Page 143 of Vendetta Vows

Artyom sits across from me in my father's office—my office now—and his face is fixed in what seems to be a permanent scowl.

"I should've dug deeper,bratishka." Artyom's voice breaks through my thoughts, gravel-rough with exhaustion. "I should've picked at that thread the same way Tamara must've picked at it."

"You couldn't have known." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "The connection seemed thin, and I was the one who told you to look elsewhere."

"But still." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I should've kept picking at that single loose thread. How do you think Tamara figured that out?"

I scoff. "She probably paid the family a visit."

Artyom nods. "I should've done the same."

I close my eyes, seeing Aurora's face when Tamara revealed her true name. The terror in those hazel eyes when she heard that name, like a cornered animal, haunts me.

"There's no point going over what we should've or could've done, Artyom. It's too late for that. We have to focus on things happening now and things yet to come."

"And those are?" Artyom asks.

I take a slow drink, letting the burn trail down my throat. "Nothing changes our position within theZapadniye Vori. Aurora is my wife now. Even Gregor can't deny that."

"That's not what's really bothering you, is it?" Artyom studies me carefully.

"No, it's not."

I think about Aurora trembling in my arms, her voice breaking as she blamed herself for her family's deaths. She clung to me like I was the only solid thing in her world.

But above all, I remember the fear wrapping around her throat when she spoke that name.

Kristofer Christensen.

The monster who's been hunting her for seven years.

"Ruslan?"

"I want everything you can find on Kristofer Christensen." My voice drops to something dangerous, something that belonged to my father and brother. "His whereabouts. His favorite foods. His usual hangout spots. Everything."

Artyom's eyes widen slightly as he picks up on what I'm about to say. "Ruslan..."

"I want him dead." I set down my glass with deliberate care. "And I want you to bring him to me so that I can do it myself."

"You're talking about killing a cop." Artyom's voice remains steady, but I hear the warning. "That's not just crossing a line. That's obliterating it."

I meet his gaze, letting him see the coldness that's settled in my chest.

"He butchered her entire family and wrote her a message in their blood. He's had her running scared for seven years." I think of Aurora's nightmares, her fear of cameras, her desperate need to stay hidden. "Hemustdie."

"You're not thinking clearly," Artyom says, shaking his head. "Sanctioning a hit on a cop is risky enough, but a cop outside of California? That's not just dangerous, it's suicide."

I clench my fist around my glass, knuckles whitening. "I don't care."

"You should. We have no influence that far east. No connections. No-one who will help us cover it up when it inevitably goes to shit."

"So we make connections." I slam my glass down, whiskey sloshing over the rim. "We find people who can make it happen."

"And leave a trail right back to you?" Artyom drags a hand down his face. "Everything you've built outside the bratva. From your production company, your legitimate businesses. All those are gone the moment this gets traced back to you. And it will."

I rise from my chair, blood rushing in my ears. "So what would you have me do, Artyom? Let him live while Aurora spends every day looking over her shoulder? What's the point of being a fucking pakhan if I can't even keep my own wife safe from her nightmares?"

Artyom watches me. I see the moment he realizes there's no talking me down from this, and his shoulders sag slightly in resignation.

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