Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(10)

But being confronted with the reality of him now, my ambitions seem far-fetched. Hers do, as well.

I have never been more aware of him.

Or of my own body.

A body that betrayed me several times in the early months of life with my birth mother. We were together nearly a year, but there’s still a detachment. A wariness I can’t shake, a distance I can’t cross.

“Where are my parents?” I ask, knowing full well the consequences of asking.

He studies me with a cold, unmoved expression. “If you expect me to answer your questions, you’re going to have to answer mine.”

I’m actually warm in my layers and boots, but goosebumps dapple my skin. Apparently, dying and being reborn as someone new isn’t enough to undo the way my body reacts to his.

“What do you want to know?” I’m proud of the dispassion in my tone. It’s a skill I’ve been practicing. One I intend to master.

“You know exactly what I want to know.”

I ignore the twisting pain of the memories and focus on remaining in control, neutral. “It was a boy,” I tell him softly.

He doesn’t so much as flinch, but I know him well enough to know that information is a blow. His legacy, dead in the womb.

I continue without being prompted. “I started bleeding out in my fourth month. A team of doctors came.”

“She didn’t take you to a hospital?” he growls.

“I was bleeding out too fast,” I speak in the voice Anya uses when she tells me a story from her past. As if it happened to someone else. Mere fact, no emotion. “If they’d moved me, I might have died, too.”

He doesn’t speak. If he has any feelings about the idea of my death, he doesn’t reveal them. I can’t say I’m surprised.

“I was bedridden for a month afterwards,” I continue. “I was unconscious when they buried him. He’s on her compound, if it means anything to you.”

“Where?” The single word vibrates with barely contained emotion.

“An unmarked grave,” I tell him. “Since I didn’t name him, it seemed fitting.”

“You should have named him.”

The anger surges out, cutting through the distance between us. But I welcome it. Because the truth is that I want him to suffer. I want to make him feel the sting of loss. The same I’ve had to grapple with.

“What I should have done is not your concern,” I snap. “You weren’t there.”

“Is that an accusation?”

I have to bite down on my tongue to keep my emotions from spilling out. Show them nothing but indifference, and they won’t be able to use your feelings against you. Her lessons feel timeless, though I’ve barely scratched the surface of understanding her world, Leo’s world.

“I’m just stating a fact,” I say. “You weren’t there.”

He’s staring at me, but he says nothing. No explanation or apology. It’s foolish to even consider that he might offer me some form of closure.

The man was never in this for me.

He was after my name. Nothing more.

The car finally comes to a stop at the end of a crude gravel path. It seems to lead nowhere.

“Get out,” he orders.

I’m ready to argue, to remind him I’m not the same woman he met a year ago. But before I can say anything, he’s out of the car. His door slams in my face.

“The whole confident, black widow thing is really working for you,” Jax says, twisting around in the front seat with a wide grin. “I’m just not sure it’ll work on him.”

He chuckles as I climb out of the car and follow down the gravel path after Leo.

The trees get thicker the further we go. Jax and Gaiman linger just close enough to be noticed and just far enough not to eavesdrop. I’d be a fool not to notice they’re doing it intentionally.

Clearly, they’re blocking me in.

“What’s the matter, boys?” I ask them, throwing a glance over my shoulder. “Scared I’ll make a run for it?”

“Nah,” Jax quips. “I just like the view from back here.”

“Jax.”

The man flinches at the sound of Leo’s voice. It’s my turn to laugh as Jax hurries past me to walk with Leo, his shoulders slouched in regret.

Leo says something to him, but they’re too far away for me to catch exactly what. Then Jax melts into the trees and disappears completely.

“Where are you taking me?” I call up to Leo.

The moment I ask the question, he turns sharply and walks into the trees. I jog to catch up with him.

The moment I do, the trees open, and I’m looking out on a snowy oasis.

Snow-capped peaks and white valleys flow seamlessly into one another, a single unbroken pane of ice as far as the eye can see.

As beautiful as the view is, I’m distracted by the modern cabin that rises three stories into the clear blue sky.

The fa?ade is mostly glass, framed by logs as thick as a man’s waist. Through the windows, I catch glimpses of the interior. A piano soaking in the pale sun. A spiral staircase, a stone fireplace, a shelf of books.

A rock path leads up to the front door. Leo opens it for me as we approach. “Go inside.”

When I hesitate, he arches an eyebrow. “Unless you’d prefer to freeze to death?”