Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(70)

“Does that mean you’re going to return my son?” I ask, proud of the fact that my voice never wavers.

“Return him?” Belov asks. “Why should I return a child who is exactly where he belongs?”

“He belongs with his mother,” I hiss. “With his parents.”

Belov glances towards Semyon, who still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. His gaze is direct, but I refuse to let him intimidate me.

Anya stood up to him a long time ago, and she’s been standing up to him ever since. I might not agree with her methods, but I can certainly hold my own… in my own way.

Semyon mumbles something, his words slurring together so that their meaning escapes me. The moment he finishes, drool dribbles down the side of his mouth.

His nurse steps forward to wipe away the spittle with a practiced efficiency. She works gently and moves back to her spot behind him without so much as a single noise.

Belov must have understood what Semyon said, because he smiles. Or maybe he’s just pretending to humor the dying old man. It’s clear which of them calls the shots now.

Spartak clears his throat. “What Semyon is trying to say is, your son has a vested interest in the Mikhailov—”

“He may be the great-grandson of the don of the Mikhailov Bratva,” I interrupt harshly. I’m looking at Belov, but as I continue talking, my gaze veers to the old man. “But he’s the son of the Solovev don. I think that trumps whatever claim you think you have.”

One half of Semyon’s palsied face goes up in what looks like a smile. It’s not terrifying at all. In fact, all it does is make me feel pity for the once powerful man he used to be.

Now, here he sits, nothing more than a glorified puppet, dancing to the tune of his inferior. It’s not something that Leo would ever tolerate. He’d rather die than let anyone else be his mouthpiece.

“Young Viktoria—”

“My name is Willow,” I hiss. “Don’t make that mistake again.”

His mouth tightens in frustration. I know he’s not used to being cut off, particularly by a woman. But he’s playing a part today, and he looks determined to see his plan through.

I’m just waiting to hear what that plan is exactly.

“Willow, then,” he says. “I thank you for coming. But you seem to misinterpret your position here. The fact is, you don’t have a leg to stand on. We have your son.”

I ignore Belov and look towards Semyon. “You’ve run your daughter out of your life. Are you really going to do that to me, too?” I ask. “To your great-grandson?”

Semyon’s eyes dart from me to Leo and then back again. He mutters something under his breath, but none of us manage to catch it. Not even Belov pretends to understand.

“Semyon is overly tired,” he says instead. “Nurse, I think it’s best you take him back to the vans and get him home. He needs to rest.”

I’m not sure if the dismissal is meant for Semyon, or if it’s a signal to someone. But the nurse obeys immediately and wheels Semyon out through a small, rusted door on the opposite side of the building.

A space sits vacant next to Belov now, but Ariel doesn’t bother to shift her position. She just stays put at his shoulder. She looks more like an object than a person.

She must hate this. Living like a heeled dog, slave to the beck and call of a man who murdered the love of her life.

I wish I had half her strength.

“I’m glad you got to see your grandfather,” Belov says. “Don’t let his appearance now color your view of him. He was a mighty man once.”

“So they tell me.”

“Hearing stories is not the same as understanding.”

“I don’t have any desire to understand him.”

Belov sighs. “That’s disappointing. Because he desperately wants to know you.”

Leo is tense beside me, but he is being curiously quiet. I look at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. His gaze remains fixed on Belov.

Spartak gives me a smile. “If Don Solovev is keeping you against your will—”

Leo slams his fist down on the table so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. “That’s enough, Belov,” he growls. “I’m done with your games. Why did you call this meeting in the first place?”

“I hoped we could have some civil discourse. A rousing bit of conversion before—”

Leo’s growl cuts him off.

Belov sighs. “Very well. I’ll jump right to the chase then. I have a proposition for you.”

The thing is, he looks right at me when he says it. I blink in surprise. But I do my best to hide it.

“We’re all ears,” Leo drawls viciously.

“It’s simple, really,” Belov says. “You can have your son back immediately. I’ll place him in your arms myself. All you have to do… is renounce the Solovev and come with me.”

I laugh out loud. This can’t be a real offer. But I humor him. “What’s to stop you from killing me the moment I’m on Mikhailov property?”

“Do you think so little of me, Willow? You’re Mikhailov royalty. I have too much respect for Semyon to even consider such a thing.” He shakes his head like he’s offended by the mere question.

There’s a catch coming, though. I can feel it in the air like a storm on the horizon. The crackle of static electricity. The whisper of a cold wind.