Page 54 of Vendetta Crown

When she appears, Ruslan asks her to bring Mikayla to the office.

As the door closes behind Daria, a strange silence falls over us. Ruslan sinks into his chair, and I move to stand beside him, my hand resting protectively on his shoulder.

Suddenly, I can't help the small laugh that escapes my lips.

"What is it?" Ruslan looks up, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"This was exactly what I saw in Vegas, when I sat across the desk from Potyomkin, and saw Vera standing beside him." I shake my head at the memory. "When I first saw her there, I thought she was powerless. Just a decoration. But it was only after we started negotiating that I understood how powerful and influential she really was."

Ruslan nods, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he reaches up to cover my hand with his.

"This is the hidden reality of the bratva," he says softly. "Men will fight and die in the mud, but it's their wives who ultimately wield the power." His thumb traces over my knuckles. "Because they're the only ones who can drag us out from the mud and bring us back to the table for talks."

The door to the office opens and Mikayla steps through, her shoulders tense but her chin held high.

She glances between us, her eyes eventually settling on me for a few seconds longer than necessary. I know she's analyzing the way I stand beside Ruslan, and how my hand is resting protectively on his shoulder.

I don't speak, but I offer her a reassuring nod as she takes her seat across from Ruslan's desk.

Ruslan begins explaining everything Gregor revealed: how Tamara worked with Semyon and Kristofer, how she facilitated Lev and Mikhail's murders, and how she would have sacrificed her own daughters in the attack on the mansion.

While he speaks, I watch Mikayla carefully.

To her credit, she shows no sign of shock or fear. Her face is arranged in a perfect mask. There's no trembling lip, no widening eyes, not even a change in her breathing.

She absorbs the information that her own mother was willing to have her killed with an unsettling calmness.

I recognize that expression. It's the familiar façade of stillness that hides the hurricane of fear and anxiety raging inside.

But above all, I marvel at howpracticedthis seems for her.

This isn't the first betrayal she's weathered, just the most extreme. I realize with absolute certainty that one day, Mikayla will make a fearsome wife to a pakhan if she so chooses.

Or even a pakhan in her own right if this world will allow it.

The only tell is in her hands. Perfectly folded in her lap, with one set of knuckles white from how tightly she's gripping her other hand.

When Ruslan finishes, the room falls silent. He leans forward slightly, his voice gentler than before.

"I wanted you to hear this from me, not from someone else," he says. "I know it's difficult to process, but I need to know what you think."

For all her practiced stillness, I can see the internal struggle playing out behind her eyes.

"I understand why Semyon and Kristofer must die," she finally says, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "But my mother..."

She pauses, her knuckles turning white as she grips her own hands tighter.

"I cannot say I disagree with your decision, Uncle Ruslan, but I cannot bring myself to agree with it either."

Ruslan nods, respecting her honesty.

"As for dismantling theZapadniye Vori," she continues, "I think that would be a mistake. TheVoribrings order to chaos. Without it, the streets would run with blood as everyone fights for territory." She looks directly at her uncle. "The bratvas need governance."

"True enough," Ruslan admits, running a hand through his hair. "But not the way that Gregor is running it."

To my surprise, Mikayla turns to face me directly.

"Aurora," she says, using my name with deliberate formality, "what do you think my uncle should do?"

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