Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(4)

This is a game. It has to be.

She’s taunting me with freedom. If I bite, they’ll pull me back into this cell and torture me some more. These people—her, Belov—they play mind games. This is a trick. I know it.

But what if it isn’t?

I spend the next seven hours veering between wild hope and panicked fear. I pace despite the fact that I have no strength left in my body. When my tray of food appears, I force myself to eat every morsel. If this is an opportunity for freedom, I can’t waste it. I have to gather what little energy I have left.

As the little daylight I can see through the bars fades and then disappears entirely, I find myself drawn more and more to the window.

If there’s no light like she said there would be, I promise myself I will abandon this futile hope and get into my bed. I’ll try to sleep. To prepare myself for another day of torture and mind games.

My cell grows dim, and then full dark. I sit and wait. My eyes go blurry as I search for the light, but my lips keep moving soundlessly as I repeat the words she said to me.

The walls have eyes. At eleven o’clock tonight, they’ll close. When you see a light at the window, use this key to get out.

The walls have eyes. At eleven o’clock tonight, they’ll close.

The walls have eyes.

The walls—

There.

There it is.

The light.

Trick or not, this is my chance. Maybe my only chance. I turn towards the door and uncurl my hand, stiff from being clenched into a fist for so long. The key is warm against my palm.

When I slide it into the keyhole, it fits beautifully. It doesn’t make a sound as I turn it.

I half expect Brit and Belov to be standing on the other side, waiting to dole out their punishment with glee. But there’s nothing and no one but darkness.

The thin, pointed windows remind me of an old gothic castle. I follow the tracks of light that spill out onto the floor until I come to a door that appears to be a dead end.

I glance at the key again. Will it open every door I encounter?

But before I can figure out my next move, the door opens. I jump back as a woman walks towards me. For a moment, I assume the feminine figure emerging is Brit, and my heart leaps into my throat.

But then I realize that this woman is much shorter and much plainer. Her eyes land on me.

Come, she mouths.

I follow her silently through the house. When we make it outside, I inhale deeply. I haven’t been outside in a week. There’s so much air I feel light-headed.

I’m doing my best not to think about how or why this is happening, or what might be coming for me next.

I know in my heart it’s Leo. It has to be. There’s no other person on earth who has this kind of power, this kind of reach. He’s the puppet master, the man pulling all the strings.

He let Belov take me because he knew he would get me back soon. He’s always been my savior. Why would this be any different?

The woman opens a tiny door hidden by overgrown patches of shrubs and hanging ivy. “Go,” she says softly, her voice deeper than I expected.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Don’t thank me. Run.”

So I do.

I rush through the door and towards the blinking light in the near distance. It’s an SUV, tinted windows, large and black and well-camouflaged. As I get closer, the lights stop flashing.

The door swings open as I approach. I get into the back seat, chest heaving from my sprint across the lawn, and twist towards the person sitting on the opposite side of the car.

“Le—”

His name is almost out of my mouth when I stop short.

The person sitting next to me is not the savior I’ve been imagining. It’s a petite woman with dark hair and a harsh expression on her face.

“W… who are you?” I ask. “Did Leo send you?”

Her eyes narrow. “No one sent me. I’m here of my own accord. To get you away from that fucking monster.”

Her tone is hard as flint, with a regal bearing. Small as she may be, there’s something about her that radiates control.

“Who are you?” I ask again.

She looks over, a dark eyebrow arched. “Don’t you know me, Viktoria?”

I flinch, rejecting the alien name that I don’t want. “Should I?”

“I’m Anya Mikhailov,” she says with a smile. “I’m your mother.”





2





LEO





“You should have sent me in.”

Gaiman’s been holding onto this thought the entire time we’ve been waiting. He’s only now decided he’s willing to say it and piss me off.

“Fuck that. He should have sent me in,” Jax offers.

“You’re too goddamn loud,” Gaiman says. “You’d have fucked up the mission before setting a toe on the property.”

The half-smile falls off Jax’s face. “Say that again, mudak.”

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes to help you understand,” Gaiman says, uncharacteristically harsh today. “I know you’re slow.”

Jax opens his mouth to respond, but I shut them both down before he can.

“Enough!” I growl. “If sending any of us had been an option, I would have kept you here and fucking gone myself. But all three of us are too recognizable. If one of Belov’s guards sounded the alarm, we would have compromised ourselves, Willow, and our spy on the inside.”