Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(37)

She sighs. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re the one who’s going to write the letter for me,” I tell her.

She gets to her feet. “Unless you plan on forging my handwriting, Anya will not get a letter from me.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one making this harder.”

Water is still dripping from the ends of her hair, soaking through the thin t-shirt she’s wearing. The cold water certainly woke her up. She looks fit to pounce.

“I will get him back, Willow. With or without your help.”

“Then you’ll have to do it without my help,” she says determinedly. “Because I’m not about to lift a damn finger to make your life easier. God knows you haven’t done that for me.”

“You’re saying you think he’s better off with her?”

A shadow passes across her face, and I know that her relationship with Anya is not quite as warm and fuzzy she would have me believe.

“I’m saying I want to control this narrative,” she says at last. “And I won’t be able to do that so long as you’re at the reins.”

“You’re compromising our son’s safety because you want to feel like you’re the captain? For fuck’s sake, I thought you were smarter than that.”

She presses her lips closed and crosses her arms. The move only accentuates the swell of her breasts, and the water slowly soaking into the cotton doesn’t help.

“Don’t make me do anything I’m going to regret, Willow,” I say in a low voice, stalking towards her.

Her eyelashes flutter, and she backs away. But I don’t stop advancing. I keep moving, matching her step for step, until her back hits the wall.

“You’re not going to intimidate me, Leo. You may be a big strong Bratva don, but that means nothing to me.”

“No?”

“I’m not her.”

For a moment, I genuinely don’t know who the fuck she’s talking about. Then it clicks.

“No, you’re definitely not Brit,” I agree.

Her eyes flash with anger, but she doesn’t say anything else. Ariel was right—Willow is jealous. She hates herself for it, but every time she looks at Brit, she doesn’t just see her torturer—she sees a threat to whatever she has with me.

I can use that to my advantage.

So I keep going. “Brit may not have been born into the Bratva, but she was made for it.”

Willow tenses. “That’s quite the pedestal you have her on.”

I nod. “She’s an amazing woman.”

Nothing about that statement is a lie. I do have her on a pedestal, and I do think she’s an amazing woman.

Not many others would have survived so long in an enemy camp without suspicions being raised. She played her part to perfection. She was one of my two most useful assets on the ground, and I wasn’t about to say anything different to soothe Willow’s ego.

“I’m sure she’s amazing,” Willow snaps sarcastically. “So why don’t you share a bed with her?”

I try very hard not to smile, but I know she can see the corners of my mouth twitch up. I have to admit, I’m enjoying this a lot more than I thought I would.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Her eyes flare for a moment before she manages to get her expression under control. “She doesn’t strike me as the type to share.”

“Oh, she can play nice when I ask her sweetly.”

Finally, Willow breaks. She slams her hands against my chest. “Move.”

“I don’t think so.”

Her fist flashes through the air, but I’m ready. I block her once. Same with the second punch.

But she’s prepared, too. She spins around and knees me in the stomach. It’s a surprising blow, but I take it in stride. I straighten up and shove her back against the wall.

She realizes she is losing the upper hand, and her movements become more forceful, more frantic.

She’s good. I can’t deny that. There’s some talent there, but it’s still rough. It needs to be properly honed before she can be truly dangerous.

She sends a roundhouse kick my way, but I grab her leg and swing her around in the opposite direction. She nearly stumbles onto the bed, but she catches herself just in time.

Her eyes are wild as she charges at me again. And it’s already got my cock hard.

Time for what was always meant to happen next.

I push her down onto the bed. Her t-shirt rides up, revealing the fact that she’s not wearing panties underneath.

I grab her ankles and drag her forward so that her thighs are parted around my legs.

“You should never fight without the proper gear,” I say.

“You can’t just fuck me whenever you like!” she yells. “You want sex? Go downstairs to your whore.”

I lean in and press my body against hers. “All I’m hearing is that you’re very concerned with where I stick my cock.”

“I don’t give a shit about where you stick your cock. As long as it’s not inside me.”

I snake my hand down between her legs and probe them open. “Then why are you wet?”

She pushes me again, and I let her up, chuckling.