39. Ruslan #2
Several people nod uncertainly. Reporters are holding up recording devices, jotting down notes in short-hand.
“He has always envied what I’ve built, and I understand why. I truly do. But jealousy is a sad reason to interrupt this event.”
The room holds its breath. I can almost feel people beginning to question themselves, beginning to question me. There were never formal charges made back when he was chasing me out of the state, which speaks to just how little control he actually has.
Because the truth is, back then I was laying the foundation of my empire. I dealt briefly in imported drugs; illegal weapons. He could have made my disappearance from Colorado permanent, but he’s not that competent.
I, however, am.
Turning, I raise one hand, palm up, toward the center aisle. Where Shannon is tucked away between her two guards.
The crowd ripples, shifts, until there’s a buffer around her. Her shoulders are tense, but her chin remains lifted as she looks directly at Andrei. She doesn’t waver. Not once.
The color drains from my brother’s face.
“No...” His voice comes out barely above a whisper. “No.”
Around him, conversations erupt. People point. Reporters immediately abandon their seats, racing down the aisles with cameras raised.
“Who are you, miss?” someone shouts, a mic already pressing through the civilians stumbling with the unexpected movement.
“My God, is he telling the truth?”
“Who is she?”
“Andrei,” I say quietly into the microphone, “would you like to introduce her?”
He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. His composure cracks so suddenly it’s almost painful to watch.
“She’s lying,” he blurts.
Shannon doesn’t move, but her brows draw together, eyes narrowing. She’s realizing that she has him caught, and her lips lift in a smile as she points out, “I haven’t said anything yet.”
Laughter ripples through the audience. Andrei’s face turns crimson.
“Ruslan found some woman and—”
“My name is Shannon Sheffield.” Her voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be. Most microphones—the ones that matter—are turned toward her now.
“I was twenty-two.” She swallows once. “Andrei told me he’d take care of us.”
The arena grows so quiet I can hear camera shutters clicking.
“When I got pregnant... he tried to make me get rid of our daughter. And when I didn’t, he made sure she disappeared instead.”
The room explodes. Questions fly from every direction.
“Did he abandon the child?”
“Is this true?”
“Attorney General!”
“Andrei!”
He stumbles backward, a finger jabbed toward me. “This is a setup! He’s a criminal!”
The accusation cuts through the noise just enough to regain the crowd’s attention. That accusation isn’t a good look, either, because it means that Andrei’s known all along just how dangerous I am and hasn’t done anything sooner.
“He runs organized crime in California!”
More murmurs, though titters are among them. I glance out at the crowd and can see disbelief on some people’s faces.
“He came back to establish himself in Denver again! By unseating me, he’ll have free rein to bring drugs, prostitution, and violence back into this city.”
For one dangerous moment, I feel the room beginning to shift. He’s gripping both edges of the podium now, his voice firm and steady—the voice he’s always used to convince everyone of whatever he wanted them to believe.
Eyes turn toward me instead.
Toward Emma, who waits just off the side of the stage. Toward the security surrounding us, who look so much different than Andrei’s obvious governmental lackeys.
Andrei sees it too. He smiles.
Then another voice slices through the chaos.
“He’s telling the truth about one thing.”
Victoria.
She walks steadily onto the stage, wearing a pale blue dress. A dark pair of sunglasses covers her eyes despite the indoor lighting. By the look on Andrei’s face, he wasn’t expecting his beautiful wife to be here to support him.
She removes the glasses. The bruise beneath one eye is impossible to miss.
Gasps ripple through the crowd, flashes going off. People are already typing on their phones and, undoubtedly, this will be on social media in seconds.
Victoria strides onto the stage and takes the microphone from my hand before I can offer it.
“My husband is abusive.”
The words echo across the arena.
“He abused Shannon.”
Her voice never shakes.
“He abused me.”
Another pause.
“And if you ask enough women...”
She looks directly at Andrei.
“...you’ll find we weren’t the only ones.”
Absolute pandemonium.
Reporters surge toward the stage so quickly that security struggles to contain them. Questions fly faster than anyone can answer; microphones thrust toward Andrei from every direction as his campaign staff rushes forward in open panic.
I watch him disappear beneath the swarm.
Emma slips her hand back into mine, appearing suddenly at my side. She looks both relieved and confused that Victoria didn’t mention her name. The two women make eye contact, and Victoria smiles sadly, already beset upon by reporters herself.
It’s suddenly obvious that she is, in fact, the perfect politician’s wife. She fields their questions effortlessly, organizing the chaos around her even as her husband disappears beneath shouts and accusations.
Without another word, we turn away. I don’t need a victory speech. I don’t need to kill him with my bare hands.
This is just an ending among a dozen other beginnings.
* * *
Outside, the cool afternoon air feels impossibly clean after the suffocating noise inside. Shannon joins us moments later, her face pale but peaceful. The two men flanking her watch her back.
“We slipped her out the side, Shef,” one comments quietly.
“Good. She can speak if and when she wants to.”
Shannon is quiet, her lips pressed together and fresh tears already tumbling down her cheeks.
“What happens now?” she asks.
I think of Kate waiting in California. Probably watching this on the news, though I’d prefer she didn’t.
Gently, I squeeze Shannon’s shoulder.
“Soon,” I say, “you’re going to meet your daughter.”