Ruslan #2
Emma exhales sharply and drops back onto the sofa at last, exhausted by the argument. Sunlight catches the edge of her curls while she stares down at the floor, visibly turning the offer over in her head.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I add softly, curling my hand into a fist so I don’t reach for her. “He won’t be able to do anything to you, to say anything. I’d slit his throat if he tried.”
One hundred thousand dollars. Security. Protection. A way forward.
Finally, she mutters, “This is the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
Relief settles quietly into my chest.
“You agree?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
Emma glares up at me again before giving one small, bitter laugh. “God, I hate you.”
“No, you do not. You need me, just as I need you. Or—my money, at least.”
That shuts her up briefly. Then, after several long seconds, she drags both hands down her face.
“…Fine.”
Victory slides warm and dangerous through my bloodstream.
“Fine?” I repeat carefully.
“I’ll do it,” she snaps. “But when this explodes in both our faces, I want it clearly documented that I knew this was a terrible idea from the beginning. And I get paid no matter what you’re trying to stir up with your brother.”
She has no idea. No idea that this goes far, far deeper than jealousy. Andrei took everything from me, and I plan on getting it back.
“I will have a lawyer draw up a contract.”
Emma stares at me. “You actually have done this before.”
“Not exactly. But things like it.”
“Somehow that answer is more concerning.”
I rise from my chair slowly, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt while my mind already shifts toward the planning phase. Flights, security, catching the political fallout on every single device I can so I can watch it over and over and over.
Revenge, finally within reach after all these years.
“Until then,” I say calmly, “you will remain here.”
Emma narrows her eyes immediately. “You mean hostage-style? Or do I get to leave the bedroom?”
For one brief, uncomfortable second, guilt blooms in my chest. Because despite the luxury surrounding her, despite the money and protection and careful treatment, Emma is not entirely wrong. I’ve trapped her here. And I haven’t lied; if she runs, I’ll go out and drag her right back.
The realization irritates me enough that I shove it aside immediately. This is necessary; temporary. She stays by my side in Colorado and gets to leave with money, to do with whatever she pleases.
Andrei started this years ago.
Now, I intend to finish it.
* * *
Stepan arrives just after midnight.
He lets himself into the house without knocking, which tells me immediately how irritated he is. Most people in this organization treat my home like sacred ground.
He looks around once before settling sharp eyes on me. “You sent three different men scrambling across Los Angeles today because of a woman.”
I continue pouring vodka into two glasses without looking up. “And yet they survived the experience.”
“That is not the point.”
No.
It isn’t.
I slide one of the glasses toward him across the desk.
Stepan ignores it completely, jaw tight beneath the scar cutting through his beard.
He’s older than me by nearly fifteen years and has spent most of those years cleaning up my worst impulses, hiding them behind the varnish of a legitimate business.
Which means he already knows exactly what this is.
“Colorado,” he says flatly.
I lean back in my chair slowly. “Yes.”
“This is a mistake.”
“Probably.”
His expression darkens further. “You are speaking like Ruslan again.”
Not Russ. Not the businessman.
“You forget,” I ground out, letting the vodka burn a trail down my throat, “that I am a Pakhan, under it all. Even if we’ve built,” I gesture around at the mansion, my exile, “this facade.”
Stepan steps closer to the desk. “This facade isn’t something you can throw away,” he says quietly. “Legitimate businesses. Political insulation. Clean money. Stability.” His eyes narrow hard. “You disappear into old vendettas now, and all of that becomes vulnerable.”
I say nothing. Because he’s right.
Lord&Lion is no longer just laundering operations and backroom deals. It’s an empire now. Hundreds of employees, international partnerships. Men under me supporting wives and children because this machine continues functioning smoothly.
A Pakhan does not indulge in personal revenge at the expense of his organization. We both know that, but I can’t stop this steam train of fury in my chest, as much as I want to.
Stepan watches me carefully. “Dozens of men answer to you. Their families eat because you remain disciplined.”
My mind flashes briefly to Andrei smiling beside his fiancée on national television. On his face ten years ago, a sharper smile as I fled, bloodied and chased out of the only place that was my home.
Rage curls slow and hot beneath my ribs.
“He crossed a line years ago,” I say quietly.
“And you survived it.”
“So what? If I let something like that go, do you think our enemies won’t remember it? Won’t see it as a weakness?”
Silence stretches between us.
Stepan exhales through his nose eventually. “This woman is compromising your judgment.”
“No,” I correct softly. “She is presenting an opportunity.”
“To do what? Humiliate him publicly?”
I meet his eyes. “No. To destroy him properly. To expose him.”
Emma thinks I’m the monster? She doesn’t even know that she’s already met the cruelest, most deceptive man in all of North America. And I plan on taking him down.