Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(43)

“Losing him must have been hard for you.”

“I was angry for a long time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being angry.”

That’s the first vulnerable thing she’s said to me in months. It doesn’t really make me feel close to her, but it does give me some hope for the future.

“Is that why you have such a bad relationship with your father?”

She shakes her head. “That happened long before Mattias, but it certainly drove in the wedge that broke our relationship. He expected me to just dust myself off and move on. Be the good Bratva princess he expected me to be.”

“But you stayed with him afterwards.”

“After I gave you up, I came back,” she confirms.

The fact that she glosses over the part where she gave me up and just returned to her life doesn’t affect me as much as I would have thought. I’ve come to manage expectations where Anya is concerned.

“Why?”

“Because I knew I would leave one day,” she says. “And I needed resources. I needed money. I needed men. The Bratva is built on loyalty, so I needed to build a group of men who would follow me one day instead of my father. And I knew that would take time.”

“But your father didn’t suspect anything?”

“He was too busy trying to marry me off to a suitable man who would expand his business interests and make his Bratva stronger.”

I frown. “You’ve been married, haven’t you?” Leo told me about it, but I want to hear the story from her.

“Twice,” she says. “Both to men my father picked for me.”

I already know what she’s about to tell me. Even though my chest tightens a little, I don’t feel the horror I probably should. More than anything else, that’s what alarms me. Am I already getting used to the brutality of this world? Does that mean I’m becoming a part of it?

“I killed them both as soon as I could,” Anya tells me. “I don’t think I made it to a year with either one.”

The way she says it makes me shiver. There’s pride in her voice. And even if I doubted that, the pride in her eyes is hard to ignore. “How could you have done it?”

“Well, with Oleg I drugged him first and—”

“No!” I say, horrified that she assumed that was what I meant. “I’m not asking you how you murdered your husbands. I’m asking… how could you?”

She raises her eyebrows. Pride gives way to disappointment.

“You think I should feel guilt? Remorse?”

“Either,” I say. “Both.”

“Why?” she asks coldly. “He probably never felt it when he killed or stole or raped. So why should I?”

“Because it’s the sign of a decent human being,” I snap.

Her eyes flash for a moment. Then they drop to my belly and she swallows her indignation. “This is the Bratva. None of us are decent human beings.”

“I’m not Bratva.”

Her eyes are cold even when she smiles. “Does that sense of superiority keep you warm at night?”

“My conscience is clear.”

“You’ll raise a son who will command a Bratva, kill men, hurt women, commit God knows what other unspeakable sins. Enjoy that clear conscience while it lasts, daughter.”

I stare at her in disbelief, wondering how I came from this woman. But it makes things clearer for me. It makes my choices easier.

I have to get out.





Present Day


My eyes dart open, scared awake by a nightmare… or a memory. It’s hard to keep track of which is which anymore.

Light sneaks through the half-open blinds. In the distance, fog rolls between the mountain peaks.

I glance to the bed. The top half of Leo’s body is exposed, the sheet wrapped around his waist. The dawn light catches his muscles in all the right places. He looks like a sculpture. A masterpiece.

I could walk over there and kill him while he sleeps. I could… but I won’t.

Not simply because I’m starting to believe it would be impossible to go through with it. But also because, underneath all the bitterness and anger, I know I couldn’t take a life. Much less his life.

He rolls onto his back, and my heart rate picks up. My body’s reaction to him is maddening. Even now, I imagine walking over to him, letting him pin me to the bed. Writhing in delicious agony as he steals another little piece of my soul.

But I can’t afford to lose any more of me. I need to be strong.

For my son.

For myself.

I twist on the sofa and turn my back on him, then shut my eyes and try to find solace in the unreal.





When I wake again, several hours have passed. The bed is empty and Leo is gone. A breakfast tray waits for me by the window seat. I didn’t even notice the maid come and go.

I eat and then spend the morning doing push-ups, pull-ups, crunches, and burpees. I do whatever I can to stay fit, but also burn off the agitation that tickles under my skin.

I find myself looking forward to dinner, to the simple act of leaving this room behind and walking downstairs. I try to tell myself it has nothing to do with Leo, but I’m past the point of lying to myself.

As soon as my door is unlocked, I get dressed. I opt for ripped jeans and a white sweater. Nothing sexy this time. I’m done participating in the games.