Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(38)

She puts distance between us, shooting daggers at me with her eyes, but I’m too busy admiring the slim lines of her thighs that lead up to her sweet, tight little pussy.

“Stop it,” she snaps.

“Stop what?”

“Stop using me like I’m your plaything. I’m a person, Leo. Not a tool or a weapon or… or a name.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Are you?” she asks. “Because as far as I can tell, you brought me into your life so that I could deliver you the Mikhailov Bratva. You married me because you wanted my name. And you made sure to get me pregnant so that you’d have a child that would unite the two Bratvas.”

She releases a quivering breath. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Leo. I belong nowhere. The only thing I have anymore is my son. When I’m with him, I feel… like myself. Even though I don’t really know who that is. At least I’m his mother. But you want to take that from me as well. You’ll make him to be your son. And then I’ll have nothing left.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Willow—”

“Am I?” she asks, as her walls start to break down. “Because you took everything about me and destroyed it. Including my love for you.”

I raise my eyebrows, wondering if I just heard her right.

“What?” she asks, defensively. “You didn’t know that I loved you? Well, I did. At some point in this whole ridiculous fucking charade you’ve concocted, I fell in love with you. And I was stupid enough to believe that when you married me, you loved me, too. In your own way. I convinced myself that we could be happy, that we could build a life together.”

She shakes her head. “And then I learned that it was never about love at all. You never wanted me. You wanted my name. You wanted power. You wanted a key.”

The emotion pours out of her, leaving her looking pale and shaken.

“I loved you, Leo. Wholly and completely,” she says. “But not anymore. You took that from me, too.”





15





WILLOW





You’d think rage and hurt and sadness would crowd out the hunger, but apparently not. Even after storming into the bathroom and locking the door behind me, I keep waiting for it to burst open as if I’d never locked it. For a maid to walk in with a tray of food and Leo’s orders that I eat something.

But no one comes.

The message is clear: if I want food, I’ll have to come downstairs and get it.

At some point, I hear the clunk of someone unlocking the outer door of the bedroom. I can get up, go down—if I choose to. But I sit for a while longer, unsure of how and what I’m feeling and unwilling to go downstairs and face him.

But hunger is winning this war. I’d rather face Leo than sit in here and starve.

I slip on a pair of tight blue jeans and a black cropped sweater, then comb my hair out and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My stomach still has a good amount of definition, even though I haven’t been keeping up with my training or my exercises.

I was surprised to find that I actually enjoyed training in the mornings. It was a small relief from the stuffiness of Anya’s house. Sometimes, it felt colder inside the castle than it did outside in the snow.

Satisfied with my appearance, I head downstairs. Before I even reach the ground floor, I hear voices. Leo’s and a woman’s. A flash of her blonde hair confirms who it is.

“Well, look who decided to join us for dinner,” Brit remarks with a snake-like smile.

One look at her and my confidence dries up like an old husk. The woman looks like she’s ten feet tall, especially in her black stiletto heels. The dress she’s wearing is off-white, strapless, molded to her figure. It makes the gold in her hair pop. Gold hoops in her ears and a simple gold chain hanging around her slender neck finish the look.

“Aw,” she says, making no effort to hide the condescension in her tone. “You dressed up for us. How sweet.”

The table is set beautifully. But there are only two seats. Given the fact that my door was unlocked, I know I’m supposed to be down here. Which means this is just another game Leo is playing with me.

I look at him in the corner of my eye. He says nothing.

“Why don’t you sit down, Willow?” she suggests, rubbing salt into the wound.

I force my face to stay neutral. “There doesn’t seem to be a seat for me,” I say. “So I’ll just make a plate and take it up to my—”

“Nonsense,” Brit says, cutting me off. “You must join us. Right, Leo?”

He still doesn’t answer.

He’s wearing jeans and a shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves. He’s left the first three buttons open, revealing the sculpted perfection of his pecs. His hair looks like it’s been freshly washed, drops of water still clinging to the curls.

But his eyes don’t land on me.

“Where do you propose I sit?” I snap. “On the floor?”

Brit smiles. I loathe how beautiful she is.

“Take my chair.” She gets up and gestures towards her empty seat. “All yours.”

I know there’s a catch. The moment I sit down, I realize what it is. Brit walks around the table and puts her hand on Leo’s shoulder.