22. Ruslan
Ruslan
Frank’s driver navigates downtown traffic with practiced ease, despite never having been here. Chu is a luxury that Frank chooses to afford; quiet, discreet, and hiding a past life as a getaway driver, I’m pretty sure.
Beside me, Frank reviews fabric samples like they contain state secrets, expensive swatches draped across his knee while he mutters under his breath.
“You’re frowning again,” he says without looking up.
“I’m surrounded by six thousand dollar’s worth of wool. Which I thought I’d left back in California.”
“Cashmere blend,” he corrects absently. “And closer to ten.”
I stare at him.
Frank finally glances over, entirely unbothered. “Luxury fashion requires suffering, Ruslan. And even if you’re willing to let the business go under for one last hurrah, you forget that I have several hundreds of thousands invested in it.”
“I preferred you when you were interrogating Emma.”
A laugh rumbles out of him at that, low and knowing. “Interesting choice of wording. We were just getting to know one another.”
I ignore him and look back out the window.
The last few days have settled into an uneasy rhythm. Meetings. Networking. Public appearances. Quiet threats hidden beneath polite smiles while Andrei scrambles to figure out what exactly I’m planning.
Still, frustration keeps prowling beneath my skin because revenge is proving more complicated now that Emma exists in the middle of it.
She has somehow embedded herself into every part of this trip without even trying.
I catch myself looking for her reactions in crowded rooms. Wondering whether she’s eaten.
Listening for her voice when the suite falls quiet.
It’s annoying. Maybe I would’ve been better off handling this alone, and letting her run.
Then she’d have nothing, the voice in my head whispers. And despite the fact that I’ve kept my promise, I haven’t looked any further into her past than what Andrei offered. I can’t help the feeling that I want to protect her from whatever downfall was coming for her before we met.
My phone vibrates against the seat beside me.
Kate.
The irritation leaves me instantly.
I answer the FaceTime call without thinking, and my niece’s face immediately fills the screen, grinning and eyes glittering with mischievousness.
“Uncle Rus!”
“Solnyshko.” My voice softens automatically. “Why are you not in school?”
“It’s lunch.” She squints suspiciously at the screen. “You look grumpy.”
Frank snorts quietly beside me. I glare at him before focusing back on Kate. “I’m working.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it is usually true.”
Kate rolls her eyes. She’s leaning on one elbow, the fast-paced blur of teenage life in a cafeteria behind her.
The sight hits unexpectedly hard. I miss her.
This is the longest we’ve been apart since I brought her to California after I found her in the system. The longest since I became responsible for someone other than myself. For someone who never planned to be a parent, I’m still constantly surprised at how okay I seem to be doing at it.
Frank notices the shift in my expression immediately and tactfully returns to studying fabrics.
“When are you coming home?” Kate asks.
“Soon.”
“You said that four days ago.”
“I’m beginning to regret teaching you math when you were five.”
That finally earns a laugh from her. “Liar.”
My chest tightens slightly at the sound. Dangerous thing, attachment. It gives people leverage.
Then Kate brightens suddenly. “Where’s Emma?”
I nearly choke. Frank stifles a laugh into a cough.
Kate blinks innocently at my expression. “What?”
“Why are you asking about Emma?”
“Because I like her. She’s still there with you, right? We bought all that stuff for the wedding. The news says it’s going to be this week.”
Her answer is so quick and honest that it catches me off guard. I adjust my tie unnecessarily, suddenly aware that Frank is listening much too carefully.
“She’s at the hotel,” I say evenly.
Kate narrows her eyes. “She should be with you.”
Frank laughs outright this time.
“Frank,” I say coldly.
“Ruslan,” he replies pleasantly.
Kate gasps dramatically. “Frank is there? Hi, Frank!”
“Ciao, piccola.”
Traitor. Kate beams at the screen before immediately turning back to me. “Did you buy Emma flowers yet?”
I stare at her. Frank looks moments away from cardiac arrest from trying not to laugh harder.
“I have business meetings,” I say carefully.
“That means no. If you want her to stick around, Uncle Rus, you have to treat her right.”
“I am hanging up now.”
Kate grins wickedly. “You’re blushing.”
“I do not blush.”
“You totally blush.”
I end the call before she can say anything else.
Silence fills the car for approximately three seconds before Frank loses the battle entirely and bursts into laughter beside me. I rub a hand slowly over my jaw.
“Not one word.”
That doesn’t deter the old man. “Ruslan Smirnov being bullied by a twelve-year-old girl may be the greatest thing I have ever witnessed.”
I stare out the window again, though it does absolutely nothing to cool the heat lingering irritatingly at the back of my neck.
Somewhere across Denver, Emma is probably still sleeping.
It’s just past 9 a.m., but she and Frank stayed up last night chatting.
Even though he got his own suite down the hall.
Apparently, my niece has decided she belongs there. We pull up outside a massive white stone building, completely featureless and windowless; a textile warehouse. Immediately, four people step out onto the street, all dressed in billowing costumes.
“At least one of us is going to enjoy this,” I mutter as Frank practically skips out of his side of the car.
But this is…nice. The crossing of two parts of my life that I’ve tried to keep separate, controlled. Frank has been a friend for so long, and it’s not as if he doesn’t know what kind of operations Lord that would be ridiculous.
Frank watches me carefully now. “She should not be involved in this.”
“She already is. I needed her to throw Andrei off.”
“She was dragged into it.”
“No.” My voice sharpens slightly. “Emma is many things, but innocent is not one of them.”
Frank goes still beside me. “Explain.”
I hesitate briefly before deciding there is little point in hiding it now. “She worked for the FBI.”
Frank is at a loss. “Well…”
“Apparently.”
“And you know this for certain?”
“I know enough. But she doesn’t know that I know.”
The memory still sits badly beneath my skin. Andrei spitting the truth at me in the middle of that fight while cameras flashed around us.
FBI—I should have cut her loose the second I found out. Even as an ex-agent, the risk is too great to be worth it. So why am I keeping her here, in the same bed with me at night, pretending not to notice the way her body shifts in sleep?
Why do I care that she lied?
Frank studies my expression for several long seconds before leaning back slowly in his seat. “You are upset.”
“I’m cautious.” Then I exhale sharply through my nose, because Frank knows me well enough to know where my mind goes. “She should have told me.”
“You’re a criminal, Ruslan.”
“She knew that when she agreed to this. It’s not something I hid from her.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He turns to me, a hand on my knee. The gold wedding band, worn now after forty years, fits snugly on his ring finger.
Everything in me goes quiet at the memory: two years after meeting Frank, his husband passed away unexpectedly.
Quickly. And in his grief, I saw my own for my father.
And the grief I wished I’d seen in my mother.
The grief she hid before resolutely moving on, marrying, having Andrei and raising him as I stood in the shadows.
I couldn’t help it back then. Frank became a close friend, tangled in the legitimate business as well as the truth of my personal life. And now here he is, but why does it feel like he’s defending Emma more than me?
“Ruslan, from Emma’s perspective, admitting she worked for federal law enforcement to a Bratva Pakhan may not have seemed wise. Do you trust her? You must, if you’ve kept her here. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
Hearing the title aloud still feels strange after years of building myself into something larger than the frightened boy Colorado once knew. Pakhan. Leader. King. Monster.
“It’s not that,” I murmur, a half-lie. Because I do trust her, I realize that now. But—“ She stayed. Even after learning pieces of what I am. Even after the threats, violence, and manipulation. Emma still looks at me with anger, but she could have run again, and she didn’t.”
She still kisses me back like she can’t help herself.
Frank’s expression softens slightly. “She’s attached to you.”
“No.”
“You truly believe that?”
“She’s overwhelmed. Emotional attachment and trauma responses are not the same thing.”
Frank stares at me for a beat before laughing softly under his breath. “You sound desperate for that to be true.”
Unease presses beneath my ribs. Frank has known me too long to miss the signs. The distraction. The possessiveness. The way Emma has somehow worked herself beneath my skin despite every logical reason she should not matter.
“She’ll leave eventually,” I say flatly.
“Perhaps.”
“She should.”
Frank is quiet for a moment. Then: “And what do you want?”
Revenge.
Victory.
Colorado.
Emma in my bed.
Emma laughing in my kitchen with Kate.
Emma looking at me like I’m still capable of becoming something better than this.
“Be careful, Rus.” Frank’s warning is gentle, but firm.
“I always am.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You are usually controlled. This is different.”
We pull up in front of the hotel, and a doorman starts walking to the curb.
Frank adjusts his coat and sighs softly. “Power matters. Money matters. Revenge can feel righteous for a while.” His gaze shifts toward me again. “But eventually, you must decide what actually deserves your loyalty.”