Page 53 of Vendetta Crown

I see the conflict in his eyes. The protective instinct to shield them from this ugly truth is fighting with the need to prepare them for what's coming. His hand finds mine, and I feel his thumb tracing nervous circles on my palm.

"Because I don't want to," he admits. "Especially not Stella and Sofia. They still love her."

I take a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you that first day the nieces came here? When Mikayla was angry and you tried to command her to apologize?"

His eyes meet mine.

"You can offer your nieces physical protection," I say softly. "But you can't control how they think or feel. You can't command away their pain."

"This is different." Ruslan's jaw tightens. "If I tell them this, I'll be telling them that I intend to kill their mother."

"But keeping this from them is still you trying to control how they think. It's making decisions about what they can handle." I rest my hand on his cheek. "You have to trust that they know enough to navigate this world. They've been living in it their entire life."

"And what if they won't accept my decision?" His voice breaks. "Stella and Sofia are children. How do I begin telling them their mother was willing to see them dead?"

"If that's what worries you, then maybe you can wait to tell those two." I move closer, our foreheads nearly touching. "But Mikayla should know. She's older, she understands more than you give her credit for. And she can help you explain it to her sisters when the time comes."

"It'll hurt her." Ruslan exhales slowly.

"I'm not saying it won't," I say, remembering her tears when we talked about Tamara. "But it will hurt her more if she finds out you kept this from her. She's spent her whole life navigating her mother's manipulations. She'll recognize what this means, and she'll understand why you need to tell her."

His eyes close for a moment. When they open, I see the resignation there, mixed with determination.

"When?" he asks.

"Because you've already made your decision, it needs to be said now."

My voice sounds steadier than I feel, but I've learned that sometimes you need to project the strength you wish you had.

"You need to seize the advantage of having this information before someone else can set the narrative."

I can see the weight of it all pressing down on Ruslan's shoulders. The burden of what must be done. The knowledge of what it will do to his nieces. My heart aches for him, for them, but I know there's no gentle way through this.

"Will you be here with me when I tell her?" Ruslan squeezes my hand so tightly I almost wince. "Please,zarechka."

There it is again.

That simple act of asking permission. Everything from the way he looks at me to the gentleness in his voice speaks volumes about how far we've come. In this world of commands and unflinching authority, where men like Ruslan are expected to rule with iron fists, he continues to surprise me with these small moments of vulnerability.

"Of course." I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the scratch of his stubble against my lips before I give his hand a squeeze. "Whatever you need."

What strikes me most is how natural this feels. There's no power struggle between us, no battle for control. He doesn't just tolerate my input; he actively seeks it out and values it.

In a world where I once felt powerless, I now find myself an equal to one of the most dangerous men in California.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "For being here. For seeing me clearly."

I step closer, resting my head against his chest. "We're partners now, Ruslan. In everything."

Not just husband and wife, not just lovers, but true allies navigating this violent world together.

He doesn't try to keep me hidden from the harsh realities of bratva life or make decisions on my behalf.

He brings me into the fold, seeks my counsel, trusts my judgment.

And in return, I've found myself becoming stronger and more decisive through the power he imbues in me. The woman who fled from Kristofer for seven years is now standing her ground, and planning her revenge.

"Partners," he echoes, the word like a prayer on his lips, before he calls for Daria.

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