Page 27 of Vendetta Crown

Yet here she sits, spine straight, chin lifted. A survivor planning her counterattack.

"Home sweet home," I murmur near her ear as the pilot cuts the engine.

Aurora's fingers find mine, squeezing gently. "Not quite how I pictured our return."

Vera sits across from us, clutching the thumb drive containing the Hermitage security footage. Her eyes dart nervously around the mansion grounds visible through the windows. I understand her anxiety. She's never been away from Vyacheslav before.

Not like this.

"You're safe here," I tell her in Russian.

"Slava certainly seems to think so." She nods, though the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. "But after what happened before…"

"Semyon won't catch us off-guard again, Vera Tikhonovna. I promise."

I don't mention anything about how it was only possible because of Mikayla's innocent mistake.

My poor niece is carrying enough guilt without others needing to know about it.

The helicopter door slides open, and I ease myself out first, ignoring the stabbing pain from my bullet wounds. My feet hit solid ground, and I turn to help Aurora down.

"I've got it," she says, but allows me to steady her anyway.

One of my men approaches with a respectful nod. "Welcome back, Ruslan Vitalyevich."

"Glad to be back." I scan the perimeter, looking for any signs of trouble. Old habits. "Tell Daria to prepare a room for Vera Tikhonovna. She'll be with us as my guest for a short while."

As we walk toward the mansion, my mind shifts to what we'll need to do in the coming days. Aurora's idea is brilliant.

Using a documentary about Kristofer's crimes to expose him publicly where his police connections can't shield him.

But getting production started in such short notice will be challenging.

We'll need a crew. We'll need to have not just the skeleton of a script but the entirety of the script finalized. We'll need to decide on cast if we choose to go with a dramatization angle.

And we'll need to move quickly while Semyon and Kristofer are still off-balance from their failures.

Aurora's hand brushes mine as we walk, pulling me from my thoughts.

"You're already thinking about what needs to be done," she says softly, "aren't you?"

"I am," I admit, squeezing her hand. "Everything from assembling the crew to figuring out the script to deciding how much dramatization we'll need through the middle."

"I can help you write the script." She steps closer, her voice growing stronger. "It's my story. I lived it. I survived it. Don't you think it's right that I should be the one writing it?"

The conviction in her voice stirs something in me. Of course she should write it. This isn't just another project.

It's her chance to reclaim her narrative.

To reclaim her life.

"Besides," she adds with a hint of a smile. "I've already made it clear what I think about the skills found in your writers' room. And this is a story that I don't want them to mess it up."

"I don't think I can stop you from writing it even if I tried." I touch her chin gently, careful to avoid the bruise. "Your determination and stubbornness are what I love about you."

She freezes for just a moment at the word "love," then relaxes into a smile that makes my chest tight.

"So we're agreed?" she asks.

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