Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(69)

He chuckles and falls into line behind Leo. The rest of the men are already heading for the building. Leo, Jax, and Gaiman are hanging back, waiting for me.

I tuck my gun in the waistband of my pants and turn to Leo. “Okay. I’m ready.”

He nods grimly. “Stay behind Jax and Gaiman.”

I fall into step behind the two men, despite my personal preference. I should be walking in by Leo’s side. I’m his wife. Pasha is my son, too.

But I bite my tongue and follow orders. The only thing that matters is getting Pasha back.

The Solovev army has set up a straight line in front of the entrance of one of the bleak buildings. They part as Leo arrives. We pass through and emerge on the other side to see what’s waiting for us.

The Mikhailovs have set a similar line opposite us. They’re right in front of the decrepit building. The door behind them is closed, but I’m certain that Belov is inside. I can feel his presence on my skin like ocean air.

It doesn’t take long before the door slides open.

But the man who appears, I don’t recognize. His grizzly expression lands on Leo. He gestures for Leo to approach, but Leo doesn’t move.

The man moves forward, instead. “Good evening, Mr. Solovev.”

“Don Solovev,” Jax corrects with a violent growl.

“Forgive me,” the man says, inclining his head. “Don Mikhailov is inside waiting for you.”

“Don Mikhailov?” Leo asks. “Has he finally dropped the pretense, then?”

The suited man just gives him a secretive smile. “Please come with me.”

“Not until we dictate terms.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What do you suggest?”

“Your men can take the west wall,” Leo says. “My men will take the east.”

The man nods. “Very well.”

He’s being so… reasonable. It’s making me nervous. But Leo seems perfectly calm. Unaffected by all the guns pointed right at us.

Jax barks the orders in Russian and the Solovevs do as instructed. Across from us, the Mikhailovs move as well, smooth and flawless as a watch mechanism.

Only once the men are each standing against their appointed wall does Leo move forward.

I follow behind Jax and Gaiman. But as we enter the building, Gaiman shifts in front of me and Jax moves behind.

The building is similar to the one where Leo and Belov faced off last time. Except, last time, I was standing behind the wrong man.

It’s been a year since that day, but the memory is clear in my mind. The dusty warehouse is rife with reminders. With every step, it becomes harder to ignore the sense of foreboding in my gut.

A table waits for us in the center of the space. Belov is at the head, with Ariel standing just behind him.

Except, no—that’s Brit. The gleam in her eyes is deadly. Even knowing what I know about her story now, I fight the urge to reach for my gun.

Next to Belov is another man. He’s overweight and sallow-skinned. Clearly unwell. He’s sitting in a wheelchair with gilded handles. A uniformed nurse stands beside him, skinny and forgettable.

All of which can only mean one thing…

The man in the wheelchair is my grandfather.

“Ah, Leo!” Belov says, clapping his hands together. “You brought your dear wife. I cannot even begin to express how happy that makes me.”

Leo drags out the chair on his side of the table and sits down. “Let’s get this over with, Spartak.”

I notice how the old man looks at Leo. He may look like he’s got one foot in the grave, but his eyes remain sharp.

Then slowly, those eyes turn to me. My face burns, my stomach churns, and I look away immediately.

Leo pulls out the only remaining chair next to him.

“Willow,” he offers.

I move forward as confidently as I can and sit down next to him. The old man’s eyes still follow me. Despite myself, I hear Anya’s voice in the back of my head.

You can’t show fear. Powerful men are trained to pounce on it. Don’t let them.

So, drawing in a breath to steel myself, I look him right in the eye. I expect to be confronted by a monster.

But instead, I see only a sick old man.

He doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d murder his daughter’s first love in cold blood.

He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would abduct his own grandchild and hold him for ransom.

I realize, as I’m staring back at him, that I feel no tug in my chest. No desire to want to know him or question him. I don’t care about his motives or his reasoning.

The only thing I want from him is my son.

If he dies in the process, so be it. Just one less problem to deal with in the future.

I don’t have time to ruminate on what that lack of emotion means because just then, Belov turns to me with a sickly smile. The turmoil in my stomach intensifies.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us, Viktoria,” he says. “We set up this meeting for you, after all.”

My eyes flicker to Ariel for a second. She’s standing silently behind him. It’s only been a few days since I saw her last, but she looks unrecognizable. A million tiny little differences in her posture, her hair, even the light in her eyes, serves to turn her into a stranger. Into a monster.

Her eyes find me. There is such vivid dislike in her gaze that I question how much of the last few days has been in my head. Was our fledgling friendship real or just another trick?