Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(62)

“Was it Pavel?”

He nods. “I was lost in a stupor for weeks. And then Jax and Gaiman made me realize that denying Pavel’s death wouldn’t change the fact that he was dead. So I made a vow to myself. What I could change, I would. What I could control, I would. And that is the code I have lived by since that moment.”

My voice trembles when I speak. “I’m not you.”

“Then maybe it’s time you learned to be. Because Pasha needs your best, Willow.”

I cling to Leo’s strong forearms with weak fingers. He’s the only thing keeping me upright. “If he dies, it’ll be on me,” I whisper.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“But what if—”

“Stop,” he says harshly. The anger in his expression freezes me in place. “I’m not talking in what ifs. There’s no point. Either you’re going to help me rescue or son, or you’re going to stay out of my way while I do it myself. Which is it going to be?”

I stare at him for a long time, trying to find the courage to tell him what he wants to hear. What I wish I felt.

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Jax steps in. I’m secretly relieved. I need a moment’s respite from Leo’s piercing gaze.

“Boss, sorry, I…” He tapers off, realizing that he’s just interrupted something. “Should I come back?”

Leo shakes his head. “What is it?”

“Ariel left shortly after we did. She’ll reach Belov in the evening, but she left a note for you.”

Jax walks in and hands the note to Leo. Then he leaves quickly, without being told to. I’m guessing that’s a first. I watch as Leo unfolds the letter and reads through it. It must be a short one, because in next to no time, he offers me the paper.

“Here.”

I take the note and look down at the few untidy sentences scrawled across the white piece of paper. Ariel’s handwriting is nothing like her. It’s messy, inelegant.

I’ll protect him with my life. Make sure that wife of yours gets her shit together. She’s got fire when she puts her mind to it.

“Do you see?” Leo says patiently. “You’re not alone. Pasha is not alone.”

I whimper. That’s all I can think of to do right now. Maybe Ariel is right and there is some fire in me, deep down, and I’ll be able to find a way to summon that up and use it to save my son.

But maybe I’m wrong, and the one thing I’ve loved more than anything else in this world is lost to me forever.

Leo must see something he was looking for in my face, because he nods and rises to his full height. Towering over me, he looks down and says, “You have until tomorrow morning to get yourself together.”

“What’s happening tomorrow morning?” I ask warily.

“Your training starts.”

I raise my eyebrows. “But I already trained with—”

“That training is bullshit,” he says. “Anya trained you to be like her, but she’s the reason Pasha is gone in the first place. You don’t want to be like her. You need a new trainer.”

“Who’s going to train me?” I ask.

Leo fixes me with a smirk. “Me.”





26





LEO





I walk into the office, sweat dripping off my body. “I was in the middle of a training session,” I scowl. “What is so important?”

I woke Willow up at the crack of dawn to begin. We don’t have a second to waste. But I also know that if I give her a second to start thinking, she’ll fall apart again. And I need her focused. Even being away from her for a few minutes has me worried.

Gaiman is waiting by my desk, his body rigid with tension. “I know. I wouldn’t have interrupted except… Belov.”

I freeze. “What about him?”

He holds out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

The fucking nerve.

I march forward and put the call on speakerphone. Jax would want to be here, but I’m not going to take the time to call him in.

“Belov,” I growl.

“You don’t sound happy to hear from me, old friend.” Belov’s voice is as slick and smarmy as I remember.

“You’re no friend of mine.”

He chuckles darkly. “You never have learned the art of diplomacy, have you? If an enemy had my son, I would do my best to play along, make nice.”

“What’s the point of being disingenuous?” I ask. “We both know where we stand.”

“Hostility is so ugly, so unnecessary. We’re both adults. We can talk things out, can’t we?”

“Cut the shit, Belov,” I hiss. “Where’s my son?”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s with me. Safe and sound.”

“I assume you called because you want to negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” Belov repeats. “With the man who took down two of my buildings in a matter of seconds?”

“I warned you.”

“You did,” he says after a small pause. “And if I had suspected you were serious, I would have warned you: I’m an artist and revenge is my medium.”

I roll my eyes, but bite my tongue. Belov isn’t wrong. He has my son, and I don’t want to poke the bear.