly, “but I’m in a hurry. Where did Tara go?”
She shrugs.
“She didn’t leave an itinerary. But she mentioned she’s got offers from a bunch of universities across the States. Said she was flying out for interviews.”
I nod once, cool and controlled.
“Thanks.”
“If you change your mind…” Her voice trails like a tease, but I’m already turning, mind racing.
As I head back to the elevator, my gut twists.
The timing.
The silence.
The vanishing act.
All of it tastes off.
For a flickering moment, I wonder if Konstantin’s pulling strings behind my back.
But that doesn’t make sense—he’s being watched too closely.
I had eyes on him since I left L.
A.
The elevator dings.
I step in, press the button for the lobby, and exhale slowly.
No, this is something else.
Back at the Diamond Hotel, I swipe the key to my suite and step inside.
The moment the door clicks shut behind me, my phone buzzes.
Pavel’s name flashes across the screen.
“Da.”
“She’s here,” Pavel says.
“Bring her up.”
I end the call, toss my jacket onto the armchair, and head for the bar.
My fingers wrap around the neck of the vodka bottle.
I pour two fingers, swallow it in one long drag, and then grip the edge of the marble counter, breathing through the throb building behind my eyes.
What the fuck am I doing?
Ever since the night I spent with Tara Craft, my life’s been peeling apart like the skin from a wound.
One night.
One fucking night, and she embedded herself under my skin like a splinter I can’t rip out.
I’d touched her once and couldn’t stop wanting more.
She left before sunrise, and it took everything in me not to stop her.
Not to chase her.
Since then, everything I was supposed to focus on—rebuilding the Dragunov name, reclaiming what’s ours—got drowned under her.
She wasn’t just a siren in silk sheets.
She was part of the fucking puzzle.
She went from a seduction, to a liability, to the burning obsession that won’t leave me the fuck alone.
A knock.
I drain the second glass and call out, “Enter.”
Pavel steps in, one hand guiding my sister into the room.
Irina walks with her chin up, eyes sharp.
“Where’s your usual henchman?” she snaps.
Pavel looks at me for instructions.
I nod.
“That’s all, Pavel. Close the door behind you.”
Irina stands like a statue near the edge of the rug.
She won’t sit.
Not yet.
My phone rings again.
Konstantin.
I consider ignoring it, but Pavel opens the door again, just his head poking through.
“Ruslan, take the call. Trust me, you're going to want to hear what he has to say.”
“I have to take this,” I tell Irina. “Sit.”
I step into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, hitting the answer button.
“You better not fucking tell me you’re in Vegas,” I growl.
“I’m in lockdown in my penthouse at my hotel in Los Angeles. How the fuck would I get to Vegas?” Konstantin’s voice comes through the receiver, cool and calm. “I asked my contact at Doctor Pollock's office to let me know if there were any updates to Irina’s medical records.”
“Doctor Pollock?” I frown. “Which one was he?”
“Fertility specialist,” Konstantin reminds me. “You might want to visit Doctor Pollock while you’re there and have a word with him.”
“Why?”
“There were records missing the first time I checked. They just surfaced. And you’re going to want to see them.”
“Send them to me.”
“I can’t. My contact didn’t have time to download them, that’s why I told you to go see the fucker,” Konstantin tells me.
“What was in the records?”
A pause.
“Irina and Gavriil have opted for surrogacy.”
“What?” The floor tilts beneath me. “Who is the surrogate?”
His voice cracks. “Tara Craft.”
I grip the dresser edge, my nails biting into wood. “What else is in there that you want me to pay a visit to her doctor?”
“My contact, who is also a nurse, said there were odd notes marked on Tara’s file,” Konstantin tells me. “They were written on the chart the day she went for the physical and scans.”
“Is she okay?” A spark of alarm zaps through him.
“Under the transvaginal ultrasound, that’s a… ah… a..”
“I know what that is,” I tell him.
“Of course.” There is relief in his voice. “Plus fourteen days to pregnancy.”
“That could mean anything.” My brow furrows. “What did your nurse contact say?”
“She wasn't sure as she’s never seen it on any of Doctor Pollock's charts before,” Konstantin tells me. “Oh… and another thing. After the ultrasound, the doctor wanted to see Irina and Tara in his office. Tara went to the bathroom and was locked in there.”
“Okay…” I’m not sure why that’s significant.
“Your sister locked her in there, and she went to speak to Doctor Pollock on her own,” Konstantin adds. “After that, all of Tara’s tests came to Doctor Pollock, so that she only saw him for all her follow-up appointments during her pregnancy.” A pause. “Tara never got to talk to the doctor that day. And on their chart, it has a note that Tara must be accompanied by either Gavriil or Irina for all her pregnancy check-ups.”
“I guess if it’s there, baby, they want to be there through it all.” I’m wondering where Konstantin is going with this. “Nothing strange in that.”
“They hadn’t had the egg implantation, but Irina had already booked all Tara’s checkups!” Konstantin says. “Now I know you have to book these doctors in advance… But they hadn’t even had the egg implantation yet.”
“Just planning ahead,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” Konstantin says. “Or maybe Tara isn’t pregnant at all.”
“What are you saying?”
“It just sounds a little suspicious,” Konstantin says.
“Or, you’re just bored and looking for something to do,” I point out. “But check into it.”
“I will,” Konstantin says, and I’m guessing he’s already started.
My brow knits a little tighter. “When was the egg implantation?”
He gives me a date. And I know that date well and before he reminds me what night it was.
“The night I saw Tara and Gavriil together at the Diamond Hotel.”
Fuck. I knew that night didn’t add up. Photos looked off, too perfect, like staged snapshots. But I told myself it was jealousy. She was with him two weeks after being with me, and it made me want to burn the world down.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it’s possible that Irina and Gavriil set the whole thing up. They knew I was watching. They needed you to think Tara was with Gavriil.”
“To ensure I thought the baby was Gavriil’s and Tara's. So the baby would be meaningless.” My voice turns steel. “It has to be a firstborn-blood heir.”
“Exactly.” Konstantin agrees. “They were sure I would show you the pictures of Gavriil and Tara. You’d have her discreetly leave town…”
“And with Tara gone and out of sight…” My sister is a fucking sneaky little bitch . “She gives birth.”
“Gavriil and Irina adopt the baby, ” I finish for him. My jaw clenches until pain shoots up my temple. “Irina carries on stalling or hiding another pregnancy, ensuring she and Gavriil never have the firstborn Mirochin-Dragunov heir.”
“I don’t get my leverage to get Russia back from them,” I finish for him.
“Let me know if you go see Doctor Pollock,” Konstantin says.
“I will. Konstantin—where is Tara now?”
“In Vegas?” Worry explodes in his voice. “Is she not in Vegas?”
“Apparently, she’d been courted by a series of universities all over the country,” I explain.
“I only know about UCLA courting her. But other offers? She didn’t tell me anything about them. Do you want me to find her?”
“No. I’ll try another way.”
I hang up and return to the living room. Irina is lounging now, but her eyes track me.
“What do you want, Ruslan? Whatever I did, it’s a lie,” she says like she always does in situations she thinks she's being accused of something. “Or have I already been judged and banished to Dragunov Village too?”
“That depends on how this conversation goes.” I lift a brow and test the waters. “You asked where Konstantin was.”
She shrugs. “I don’t really care. It was more of an observation.”
“You used to have a giant crush on Konstantin,” I remind her.
“First, he’s my cousin,” Irina points out.
“Distant cousin,” I remind her.
“If I admired him in a crushing type of way, it was back before you and he became cyborgs and lost all of your humanity,” Irina tells me with a smug smile.
I ignore her. “He was with Doctor Pollock.”
That lands on the mark. Irina’s eyes flicker, and I see it—the moment the mask slips.
I didn’t want to believe it. That my sister was still scheming. Which means her allegiances have changed, and I can no longer trust or count on her. But I can not let her know that I no longer do. I walk to the bar, pour two drinks, and set one down in front of her.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, little sister?”
“That depends. What do you think you know?” Irina is careful to say.
We stare at each other across the room like loaded guns. I lift my glass.
“Let’s start with that sobbing phone call you made, the one where you hinted Gavriil was cheating. Then Nadia ‘accidentally’ talks about you and Gavriil wanting to adopt. You wanted me here, and you knew that would make me come here.”
“Calling my brother when I’m upset is a crime now?” Irina says, looking hurt.
“It’s clever,” I admit, holding the crystal glass in front of me as I lean against the bar. “Fuck. I even fell for it.”
Something flashes in Irina’s eyes—a smug look before it’s gone.
“You know how much I hate infidelity,” I continue. “You know how much I hate the Mirochins. You also know that I wanted to look for something to bring Gavriil down with.”
“That’s a lot of hate you carry around with you, brother,” Irina says softly. And this time, the sadness that darkens her eyes is real.
“Well, it’s a sad day when your family conspires against you,” I point out.
“I never conspired against you,” Irina denies.
“No?” I take a sip of vodka. “Let me continue. While I was worried about you and Gavriil adopting, the two of you were seeing your fertility doctor, getting ready to have a baby.”
The color drains from her face. I see it. She knows she’s been caught.
“So while I was worried about Gavriil's mistress stressing you out and coming between the two of you, you got Tara to be your surrogate.” I watch her. “Just to ensure, in case you were being followed, the day of the egg implantation, you set the stage to look like Tara and Gavriil were spending the night together.”
Irina’s eyes just narrow, and she doesn’t say anything. “You don’t drink vodka anymore?” I look at her untouched drink.
“I don’t drink alcohol anymore. It ages you.” Irina doesn't even look at the glass.
“Very well then. Let me get to the best part of the story,” I say. “You needed Tara out of sight before her stomach started to show, and you needed her to leave in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion.” My eyes hold hers, and she doesn’t flinch. “What better way than to get your brother to drive her out of town. Then, when she gave birth, you arranged to look like you had adopted an unwanted pregnancy.” I salute her. “You adopt your own flesh and blood. Flesh and blood that, as an adopted Mirochin, had no obligations to them or our family. Being adopted, it would not inherit the Russian and European side of the Mirochin Bratva.” I salute her with my vodka. “Tell me, what were you going to tell the child when it found its adoption papers?”
“That its father was a lout. Arrogant and…” She closes her eyes and swallows before looking at me. “Yes. Fine. I did it. But you left me no choice.” She rises. “You’re obsessed with the Dragunov-Mirochin heir like it’s some fucking Holy Grail. And you’ll rip it from anyone’s hands to get it.”
“I am trying to get us back what’s rightfully ours!”
“And using a baby. An innocent baby.” Irina laughs bitterly. “You sound just like Boris Mirochin.”
“Don’t you dare?—”
“Oh, I dare. Someone has to say it without fear of landing up in the Dragunov version of Siberia.” Her eyes heat with anger, and she throws another jab at me for exiling Nadia to the village. “You’re becoming the very man you loathed.”
“I’m nothing like that evil man.” I seethe.
“No, you’re worse,” Irina throws at me. “At least Boris Mirochin owned who he was. You wrap it up in the guise of this big noble cause to raise the Dragunov Legacy from the ashes.” Her lip curls in disgust. “But it’s nothing more than a cover for your hatred and revenge against the Mirochins.”
“It’s retribution,” I hiss.
“Always the attorney,” Irina accuses. “Cloak the truth with a noble bow and ride it all the way to justice on your high horse.” Her fists clench. “One man’s truth is another man’s lies. Isn’t that what grandfather always said?”
“Grandfather was weak. He thought things could be done in peace and with a handshake,” I sneer. “The Mirochins don’t know the meaning of peace.”
“That’s not true,” Irina’s voice drops. “You want revenge so badly, you’re willing to destroy lives. Even if you get your heir, then what? Moscow? Europe? What do you do with them?”
“I rebuild what they stole. Dragunov Territory, and rebuild the legacy so our people can once again prosper without the constant threat of Mirochin retaliation. Or getting caught up in another brutal Mirochin family feud.”
“That generation of Mirochins is gone,” Irina points out. “It was not Oleksi or Gavriil that killed our father or…” She swallows. Her voice lowers. “Or Alisa and Eva.” The names slice through me even after nearly thirteen years. “There are better ways,” she says. “But blood is all you know.”
My eyes bore into her. She stands looking at me like she has all the answers. But she doesn't, and I think it's time for some hard, cold truths. Irina wants to play this game. I’ve shielded her from the truth for too long now.
“Why do you think Gavriil was the Mirochin who married you?” I ask, my voice neutral.
“He volunteered for the marriage for the sake of the Mirochin and Dragunov alliance,” Irina answers.
“Oh, little sister, you think you’re the only one who can manipulate?”
Irina blinks. “Gavriil volunteered,” she insists.
“No. I chose him.” I feel the lick of the searing burn flicker as I unlock the door to one of the most painful days of my life. “Because he was the one who killed Alisa. And Eva.”
She staggers like I slapped her.
“You’re lying.”
“Do you know why I wasn’t there when the raid happened in the early hours of the morning?”
“Alisa said you had gone out early on business,” Irina answers.
“No. I wasn’t there because the night before, I discovered who Alisa really was.”
“I don’t understand?” Irina looks at me, confused.
“The night before our daughter's first birthday. My wife of two years told me she was sent by Boris to get close to me, our family, the villagers, and manipulate me anyway he wanted her to.” I give a harsh, mocking laugh. “But she claimed to have fallen in love with me. She wouldn’t say, but she begged me to take her and Eva and leave that night. Just run away, she said. Away from the pressure of the village, my job as an attorney and the Mirochins.”
“Alisa was a spy?” Irina’s voice cracks as she looks at me, stunned.
I nod slowly and take a breath. “I left the village that night enraged, hurt, betrayed by the woman I loved. I got in my car and just drove.”
“I’m sorry, Rus.” Her voice is soft and wobbles with emotions while her eyes fill with tears.
“When I got back to the village, there was chaos.”
Tears slide down Irina’s cheeks. I’ve never seen her like this.
“I was running, calling for Alisa, for you and our siblings.” I swirl the liquid and stare into the glass, and it’s like I can see the images playing in its depth. “She came out of nowhere. Screaming, he’s going to kill us, he knows I know. I wasn’t sure what she meant. The place was chaotic. But as I turned, I saw Gavriil. He was aiming in our direction. The gunshot rang out. Alisa lurched forward, pushing me out of the way, and the bullet went through her and into Eva. I held them both as they died in my arms. When I looked again, Gavriil was gone, and no one believed me that he’d killed my wife and my one-year-old baby girl.”
Irina covers her mouth. “Oh my God.” She walks to me slowly, hesitates, then throws her arms around me. Her shoulders shake with sobs. I hold her.
“I’m sorry, Rus. I knew you were there with them when they died. I was the one who eventually got you to let go of them.” She takes a shaky breath. “But I didn’t know the rest of it.” She squares her shoulders and steps back. “I’ll help you and stick to our plan.”
We talk for twenty minutes more before Irina leaves. When she walks out the door, I know my sister loves me, but I also feel that even after my confession, her loyalties still lean to her murdering husband.
The phone rings again. The screen says: The General.
I answer. But the voice is female. Russian and ice-cold.
“Mr. Dragunov.”
“Who is this? Where is the general?”
“The general is busy. I borrowed his phone.” She tells me.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“The same thing you do,” she says. “Tara Craft.”
My blood chills. “Why?”
“Why do you want Tara Craft, Mr. Dragunov?” she counters.
“I want to protect her, and as you’re not calling on your phone or giving me your name yet, I presume you’re the opposite of my goal.”
“On the contrary, I have no intention of causing her harm. In fact, I’m the one who has ensured she remains hidden all these years. I’m sure you can’t say the same. You’ve known her for almost two months already, you’ve unraveled twenty-four years of work.”
I tense. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who has had to stoop to asking you for help.” She pauses. “Someone in your team or close to you wants you dead and they’re framing me for it.”