Page 125 of Vendetta Crown

Slowly, she nods, and wipes away the tears at her eyes. Then, she reaches for Stella, who takes it without another word, before her other hand reaches for mine.

Hand in hand, we make our way toward the waiting cars, leaving Tamara's fresh grave behind. The girls will return here again someday. To place flowers. To speak to a headstone that will never answer. To mourn a mother, a father, and a brother that they lost too soon.

"I'll take them in my car." Mother offers.

I nod, grateful for her presence. She understands what these girls need better than most.

As they start toward the waiting vehicles, Aurora lingers, her fingers intertwining with mine.

"You're a good man, Ruslan," she says softly, her free hand resting on her swollen belly. "Better than any of them."

The simple statement hits me harder than I expect. I fight to keep my expression neutral, but Aurora sees through it.

She always does.

She rises on her tiptoes and places a gentle kiss on my lips. Nothing passionate, nothing demanding.

A reminder that I'm not alone.

32

AURORA

The car doorcloses with a heavy thud behind me as Ruslan helps me out. A strange emptiness seems to have settled over the mansion. One that I can't quite place my finger on.

"Are you alright,zarechka?" Ruslan's voice is a warm caress in the evening chill.

I bring a tired smile to my face. "Just exhausted."

But it's more than physical exhaustion weighing on me. The mansion feels different now—hollower somehow. It's not just because Vera has chosen to return to Las Vegas with Potyomkin.

Their absence is felt, yes, but it's something else.

As we step inside, I realize what's changed. The sound of laughing children has been replaced with sobs. Somewhere upstairs, Stella is crying again. Sofia's quieter weeping joins her sister's, and even Mikayla's muffled attempts to comfort them can't disguise her own grief.

Ruslan's eyes catch mine in the dim light of the foyer, his golden gaze searching my face. He knows something is wrong. He always does.

"You're worried,zarechka." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his tattooed fingers gentle against my skin.

I sink onto the bottom step of the grand staircase as the weight of everything finally crashes down on me.

"Every time I think we're winning, we lose something else," I whisper. "We got the documentary finished. But at what cost? Tamara's dead. The girls are devastated. I thought I'd feel..." I pause, not wanting to admit the darkness inside me. "I thought I'd feel vindicated when we started fighting back against Kristofer. But somehow, it feels like he's still winning."

Ruslan sits beside me, our shoulders touching. His warmth grounds me in a way nothing else can.

"It just feels like we take one step forward, and two steps back." My hand instinctively rests on my growing belly. "Every victory feels hollow."

Ruslan doesn't disagree. He just takes my hand and presses it firmly between both of his.

"I know," he says finally. The simplicity of his acknowledgment breaks something inside me.

A heavy silence stretches between us, filled with the things neither of us wants to voice. The fear that our babies will be born into a war. The worry that no matter what we do, we can't protect everyone we love. The terrifying thought that we might not defeat Kristofer before he destroys everything.

Above us, Sofia's sobs grow louder, and Ruslan's grip on my hand tightens. His jaw clenches, and I can see his struggle reflected in the rigid set of his shoulders.

"Will it ever end?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the sound of grief permeating the mansion.

Ruslan doesn't immediately answer my question about whether it will ever end. Instead, he rises and extends his hand to me.

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