Page 75 of Vendetta Crown

I'm taking back the narrative. I'm facing my nightmare.

And I'll turn it into a weapon against the monster who created it in the first place.

20

AURORA

I collapseonto the nearest seat the moment we return home, my body feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. The makeup is gone, but I swear I can still feel my mother's face clinging to mine like a ghost unwilling to leave.

Playing her today—seeing myself transformed into her—broke something open inside me that I've kept sealed for seven years.

"Hungry?" Ruslan asks, his voice impossibly gentle as he kneels in front of me.

I shake my head, then nod, then shrug. "I don't know what I am right now."

"Food helps." He brushes a strand of hair from my face. "Trust me."

Before I can protest, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. His strength feels like the only thing keeping me upright as he leads me down to the kitchen.

"Sit," he says, pointing to one of the chairs. "I'm going to make you my mother's stroganoff."

"I don't think I can eat anything rich right now,"

"It will settle your stomach," he says, already pulling ingredients from the industrial fridge nearby. "It was the only thing Lev could keep down after his first kill."

I watch as he moves around the kitchen with surprising confidence. For a man who commands armies of brutal killers, there's something disarmingly tender about the way he slices mushrooms with careful precision.

"My mother taught us both how to cook," he explains, noticing my stare. "She believed every man should know how to feed himself. And others."

The rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board becomes hypnotic. There's something intimate about watching him cook for me—more intimate, somehow, than the ways our bodies have joined.

"She always said to sauté the meat first," he continues. "But I find searing it preserves the flavor better."

The sizzle of beef hitting the hot pan fills the kitchen with a rich aroma that makes my stomach clench with unexpected hunger.

"When Lev and I were boys, we would fight over who got to stir." A smile crosses his face as he starts stirring. "She'd let us take turns, but Lev always tried to cheat."

I watch him as he cooks, entranced by the dance of his hands and the way the muscles in his forearm ripple with every motion.

"This is nice," I murmur, resting my chin on my palm. "Almost normal."

Ruslan looks up, golden eyes catching mine across the kitchen island. "Normal?"

"Yeah." I gesture vaguely between us. "You cooking, me watching. It feels... delightfully ordinary. Like we're just a regular couple having dinner after a long day."

It feels like an extraordinary luxury. More precious than the designer clothes hanging in my closet or the priceless art decorating these walls.

"Not a bratva pakhan and his wife plotting against a psychotic stalker and murderous rival crime families?" Ruslan's mouth quirks into that half-smile that still makes my heart skip.

"Exactly." I laugh softly. "For a minute, I can pretend we're just Ruslan and Aurora."

He tastes the sauce, then adds a pinch of something. "What would normal Ruslan and Aurora be doing right now, I wonder?"

"Arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes? Complaining about our annoying coworkers?" I sigh wistfully. "Planning a baby registry without worrying which items can double as weapons?"

His laugh fills the kitchen, deep and rich and real. I want to bottle the sound and keep it forever.

"I like that version of us too,zarechka." He turns the fire down to a simmer, and then crosses to where I sit to rest his hand on my shoulders, thumbs gently massaging the tension at the base of my neck. "Sometimes I forget there could be moments like this."

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