Ariel knows better than to say anything. She stands back, waiting for my cue. But Willow charges right into the line of fire.
“What’s going on?”
“Spartak fucking Belov is what’s going on,” I spit out, finally meeting her eyes. “He launched an attack early this morning.”
Ariel inhales sharply. “He’s not supposed to be back in the country until tomorrow night.”
“Plans have changed, obviously.”
She doesn’t deserve my anger, but I’m too furious to rein it in. Anyone in my way is going to feel the heat.
If anyone can handle it, Ariel can.
“Where did he hit?” she asks. My spy understands her role. She’s trying to get all the facts.
I face Willow while I answer Ariel. “You misunderstand. The Solovev Bratva was not his goal today.”
Willow’s brow furrows. She can feel the truth coming toward her like a runaway train; she just doesn’t know quite how bad it’s going to hurt yet.
Ariel shakes her head. “Then where did he—”
I lean in. “He attacked Anya Mikhailov’s compound.”
Willow’s face drains of color.
“No,” Ariel breathes. “He hasn’t been able to find—”
“Well, he found her. But that isn’t all he found, is it, Willow?”
“Pasha.” Our son’s name is a breath, barely loud enough to hear.
“I told you,” I say accusingly. “I told you, Willow.”
She shakes her head. “No… Anya has ways out of the compound. She would have escaped—”
“Oh, she did escape,” I say. “But like the snake she is, she chose to save herself.”
She wobbles where she stands, but she’s still shaking her head. “No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Your mother decided to run and left our son—her own grandchild—behind to be taken.”
“No,” she says, sucking in a breath. “She told me she would protect him!”
“How many times do I need to repeat myself before you get it? She lied. Anya Mikhailov has and will always put herself first.”
Willow is trembling, working hard just to stay upright on her own feet. She looks around the room for support, for comfort, for something. She finds none of it.
“How do you know Belov has Pasha?” she chokes out.
I turn and grab a little black box from my desk. “He sent a gift. Similar to the one he sent after you were taken.”
I hand her the box, but she just stares at it.
“Being a coward won’t change what’s in here,” I snarl.
She flinches. I know I’m being hard on her, but that’s exactly the point—I’ve been too easy on her up until now. I should have forced her hand. Because at the end of the day, one thing has proven itself to be true time and time again: I’m always fucking right.
I open the box and fling the lid across the room. Then I pull out the thin lock of hair that’s lying inside.
It’s dark, just like mine. But the strands are thin and wispy, curled up at the ends. Baby soft. Baby delicate.
The moment Willow sees what I’m holding, she crumbles to the floor.
“No,” she keeps whispering to herself, over and over again. As though that’ll change anything. “No, no, no, no… this can’t be happening.”
Willow is staring down at the floor. I kneel down, grab her jaw, and pull her chin up to face me. “There’s no hiding from this, Willow. This was the choice you made.”
“Leo.”
My eyes snap to Ariel. She’s standing just behind Willow, looking at me with her calculating blue eyes. But the usual fire in them has been replaced by something else. Something I didn’t think she was capable of anymore.
Empathy.
“Blaming her is not going to get your son back,” Ariel says cautiously.
“She needs to understand the consequences of her choices,” I snap. “She needs to know that in the Bratva, the consequence is usually death.”
Willow lets out a horrible sound, a nightmarish cross between a cry and a scream. Ariel rushes forward and wraps an arm around her waist.
“You’re being too hard on her.”
I raise my eyebrows and straighten up. “Oh, I see. The two of you have made friends now. So you think it’s appropriate to stand up to me.”
“Leo, I—”
I shake my head and she snaps her mouth shut immediately. Gaiman moves forward and puts his hand on Ariel’s shoulder. It’s a light touch. A reminder.