Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(86)

Her face sours just a little, though she doesn’t say anything.

“But after Pavel’s death, things changed for me,” I say. “Indulging in alcohol and women wasn’t as fulfilling anymore. Things changed for good. They’ve never gone back.”

She looks relieved, but a ghost of worry still lingers over her face. “Well, that’s… interesting.”

I lean over and grab the arm of her chair. In one swift movement, I pull her over so she’s sitting right next to me. I place my hand on the slit running up her dress so that I’m touching her bare skin again. She’s got goosebumps.

“Jealous again?”

She frowns. “I’m not jealous.”

“Really?” I ask. “Because you did a brilliant imitation of it before you knew who Ariel really was.”

“What about you?” she demands, blatantly changing the subject. “You get jealous, too.”

“Give me one instance.”

She arches a brow. “When I walked down here naked and you practically beat the waiter for looking at me.”

She isn’t wrong. I’m still tempted to gouge the man’s eyes out. “That was quite the stunt you pulled.”

“You thought I wouldn’t do it,” she says. “So of course I had to.”

“Stubborn as ever.”

She smiles. “What about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“In our game of pretend,” she says. “Where am I? What am I doing?”

“You’re right here, of course,” I tell her. “Leading the Bratva with me. Raising our children.”

Now it’s her turn to pick out that one little word. “Children?”

“We’ll have more, of course. A dozen, maybe. I’ve always wanted to be able to field a whole sports team of my own.”

“Oh, is that so?” she laughs, trying not to smile too much. “And was I consulted about any of that?”

“Sure, but it was hardly necessary. I know exactly what you want.”

“And you think that what I want is more children?”

“No, what you want is me,” I say slowly, meeting her eyes. “Go ahead… deny it.”

She stares at me, her expression growing serious. I can see the whirlwind of emotions running around inside her head. She’s an overthinker, and right now, her brain is on overdrive.

“Leo… I can’t be the wife you want me to be.”

“You’ll learn.”

“That’s just it: I don’t want to learn to be a doormat. I did that once and I vowed I’d never do it again.”

“I don’t want or expect you to be a doormat wife, Willow,” I tell her. “I want the opposite. I want a queen.”

She frowns. “Okay, sure, that sounds very nice and flattering and all. But I know why you married me. And I want to be with a man who’s madly in love with me. Who wants me as much as I want him. This relationship we have… it’s always going to be one-sided. And I’m not sure I can live with that.”

“That’s what you believe?”

She sighs. “We don’t need to beat around the bush. You married me for my last name. But I can’t just be in a marriage of convenience, Leo. That’s not me. I want something real.”

I open my mouth to tell her just how wrong she is. How she might have started as a pawn in a game, but she’s become so much more. Something I dream about. Something I crave. Something I can’t see myself living without ever again.

“I—”

“Boss.”

Gaiman walks into the dining room from the kitchen. I’m about to kick him out again when I notice the look on his face.

I stand up fast. “What is it?”

“We just received a package at a Bratva outpost down south,” Gaiman informs me.

“And?”

“There was a note that came with it claiming it was urgent. So the men sent it up here to you. They checked it thoroughly, no explosive residue anywhere. I went over it myself. But…”

“But what?”

“It’s here.” Gaiman jerks his head toward the door to indicate. “Outside. I didn’t want to bring it inside. The package, it… it smells.”

My blood curdles in my veins. “Willow, why don’t you go upstairs to your room? You don’t need to see—”

“Not a chance,” she retorts, moving past me and Gaiman before I can even get out of my seat.

“Fucking hell,” I growl, following her. As I pass Gaiman, I mutter to him, “You couldn’t have called me out and told me all this privately?”

“Sorry, boss,” Gaiman says, but his voice sounds strange. I’ve never seen him like this. He looks lost.

“You know what’s in the package?”

“I have my suspicions,” he confesses. “I don’t think it’s good.”

The box has been placed on the porch, right at the edge of the steps. It’s big, maybe the size of a basketball. Willow stops short and turns to me expectantly. Her nose crinkles up as she picks up on the stench.

“Jesus,” she coughs. “It’s horrible.”

The thumping of blood in my temples worsens. I feel like I’m dreaming again, but this is a nightmare. “Willow… step back.”