Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(22)

“Wake up, princess,” he growls. “This is the Bratva. No one gets what they deserve. They get only what they fight for.”

“Yeah? Well, I plan to fight for my son.”

“I guess that puts us in each other’s way,” he says darkly. “And guess what I do to anyone who’s in my way?”

I can feel the tremble inside me, working its way to the surface. But I bite down so hard on my tongue that I taste blood.

Leo has always been larger than life to me. He still is.

But I have to believe in myself now. If I claim defeat before the fight has even started, then there’s no hope for me or my son.

So I walk forward, putting myself right in Leo’s path.

“Would you kill me, Leo?” I whisper. “If it comes down to it, would you really kill me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I will do whatever I have to.”

I nod. “Okay,” I say, calling his bluff. “Then do it.”

He raises his eyebrows. I reach back towards the table, pluck one of the steak knives from beside an untouched plate of food, and offer it to him blade-first.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’m sure you can do some damage with this. You probably know where to aim. So do it. Get me out of the way.”

He stares down at the knife in my hand. When he raises his eyes to me, there’s a small smile on his face. It makes my stomach roil with unease. But I hold my ground.

“Is this your idea of a challenge?” he asks. “If I refuse to kill you, that somehow proves that you mean more to me than I’m currently admitting?”

He moves closer, taking over control of the knife from my hand but leaving it right where itis between us. The handle of the blade is pointed right at my chest and the point is digging into his.

He presses closer. I see the tiny pinprick of his own blood appear on his shirt. “If I keep you alive, it’s because of your name,” he snarls.

Closer. More blood. A thin trickle now.

“Viktoria Mikhailov is worth more to me alive than dead. Your name is the one thing your mother gave you…”

Closer still. The stream thickens. The knife is buried a quarter of an inch into the muscle of his chest and he hasn’t so much as blinked.

“... and I won’t waste it.”

He flings the knife across the room. It stabs deep into a wooden beam with a thunk and wobbles in place.

“You overestimate our connection, Willow. You always did,” he continues. The knife may be gone, but his words are stabbing me just as painfully. “You were a vessel, one that carried the child that will help bring the Mikhailov fucks to their knees. You’re alive right now because I still need your name. And you will stay alive for as long as I need it.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Your parents will suffer.”

Cold horror washes over me as the threat sinks in. My parents… my real parents. The ones that raised me and loved me and supported me. The ones that forgave me without missing a beat the moment I ran back to them.

“You… you were the one that sent that bitch after them?” I gasp.

“No, Belov did,” he says casually. “But like you said before, Brit is my creature. She stands by his side and sings his praises, but she works for me. As far as Belov is concerned, Brit killed them. He didn’t ask to see bodies because they’re not important enough to merit proof. But I knew their deaths would serve me no purpose. I knew I would need them alive to keep you in line.”

I shake my head, anger and resentment grappling with the burgeoning fear inside me. “You’d really hurt them?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

I stare at his face, trying to search for the lie in his eyes. But I can’t see anything but grim determination. In any case, I can’t afford not to believe him.

“They’ve done nothing.”

“You’re right. They’ve done nothing. But that won’t save them if you decide not to cooperate with me.”

I shake my head. “How did I not see you for the monster you are?”

“You were too busy seeing the back of your skull every time I made you come.”

I back away from him, trying to muster up the right amount of hate for the man standing in front of me. I need to hate him; I have to.

I wait for the black emotion to fester and cement itself in my soul.

But it never comes.

Even after everything he’d just said, I can’t make my feelings for him disappear. Instead, I keep looking for a way in, a window into the man I thought I’d glimpsed back when I’d believed falling in love wasn’t the black hole that it is.

“Don’t hurt them,” I say in a small voice.

“You’re the one who holds that power,” he says simply. Almost sadly.

Then he grabs me and throws me roughly over his shoulder. I scream and rail at his back, but he ignores me as he carries me up the staircase and towards my room.

He swings me off his shoulder and throws me on the bed. I flop around gracelessly. By the time I manage to straighten up, he’s already gone.

I hear the turn of the lock and then… silence.

Broken only by the sound of my rising heartbeat as guilt and regret take hold.





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