Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(97)

“Very well,” Belov says with a shrug.

He turns to me and raises his gun. I stare at the barrel calmly.

As I expected, he doesn’t pull the trigger. He can’t bear ending things so unceremoniously. He wants the whole fucking dog-and-pony show.

If only he knew how this was really about to end.

“Let’s clear up a few mysteries first, shall we?” Spartak asks. “How did you find out about Willow in the first place? By the time I learned of her existence, you had already married her.”

“Let’s just say I had a friend on the inside.”

“And they found out about Anya’s secret bank account for Willow?” he guesses.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Belov says. “Who was this friend on the inside?”

I glance towards Willow. I planned on doing this part differently. I planned to sit her down and explain the whole story, from beginning to end, so she could finally see just how all the puzzle pieces fit together.

But circumstances change. Plans shift. Life interferes.

“Semyon Mikhailov.”

Willow’s eyes go wide.

I turn to Belov, and he’s wearing the same shock. He shakes his head. “It can’t be.”

“Why would I lie now?” I ask. “He knew the monster to whom he had handed over his Bratva. He regretted it. When he found out about Anya’s secret account, he traced it back to Willow and surmised that she was his granddaughter. That’s when he made the decision to reach out to me.”

Belov’s surprise is shifting to rage. “He reached out to you?”

“This is going to be tedious if you insist on repeating everything I say,” I sigh. “Yes, he reached out to me. That’s how I knew about Willow.”

“I monitored the old fuck,” Belov spits. “I watched him like a hawk. He didn’t leave the fucking compound without my say-so. Without my being there.”

“He didn’t leave the compound,” I say. “He sent me a letter.”

“He would have needed help to get a letter to you,” Belov says, trying to connect the dots. “He would have—”

He stops short. “Of course,” he whispers. “Of course… Brit.”

I shake my head. “She wasn’t the go-between. We’d placed her too close to you. I couldn’t risk her identity being compromised if you happened to catch her with a letter from Semyon that was addressed to me.”

Belov is starting to look nervous now. I can see the fear quickly replacing his confidence.

“Do you really think that Ariel was the only mole I planted?” I press. “I planted someone even before Ariel. Someone no one would ever suspect. A person who could hide in plain sight. Except that Semyon was a lot more perceptive than I gave him credit for. He discovered my mole early on. He made it clear that he had no intention of fighting against the Solovevs any longer. The only person he wanted destroyed… was you.”

Belov’s face has gone dark with rage. “Who was it? Tell me who the fuck it was!”

The nurse pulls the gun away from Willow’s head and aims it at Belov.

“It was me,” she says.

Then she shoots.

Willow curves her body over Pasha and runs to the corner of the room, away from the action.

Belov is lying on the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. The nurse shot to wound, not to kill.

In the excitement, he dropped his gun. I kick it out of his reach.

“Surprise, motherfucker,” I whisper, enjoying the way his expression is twisting between rage and fear.

“It… it can’t be…”

“Luda,” I say, gesturing for her to come forward. “Why don’t you come and introduce yourself?”

She walks over and stands at my shoulder. The gun is still in her hand, steel in her eyes. After almost a decade of lying in wait, she’s seething with rage.

“My name is Luda Yolkin,” she says. “My son’s name was Petyr Yolkin. Do you remember him?”

Belov stares at her blankly, his eyes shifting from her face to the gun in her hand.

“Petyr,” Willow breathes from where she’s crouched in the corner. “He was your brother’s second in command.”

I nod. “Pavel’s closest friend and his most trusted Vor.” I turn to Belov. “You killed him along with my brother the day you decided to spit on the Bratva code of honor.”

Spartak’s eyes go wide as they veer between Luda and me. “You… you’re his mother?”

She gives him one curt nod. “I have been waiting for the day when I could stand before you and watch the life drain from your eyes.”

He shakes his head. “I can… I can offer you money…”

“Money?” she asks in disgust. “You think money can make me forget how you murdered my son? My only child? Money can’t bring him back. And it won’t save you now.”

I glance back over my shoulder. “Willow,” I say, “take our son to the next room.”

She frowns. “But—”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Our eyes meet, and she nods. Once she slips through the adjoining door into the next room, I turn back to Belov.