Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(29)

“Brit…” Leo says gently. Then he sighs. “I have to go. I have things to discuss with Jax and Gaiman.”

She nods. “Of course. Don’t worry. I can handle things from here.”

She sidles up to him, hips swishing, and presses her hips to his. Leo stands there and allows it. The acid in my chest flares painfully.

“Have you changed your mind?” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

His answer is immediate. “No.”

She raises her hand to his chest and runs her fingers along his pecs. “Then be careful out there, big boy.”

His expression is flat, impatient, but he doesn’t push her away like I want him to.

“Come with me,” he tells her.

They head out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Enough that I can see them talking, their bodies close, voices lowered. Brit’s eyes flicker to me for a moment, but she doesn’t hold my gaze. Her expression suggests that I’m nothing more than a minor inconvenience that needs to be dealt with.

She reaches up and squeezes Leo’s arm. He says something; she smiles. He looks pissed, but she seems to be enjoying herself.

Especially when she leans in and kisses him softly on the cheek.

As chaste a kiss as it might seem, I can sense the threat she poses, the message she’s trying to give me.

If Leo senses that, he doesn’t show it. He turns and leaves without so much as glance towards me.

Brit walks back into the room and clicks the door shut. I know there are men posted outside the room, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that Brit’s the only one in here with me.

I’ve been alone with her before.

It wasn’t fun.

“So… how’ve you been?” she asks nonchalantly.

“He seems to trust you.”

She raises her eyebrows, and the smile on her face gets a little wider. “I’d say so.”

“Is he right to?”

“Is that concern in your voice?”

“I know what you’ve done…”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “You’ve met Spartak Belov. Tell me, do you think a man like him likes being argued with? Do you think he likes being defied?”

“So you were just doing his bidding?”

“Now, you’re starting to understand.”

“I don’t remember him being there any of the times you tortured me.”

“Tortured you?” she repeats incredulously. “Oh, honey, you think that was torture?”

She waves her perfectly slender hand in my face. Even her nails look manicured and fresh. How does this woman pull off such flawless beauty and still manage to be terrifying?

“I’ve tortured people before. What you experienced was nothing of the sort. A spa day in comparison.”

“I should be grateful, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying you need to stop thinking of yourself as a victim,” she retorts firmly. “People who see themselves as a victim end up as one. You want more than that, don’t you?”

“Is this the part where you give me your whole backstory?” I ask. “Justify every bad choice you’ve made and paint yourself out to be the unlikely, misunderstood heroine?”

She snorts. “Fuck no. I’m no heroine, nor do I pretend to be. I’m just trying to survive.”

“By hurting other people.”

“How many times must I remind you that I saved you? It isn’t my fault you got into the wrong car.”

“Did you get in trouble for that?” I ask, hoping she did. “I bet Leo was pissed.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, and I know I’m right. Leo must’ve been livid when he realized the mix-up. “He was… not pleased.”

I’m surprised. I hadn’t expected her to cop to it.

“But then, Leo always runs a little hot,” she continues, a soft smile washing across her face. “I know how to cool him down.”

She gives me a wink, and I’m back to being furious.

“You realize who I am, right?” I ask.

“That is an excellent question. Who are you?” she asks. “Viktoria Mikhailov or Willow Powers?”

The way she asks it gives me pause. Like she’s genuinely curious. Her eyes are bright and cunning, her lips pursed in quiet expectation.

When I don’t answer right away, she gives me a sympathetic nod. “I thought so. You don’t know who you are anymore.”

And just like that, the woman who haunts my nightmares just held a mirror up to my worst fears.

I don’t know who I am. Not really.

Am I Viktoria Mikhailov?

Or am I Willow?

And if it’s the latter, which Willow am I? Willow Powers? Willow Reeves?

Willow Solovev?

I look at Brit. The lines of her face are hard. There’s something worn about her. She’s been through something, but that’s no surprise given who she works for and with.

“Who are you?” I ask, turning the question back on her.

“Me?” she asks. “I’m an enigma. A contradiction. I am everything and nothing.”

“Am I supposed to decipher that riddle? Because I’m not sure I care about the answer enough to put in the work.”