Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(73)

For a panicked moment, I wonder if he’s found out who she really is, but I dismiss that suspicion immediately. We’ve been too goddamn careful. He can’t know.

“What are you doing?” Willow screams.

“Making my point,” Belov retorts with his signature sickly smile. “I love this woman more than anything on earth, but I will kill her if I have to. I will kill her just to make a fucking point.”

The smile drops off his face instantly. As chilling as the effect is, it doesn’t make the slightest difference to me. The problem is that Willow has started to break under his pressure.

“Your son is not my heir yet. He is nothing to me. And I will not hesitate to slaughter him like a rabid dog if I have to. If you make me.”

Willow stares at him in horror. “He’s a baby… a tiny, innocent—”

“Innocent?” Spartak interrupts. “He’s not innocent at all. He’s guilty of being born to the wrong parents. He’s guilty of being born at all. But I’m the kind of man who looks for the silver lining in everything. And I’m willing to make something of his life… as long as I have control of it.”

“You can’t do this…”

“And he won’t,” I snap. “I will get my son back, you sick motherfucker—”

“Willow!” Belov bellows. “You have a choice to make.”

He pulls out a knife and starts running it lightly up and down Ariel’s exposed neck. She closes her eyes, and goes still. But I can see the trembling in her fingertips. She is not afraid of death. But dying like this? Gutted like a stuck pig? That enrages her.

“What are you doing?” Willow gasps.

“Showing you how far I’m willing to go to get what I want,” he says.

Willow looks helplessly at Ariel and then she screams, “Stop! Please, just stop!”

“Is that your answer?” Belov asks expectantly.

“I’ll go with you,” Willow blurts out.

I grab her hand and twist her around to face him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I have to protect our son,” she says.

“Not like this.”

Then I throw her over my shoulder and start walking away from Belov and Ariel. I hear his cackle as I exit the building. But it’s almost completely drowned out by Willow’s screams.

“My son! Leo! Let me go. I have to go back. I have to protect him!”

I set her on her feet on the path in front of Jax and Gaiman. She tries to make a run for it, but I catch her without so much as moving and lock her against my own body.

“Bind and gag her,” I tell both of them. “Get her back to the jeeps. We’re leaving.”

If they’re curious about why my wife wants to run back towards Spartak, they hide it well as they rush to do as I told them. I turn back towards the building, just as Belov appears at the door. He gives me a smile and disappears into the darkness beyond.

I need to kill him before he makes a move that will take us all down with him.

There’s nothing more dangerous than a desperate man.





30





WILLOW





“How’s your training coming?” Anya asks, as she sits down beside me.

Pasha suckles at my breasts, but the milk stopped coming a long time ago. I cringe when he bites down, but I still keep him on my nipple. I can’t bring myself to let him go.

“What are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t have milk.”

“It’s all the training,” I snap. “It’s all the stress. It’s your fault.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“For what?” I demand. “Turning me into a weapon at the expense of being a mother?”

“Oh, you’re far from being a weapon,” she says curtly. “You’ve been distracted during training.”

“That’s because I’d rather be here, with my son.”

“He’s not going to notice if you’re here or not.”

“How would you know?”

She gives me a tired sigh. “The only way you can protect him properly is if you’re strong. And right not, you’re the farthest thing from it.”

“Gee, thanks. It’s always nice to get words of encouragement from a parent.”

“You want praise or honesty?”

“Right now? I’d rather have silence.”

Anya doesn’t react to that, but she doesn’t leave, either. I haven’t seen her in several days. This is the first time she’s visited Pasha in twice as long as that.

“Who’s your boy toy?” I blurt out. Last week, I caught a glimpse of her on the third floor with a young bodyguard. My age, maybe even younger. Bland, but handsome.

“Excuse me?”

“The guard you’re fucking,” I say casually. “He’s young enough to be your son.”

“I like them young,” she says, without bothering to deny it. “They can be molded.”

“Right. Do you always fuck the men that are on your payroll?”

“You must be missing your husband, darling,” she says so sweetly I want to vomit. “I see that look on your face any time he’s mentioned. You don’t want to love him, but you do. And that makes you angry.”