Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(52)

He presses a kiss to the top of my head and disappears into the bedroom.

I close my eyes and soak away my soreness. When I emerge from the tub almost forty minutes later, the water is cooling to room temperature and I feel invigorated.

I dress quickly and head downstairs just because I can. I haven’t been able to explore the cabin like I want to.

The interior is a combination of modern and rustic. I end up in a sitting room at the back of the cabin with huge paned windows that overlook the mountain vista. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves flank the view on either side.

I approach the window and admire the view. The sun is rising over the mountains in the east and drenching them in pure golden light. It’s the first time I’ve had the time or energy to really take it all in. I’ve been a little preoccupied grappling with an identity crisis, the reappearance of the mother who gave me up as a newborn, nearly miscarrying my son, and then fending off—well, failing at fending off, to be more accurate—the man who swore to track me to the ends of the earth. Gazing at the scenery hasn’t been high on my priority list.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

I whirl around and find Ariel sitting in one of the armchairs by the window. The furniture is so deep and cozy that she is almost hidden from view. I stare at her, trying to decide how I should feel. What I should say.

“I like to read in here,” she says by way of explanation, snapping a book shut.

I glance at the title. Anna Karenina.

“Have you read it?” she asks.

“No.”

“It’s a classic.”

“I’m aware.” It’s hard not to be short with her. It’s all I’ve known.

“Anyway,” she says, putting the book on the table beside the armchair. “I was just on my way out—”

“Leo told me everything,” I say quickly.

She leans back into the armchair and nods slowly, like she’d always known this day was coming. “Did he now?”

I take a deep breath and sit down in the chair opposite hers. I look at her, and I can’t make heads or tails of what is her mask and what is her.

“Do you still hate me?” she asks.

“A little.”

She laughs. “I don’t blame you. I bet you still have a few souvenirs of our time together.”

“You don’t sound particularly remorseful.”

“Oh, honey,” she says. “If I felt remorse for every bad thing I’ve done, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.”

“Why even do it then?” I ask, blurting out the same question I’d asked Leo last night.

Her wry smile dims. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You could have chosen to leave. Go someplace new, meet someone new. Live a life away from all this.”

She cocks her head to the side. “That would have involved loving Pavel a lot less than I did. Less than I still do.”

“Moving on doesn’t mean you don’t still love him,” I say. “He would want you to find someone—”

“There will never be anyone else for me. Ever,” she says with finality. “The best I can hope for is to make it right.”

“But how do you…”

“What?” she asks patiently.

“How do you stay sane?” I finish quietly.

“Sanity is a fickle thing. Honestly, during that first year with Belov, I wasn’t sure I could do it,” she admits. “I had to play this character. A femme fatale—no conscience, no remorse. I had to seduce the man who’d murdered my fiancé while I was still in the depths of grieving. The first time he touched me, I had to physically stop myself from crushing his throat.”

This is the first real conversation we’ve ever had. I feel like I’m speaking to the real person beneath all the beauty and bravado. Not some distorted, nightmare version of her that’s meant to intimidate and terrify.

“The first time he took me to bed, it felt like a small piece of my soul was breaking off, splintering away from the rest of me.”

“And yet you’ve done this for years now.”

“Yes… because it is the only way,” she says. “I want more than justice for Pavel. I want revenge. I want that fucking bastard to suffer before he dies.”

I nod, drinking it all in but not sure how to process it just yet. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You’ve asked me a few already,” she points out. Then she sighs and gestures. “Go on, out with it.”

“You’ve probably been alone with him countless times over the years, right?”

“You’re wondering why I didn’t just take one of those opportunities and kill him.”

“Well… yeah.”

“Because it’s not as simple as that,” Ariel explains. “The man is paranoid. He never lets his guard down. It’s one of the reasons he’s risen through the ranks the way he has.”

“But surely you could just—”

“If it was as simple as slashing his throat, I would,” Ariel interrupts. “But you want to hear something honest? A part of me is truly terrified of him. If I make one wrong move, I don’t just die. I die in the most painful way possible.”