Emma
The sound of the knock slips into my dreams first, blending with the groan of the wind outside the cabin before dragging me. For a few seconds I lie still beneath the quilts, blinking into the dark as the fire in the woodstove crackles softly from the next room.
Then it comes again.
Rus is gone. It’s only been one day, though. Surely someone hasn’t already come here? Found me—us?
The bedroom is cold as I wrap a sweater around myself and ease open the door, listening carefully. The cabin is dimly lit by dying embers and a single lamp Frank left burning in the kitchen. I expect to find him asleep on the couch, but he’s already standing.
His posture has changed completely.
The easygoing investor who spent the last two days complaining about the lack of a bathtub has vanished. In his place stands someone calm, balanced, and frighteningly alert, his eyes fixed on the front door as another knock echoes through the cabin.
“Stay back,” he says quietly.
The perfectly pressed pajama set should look ridiculous on him, but I can’t concentrate on that now with my heart ricocheting in my chest.
Frank moves decisively, stepping between me and the front door. His shoulders remain relaxed, up and back in that perfect posture, but something about the way he carries himself makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
“You know how to use the deadbolt?” he asks.
I nod.
“Good.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but instinctively, I know what he wants. It’s a call back to my training days: how to case the room, clear it, move into the next space when you can’t see ahead of you.
The silence stretches until whoever is outside knocks a fourth time.
“They can’t have bad intentions, right? Why knock?”
“That might be what they want us to think.”
I swallow. He’s not wrong.
“Do you think it’s Andrei?”
“I think,” Frank says evenly, “that we’ll find out.” He gives me a brief nod toward the door. “Open it.”
Even though I knew it was coming, every muscle in my body feels tense with the thought. When did I get so scared? Once, I used to linger in back rooms, listening to handshake deals being made.
“Leave the chain on.”
My hands feel strangely numb as I cross the room. I slide the deadbolt free but leave the security chain latched before opening the door a cautious few inches.
Darkness greets me.
Then a face.
The eyes are wide, the face pale and practically glowing in the night. A step forward, and blonde hair spills around her shoulders.
Victoria.
For a heartbeat neither of us speaks; she looks as shocked to see me as I am to see her, though this can’t be an accident.
“Emma.”
Her voice is barely audible.
“I...please...”
She pushes another step inside, catching me off guard. The chain, my hand still around the catch, rattles and comes free with a fumble. Victoria slips in, and those wide eyes and bulky wool coat are anything but reassuring.
Behind me, everything happens at once.
Frank steps forward with startling speed. The metallic click of a handgun being drawn slices through the cabin.
“Stop.”
Victoria freezes immediately. So do I. We’re shoulder to shoulder, she and I, layered. If he shoots—
I turn into the room, and Frank is standing several feet away, one hand extended, the pistol unwavering. His expression hasn’t changed at all. He doesn’t look frightened or angry.
“Move,” he commands, gesturing with the muzzle. Victoria sidesteps away from me quickly, and I can catch my breath again. I practically stumble further into the room. The blonde shuts the door, locks it. Looks back and forth between the two of us.
The muzzle never wavers from Victoria’s chest.
“That’s not necessary,” Victoria whispers.
Something fuzzy in my brain registers that she’s probably right, but my teeth are clenched with tension. For several endless seconds, no one moves.
Then Frank studies her face. His gaze flicks toward the darkness outside before returning to her.
“Are you alone?”
Victoria nods. “Yes.”
“You weren’t followed?”
“I don’t think so. No headlights, and I can’t imagine anyone could get here without them.”
“You don’t think,” Frank repeats calmly, “or you know?”
She visibly struggles to answer.
“I...I know.”
Frank considers her. Then, just as smoothly as he’d drawn the weapon, he lowers it.
“Where the hell did you get a gun?” I blurt out, but he ignores the question, and the pistol disappears beneath his jacket before I fully process that it was ever there.
Victoria lets out a shaky breath.
“It’s not important.” He notices us both staring as he straightens his pajamas. “What?”
“You should have told me you had that!”
“You should have assumed I had it, darling. Do you think Ruslan would leave us here without a weapon?”
He says it as though discussing umbrellas during a rainstorm. Victoria still looks pale.
“I thought you were going to shoot me,” she stutters.
“I was considering the possibility.” Frank sighs. “You forced your way into a cabin occupied by a pregnant woman in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to think?”
When he puts it that way...
“I promised him I’d protect you,” he adds, looking directly at me.
Of course.
“Now,” he says, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve, “I think all three of us could benefit from tea.”
Victoria stares at him. “You...you’re making tea?”
“I make excellent tea.” Without another word, he disappears into the kitchen.
The normalcy of it is so absurd that I almost laugh. Instead, I look at Victoria. She’s the absolute last person I expected to see here, and she still hasn’t moved from the doorway.
Her breathing is uneven, and even in the dim light I can see the strain etched across her face. She’s wearing rumpled clothes beneath the expensive wool coat, her mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes. Which means she didn’t even try to go to sleep tonight.
Running. I’d recognize it anywhere—she’s running.
Stepping aside, I slide the chain back on the door and gesture for her to come in. All the way in this time, which she does, the sneakers she has on are dirty from the path outside.
The fire crackles gently as we sit across from one another, its warmth filling the silence between us.
From the kitchen comes the comforting clink of mugs and the whistle of a kettle beginning to heat.
Neither of us knows where to begin.
Frank returns a minute later, carrying a rustic tray with three mismatched mugs balanced on top.
Steam curls lazily from each one, carrying the scent of chamomile and mint through the cabin.
He sets the tray on the low coffee table before settling into the armchair opposite us as though it were perfectly ordinary to pour tea moments after pointing a gun at someone.
Victoria wraps both hands around the mug without drinking. The warmth seems to steady her, though her fingers still tremble against the ceramic. She stares into the tea for several seconds before finally lifting her eyes to mine.
“I left.”
The words come quietly. Even though I’d already figured that out myself, it’s still surprising to hear her admit it.
“I don’t mean I walked out for the evening. I left.”
My stomach knots. “He hit you again?”
She gives a tiny nod. “Not tonight.” Her laugh is hollow. “Tonight he mostly screamed.”
Frank doesn’t interrupt. Neither do I. Victoria takes a careful breath, collecting herself before continuing.
“I kept telling myself it would get better after the wedding. That the pressure would ease, that campaigning and the media were making him...” She searches for the right word before giving up. “...him.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No.” She smiles sadly. “It got worse.”
The fire pops softly behind us. Frank is sitting stock-still, and I can’t help wondering how much of this he already knows about. Did Ruslan tell him about what Andrei does to women? About what he did to me?
“I think he knows he’s losing control,” she says. “Every morning there are more phone calls. More shouting. Staff members he used to trust are suddenly traitors. Reporters are idiots. Advisors are incompetent.”
Her gaze shifts toward me.
“And then there’s Ruslan. He’s obsessed with him.”
That sounds right. I bite my lip, tempted to tell her that it’s the same for Rus—that he’s fixated, determined to see this through. It’s a strange thing for Victoria and I to commiserate on.
“He pretends he isn’t, but he talks about him constantly.” She lets out another tired breath. “He says Ruslan is trying to destroy everything he’s built.”
I glance toward Frank. He remains perfectly still, but Victoria’s puffy eyes narrow as she looks back and forth between us.
“I’m guessing that’s true. I thought so. So I came here because I want to help.”
I grip the arm of the couch, surprised enough to slip forward a bit. “You do?”
“I married him because I thought he was kind. All the philanthropy and…” Her voice cracks. “I thought I was marrying a man who cared about people.”
She looks down and tucks her hands up into her sleeves. I don’t need to see them to know what’s there. Bruises on her wrists, on her forearms.
“I was wrong.”
“He’s good at seeming like he cares,” I say lamely, torn between the urge to protect myself and this baby and the instinct to reassure her. Her eyes soften as if she knows what my intentions are.
Then she looks toward Frank. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t expressed anything on those distinguished features.
“I know Ruslan is coming after him,” she says, firm and business-like. Frank doesn’t deny it, but I can sense his interest now.
“I’ve watched Andrei become more frightened every week. He keeps pretending he’s in control, but he isn’t.” She swallows. “Whatever Ruslan is planning... how bad is what Andrei has done?”
The question hangs in the air, out of place in the cozy cabin. I look at Frank, unsure how to answer—he might not be a member of the Bratva, but he knows Ruslan and his business enough that I’m comfortable deferring to him.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches for his tea and takes a thoughtful sip. Then he sets the mug down.
“I have an idea.”
Both Victoria and I turn toward him.
“If you truly want to help,” he says, “don’t accuse Andrei of anything.”
Victoria frowns. “What do I do instead?”
Frank folds his hands together, legs crossed. “Leak one name.” For one brief moment he glances my way, and then he says, “Shannon Sheffield.”
The air disappears from my lungs. This isn’t what I expected. I thought he’d tell her to dig, to ask certain questions, but this…
All I can think about is how reluctant Rus was to bring Kate and her past into this.
“Are you sure?” I hurry to ask, leaning forward, tea forgotten. “Frank, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I do.” His certainty catches me off guard.
“What if it hurts her?” I don’t say Kate’s name, not sure how much Victoria knows about me, about Ruslan, about the niece he’s created a safe home for back in Santa Barbara.
Frank’s expression softens. “It won’t.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because Ruslan won’t let it.” The confidence in his voice is so solid it almost breaks my heart. “He’ll find another way before he lets that little girl become collateral damage.”
“You really believe that.”
“I know him.”
Victoria is watching us closely; the curiosity raw on her drawn face. The fire spits, crackles, and it’s obviously dying down despite the heat radiating from the cast iron.
Finally, she nods.
“I can do that. Just the name?”
Frank hums, taking a sip of his tea. “Nothing more; it’s all you’ll need.”
Victoria surprises me by smiling. A real smile this time, despite the fact that she had just escaped the city in the middle of the night to come find me. To ask how she can help take her husband down.
It’s a tired smile, but hopeful. She leans forward, puts a hand on my knees, and says, “I’m glad.”
I frown, not understanding but not hating the camaraderie.
“About what?”
“You.”
Confusion must show on my face because she laughs softly.
“I spent weeks wondering why Andrei hated his brother so much.” She shakes her head. “Now I know.”
“What do you mean?”
Her smile grows gentler. “I chose the wrong brother.”
I start to protest because I had both brothers and chose the criminal. How could that possibly be the better outcome?
But Victoria sees the denial coming and continues, “I chose wrong. I’m not going to lie; the status, the charm. I should have known better, and I didn’t. Andrei has been trying to make Ruslan out to be a villain, but…”
Her eyes shine tears as they dart away.
“One terrifies people because he enjoys it. The other terrifies people because he’ll protect the ones he loves. I know which one I’d prefer. You’re lucky, Emma.”
Emotion catches unexpectedly in my throat.
For weeks I’ve been trying to reconcile the man who launders money and commands armed men with the one who tucks blankets around me, worries about our baby, and promises not to cross my boundaries.
Victoria has somehow done it in under a minute. She stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her coat.
“You can stay,” I offer quickly. “At least until morning.”
Her expression turns grateful. “I appreciate that. But it is morning, and…”
“And?”
She smiles toward the dark window. “I think it’s time to move on. If I stop now, I’ll just second-guess myself.”
Frank rises next, a gentleman all over again.
“I’ll walk you out and make sure you leave safely. The roads are dark and winding.”
Victoria nods. Then, before stepping toward the door, she squeezes my hand.
“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, “I think you found the better man.”
The door closes softly behind her a moment later.
I stare into the fire, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps on the porch, wondering whether tonight changed far more than any of us yet realize.