Page 55 of Vendetta Vows

AURORA

"So if Iunderstand what I heard correctly, Gregor is offering you the bratva," I start. "But only if you marry Tamara?"

I shouldn't feel a twinge in my chest. This sharp, unexpected jealousy that slices through me when I think about Ruslan with someone else.

Especially not a woman that I haven't even seen.

Ruslan stands there, his broad shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The single tear from earlier has dried, leaving behind a hollow look that makes my chest ache.

"Yes, that's the offer." He looks at me.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to organize the fragments of overheard conversation into something coherent. "But you don't want to."

"I don't."

I imagine her—beautiful, bratva royalty, probably wearing custom designer clothes—touching and kissing Ruslan.

Jealousy stabs at me again, hot and angry.

I have no right to this jealousy. I've known him for what, a week? But the thought of him marrying someone else makes my chest tight in a way I can't explain away.

"Why don't you want to marry her?" I ask, my voice sounding small in the vastness of the foyer.

A shadow crosses Ruslan's face. The softness from his grief I'd glimpsed moments ago vanishes, replaced by something hard and impenetrable. His jaw tightens and the muscles in his neck flex beneath his skin.

"I have my reasons."

That tone. I know it intimately. It's the same wall I throw up when someone gets too close to my own secrets. The same firm boundary that says: don't push further.

The recognition of that shared pain tugs at something inside me. There has to be a story there. A wound that must cut as deep as my own.

He steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering smell of the flower arrangement. For a moment, I dare to think he might open up.

But he doesn't.

"What do you think about Gregor's proposal?" he asks, steering us away from dangerous territory.

I'm caught off guard by the abrupt change. "Why would my opinion matter? I mean, I don't know anything about your world."

"That's exactly why I'm asking," he says. "You're not blinded by bratva politics. You see things differently."

His golden eyes hold mine, and something unspoken passes between us. The weight of his attention warms my skin and quickens my pulse. It's terrifying how easily he affects me.

"It sounds awfully convenient for Semyon," I finally say.

Ruslan's eyes narrow. "Go on."

"The timing..." I hesitate. "Look, I know nothing about your world, but isn't it strange that both your brother and nephew die within hours of each other? Then here comes this tidy solution from Semyon of all people that just happens to be exactly what Gregor wants?"

A muscle twitches in Ruslan's jaw. He stands and crosses to where I'm standing, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body.

"You have good instincts," he says quietly. "For an outsider to our world."

I swallow hard. "Maybe the problem is I've spent too much time running from monsters. Eventually, you develop a sense for when something smells like a trap."

I watch Ruslan's face transform from grief to something harder and colder. It's the face of a man who navigates a world I've only read about in scripts.

"And what exactly is the..." I stumble over the unfamiliar word I overheard earlier, "Zah-pad-nee?"

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