Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(63)

“Then what’s this about?” I ask.

I wonder if Belov is alone right now or if Ariel is right there beside him. It’s comforting to know that the person he trusts most is a person whose allegiance lies with me. I long for the day I can rub that in his face.

“I think it’s about time we meet,” Belov says. “Face to face.” He knows I can’t turn him down.

“Name the time and place.”

He rattles off some details, none of which trigger any alarms in my head.

“Fine,” I grunt when he’s finished.

“See?” he croons. “So much nicer when we act civilized. I do look forward to seeing you, Don Solovev.”

“Civility is for cowards,” I snap. “I don’t have the time or the patience for it.”

He sighs, feigning disappointment. “Sometimes, I wonder how a man like you managed to gain such a loyal following. You’re not exactly charismatic.”

“Noted.”

“Now, your pretty little wife, on the other hand… She’s someone I would love to get to know better. I do hope you bring her when we meet.”

“You must not have learned your lesson last time, Belov.”

“And what lesson is that?”

“Anyone who touches her dies.”

I slam the phone down, huffing furiously. My fists are balled tight and my muscles are tense, ready for battle.

Gaiman rounds the table and sits down in front of me. “Do you think we can trust him?”

I sigh and slump into a seat. “Of course not. But we can’t reject the invitation. It’s the best opportunity we have to get close to him.”

“And Pasha?”

“He’s not going to bring a baby to a Bratva meeting.”

Gaiman shrugs. “I wouldn’t discount it. Fucker is insane.”

“Ariel is there now,” I point out. “She’s going to make sure nothing hurts Pasha.”

“How sure are we that her identity is secure?”

“She’s been at his side for years,” I point out. “If Belov suspected anything, she would already be six feet under.”

“Fair point,” Gaiman concedes. “Are you going to tell Willow?”

“I have to. But she’s not coming with me.”

“I bet she fights you on that.”

“I bet you’re right.”

I leave Gaiman to sort out details of the upcoming meeting while I head back outside to where Willow is waiting for me. My men have cordoned out a section for us just behind the cabin, where they’ve cleared the snow so that we have a flat, dry surface to work on.

I expect to find Willow resting when I get there, but instead, she’s down in the snow doing push-ups.

Her body is tight. The all-black, skin-tight sweat suit she’s wearing highlights her new muscle. She doesn’t stop the push-ups even when she notices me.

After she hits fifty, she twists around and sits on the cold, packed earth.

“Everything alright?” she asks.

“Good enough.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Gaiman looked concerned when he called you in.”

“Did he?”

She narrows her eyes, clearly annoyed with my evasiveness. “Is there a reason you’re being sketchy?”

“I’m not.”

“Leo.”

“Willow,” I counter, “you should have been resting. We’re not done with our training session.”

“I didn’t think we were. But that was how I rest.”

“Are you trying to impress me?”

She gives me a sly smile, but under no circumstances do I believe she’s been distracted. Her gaze skims over my body. “Aren’t you cold?”

I discarded my shirt an hour ago. The heat of training had made the extra layer unnecessary. The added benefit was watching Willow try not to stare.

“Am I distracting you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I think you’re projecting. You’re the one trying to distract me. What’s up?”

“It was Belov.”

She freezes immediately. “What?”

“Belov,” I repeat. “He called.”

“Are you serious?” She jumps to her feet. “Why do you sound so calm? And why didn’t you bring me in to listen?”

“Because he called me,” I growl. “Not you. I’m training you so that you won’t be a sitting duck if it comes to a fight. That doesn’t mean I’m going to take you into one.”

She stops short, her expression calculating. “He asked for a meeting, didn’t he?”

She’s more perceptive than I’ve given her credit for. “Something like that.”

“I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not.”

She stares at me in disbelief for a moment. “You’re really going to leave me behind?”

“Yes.”

“You bastard,” she snaps. “He is my son. Pasha is my son. I won’t be left behind.”

“There’s no point fighting me on this, Willow,” I say. “You won’t win.”

I move towards the cabin. She runs ahead of me and blocks me before I can reach the door. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” she hisses. “You can’t just walk away from me.”