4. Ruslan
Ruslan
“What the fuck?”
I freeze at Emma’s words.
She’s sitting upright in my bed, staring at the TV, which I turned on at a low volume, thinking she’d be out cold for a while longer.
What the fuck is right. What the fuck is going on here?
For whatever reason, the stranger in my bed is having a visceral reaction to seeing my half-brother on television. That unexpected piece of information is fighting against the old rage that rose within me as soon as I saw Andrei’s face.
Her face is drained of color, her breasts free under the t-shirt I provided last night, nipples dark and soft.
I turn back to the television where Andrei stands beside some blonde socialite with a diamond ring on her finger and that polished political smile I have wanted to break since we were boys. The anger is hot and familiar, but it’s dulled by something sharper right now.
Slowly, her head turns toward me.
Our eyes lock.
Suddenly every instinct I possess wakes up at once.
Emma shoves the sheets aside so quickly she nearly tangles herself in them. “I—” she starts breathlessly, glancing around for something to wear. The dress, a red wine stain on the floor, is beyond repair. “I should go.”
I lean against the doorway between the bedroom and sitting area, watching her scramble for something acceptable. She snatches a pair of my boxes on the dresser, hurries into them, too fast. Panicked.
“You know him.”
It is not a question.
Emma freezes for half a second with one arm clutched against her chest, as if that’ll hide her luscious tits. “No.”
A lie.
Behind me, the television drones on about campaign donations and wedding venues while fury coils tighter and tighter inside my ribs.
Andrei. After all these years, just seeing his face again is enough to drag the old version of me clawing toward the surface.
The tiger I thought I’d locked away for a while longer, after last night.
But Emma—Emma has my full attention now.
She practically trips heading for the bedroom door, curls wild from sleep and sex. Yesterday she melted beneath my hands like she wanted to be ruined. Today she looks like a cornered animal searching desperately for an exit.
“What is your connection to him?” I ask quietly.
“Nothing.”
Another lie.
I push away from the doorway.
Emma’s eyes widen instantly. She searches the room, sees her phone and snatches it. Glancing up at me and down at the phone, her fingers tap away.
Fuck. She’s scheduling a ride; I provided the car for her last night, and now she’s orchestrating a way out.
The reaction is subtle but unmistakable; her body recognizes danger before her mouth admits it. Good instincts. Better than most people who wander into my life.
Unfortunately for her, I spent years hunting weakness for sport.
“You reacted before the reporter even said his name,” I murmur, stalking toward her slowly. “That is not nothing.”
“I just recognized him,” she says quickly. “He’s a politician—”
“Mm. You grew up in New Jersey, Emma. Why would a politician from Colorado concern you?”
I keep moving.
She keeps backing away.
Interesting how quickly the atmosphere changes. Last night she arched against me willingly, desperate little sounds filling my dining room while I took exactly what I wanted from her. This morning, tension crackles sharp and dangerous between us instead.
Emma reaches the door first.
My hand slams flat against the wood beside her head before she can escape into the hallway. She gasps softly.
“There you are,” I say quietly.
Close like this, I can see every shift in her expression. Fear, yes, but also calculation. She’s thinking. Assessing. Measuring me.
Not normal. Yesterday, well last night, I thought she was just a young woman out for a joyride.
Now, I’m sure she’s something else. Something dangerous.
My gaze dragged over her face slowly. “Who are you, Emma?”
“No one.”
I brace my other hand against the door, caging her in fully now. Her breathing turns uneven, chest rising beneath the buttery t-shirt. I should step back. Instead, I lean closer, catching the faint lingering scent of my cologne on her skin.
“You are a terrible liar.”
“And you’re insane.”
A laugh almost escapes me.
Almost.
Because beneath the attraction still clawing at my body, something darker unfurls steadily in my chest. Suspicion. Possessiveness. The ugly cocktail of instincts that made me dangerous long before I built Lord&Lion.
Emma swallows hard. “Please move.”
“No.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
For one charged second, I consider pushing harder. I could. She’s already off-balance, already scared enough to crack if I apply pressure in the right places. Most people do.
But then—
“Uncle Ruslan?”
The voice slices cleanly through the tension. Emma startles, her brows knitting, gaze swinging incredulously to me. Now we’re both confused, both caught off guard.
I close my eyes briefly.
Fuck.
“Uncle?” Kate calls again from somewhere downstairs. “Your car is here, and Mrs. Alvarez says I can’t have ice cream before breakfast, but she’s literally wrong.”
The fury and suspicion burning through me slam hard into a different reality entirely.
Kate is home. My niece. My responsibility. The only thing I ever managed to keep untouched in this life… or as untouched as possible, when I was finally able to find her.
Emma blinks at me in confusion as I step back from the door. I can practically see the questions spinning through her head now.
Uncle. Ruslan, not Russ.
Not once in my entire deadly career did I ever think my own niece would give me up. The humor in it almost burns away the rage.
The hallway downstairs fills with Kate’s rapid chatter as she continues talking to one of the house staff without taking a single breath. Twelve years old and incapable of silence for longer than ten seconds.
A sharp ache twists unexpectedly through my chest.
This.
This is the line.
I do not drag my darkness into her life. I do not become that man around her.
Emma takes advantage of my distraction immediately, slipping into the hallway. Smart girl.
But before she can disappear fully, I catch her wrist. She doesn’t struggle, just goes still, which only makes me more sure she’s something else.
I lower my voice. “If you run from me, Emma…”
Her eyes lift slowly to mine.
“I will find you.”
The promise settles heavily between us.
Then I let go.
Emma disappears down the hallway moments later, moving fast enough that her curls bounce behind her. By the time I reach the balcony overlooking the front drive, she’s already climbing into a waiting rideshare without looking back once.
Running. Definitely running. But from what? She was ready to run before I made that threat. Before I even stepped into my own bedroom.
What did she see on the TV when Andrei appeared?
Behind me, Kate barrels into the room like a hurricane. “Why is everyone acting weird this morning?”
* * *
An hour later, after breakfast and complaints about sleepovers and three separate stories about middle school drama, Kate finally disappears toward the media room with her tablet.
Only then do I pick up my phone. Yakim picks up immediately.
“Problem?”
I stare out toward the ocean, jaw tightening as Andrei’s smiling face flashes through my mind again.
Then Emma’s, though the expression burned into my memory is one of shock, closely followed by fear.
Who is she? And who does she think I am?
It’s only now, with clarity and time, that I realize how strange it must have looked to her as well—a fashion businessman in California watching local Colorado news.
“No,” I say softly. “An opportunity.”
I loosen my collar slightly, pulse steadying even as my world has begun a slow tilt toward insanity.
“We’re going back to Colorado,” I tell him. “It’s time to finish what was started.”