Page 95 of Vendetta Crown

"No." She shakes her head fiercely. "It's not okay. None of this is okay. It won't ever be okay."

I follow her gaze to the nursery where Aurora sits surrounded by my younger nieces, her hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly. The contrast is stark.

The warmth and pure joy blossoming in that room while Mikayla and I crouch in the shadows of the hallway, discussing death and betrayal.

"I know," I admit, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "It corrupts everything it touches. Even the bond between a parent and their child."

Mikayla looks up at me, her eyes red-rimmed and devastated.

"When I was little, before I understood what this world was really like, she'd brush my hair before bed every night." Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "Three hundred strokes, always counting out loud. Sometimes she'd tell me stories about when she was a girl."

Mikayla's shoulders slump slightly. "But even those memories feel tainted now."

"The bratva takes so much from all of us," I tell her. "It's not just lives. It's relationships. Trust. The simple bonds between parents and children."

She straightens up, forcing away her tears from years of practice. "Is this just how it is? Am I supposed to accept that one day I'll have to choose between my family and the bratva? Will my unborn cousins do that as well?"

I sit down next to Mikayla, my heart heavy with the burden of legacy she carries. In her eyes, I see reflections of myself at her age.

Lost in a world that never asked if we wanted to be part of it.

"I'm working to prevent that from happening, Mika." I reach out and take her hand in mine, feeling how small it still is despite her growing up so fast. "Maybe there is a world where devotion to family can triumph over the need to submit to the desires of the bratva."

She wipes her tears with her sleeve, looking at me with eyes far too old for her years. "But it doesn't change the fact that you still plan on killing my mother."

"No," I admit, not sugarcoating the truth. "It doesn't."

The words hang with brutal finality. In the silence that follows, I hear Aurora's laughter mingling with Stella and Sofia's. Those sounds portending bright futures and possibilities seem to mock the dark conversation Mikayla and I are having out here.

"Keep your line of communication with her open," I tell her after a moment. "Hear what she has to say. Information is power. And maybe—just maybe—we can find a way."

"Do you even think there's another option?" Her voice is small but hopeful.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "And I won't lie to you to say that there is. But I'm willing to look for one."

Mikayla nods, understanding the weight of what I'm offering. Not a promise of her mother's life, but a chance—however slim—for something other than blood.

"Thank you, Uncle Ruslan."

"Don't thank me yet," I caution her as I help her up on her feet. "Just keep the channel open. Let's hear what she has to say."

She gives me a small nod before heading back to join her sisters in the nursery.

Aurora's observant eyes see this, and then turn to me with questioning concern. She then makes her way over to me.

"Everything okay?" she whispers, her voice low enough that the girls can't hear.

I gesture toward the hallway, and we step further away from the nursery door.

"Tamara's been contacting Mikayla again," I tell her once we're out of earshot. "Apparently she wants to talk to me."

Aurora's brow furrows. "About what?"

"Information she thinks I'll find valuable." I run a hand over my chin. "It's likely a play to save her own life. She must know what I plan to do."

Aurora's hand moves instinctively to her belly, a protective gesture I've noticed more frequently as her pregnancy progresses.

"What did Mikayla say about it?"

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