“Is it?” I ask. “Because it seems like you’re not willing to do the work it takes to get it back.”
That stops her in her tracks for a moment.
“Anya,” Willow says into the tense silence, “let’s face it: you don’t have the manpower to take on Belov. But Leo does.”
“And after he is dead?” Anya asks. “What then, Willow? Leo is going to be the leader of the Bratva that is rightfully mine. Rightfully yours.”
“And after you and I are gone?” Willow asks. “Who takes over then?”
She frowns.
“Pasha,” Willow says coldly. “Half Mikhailov and half Solovev, that boy is the future of both Bratvas. And he’s with Spartak Belov right now. So I, for one, don’t understand what we’re standing here fighting about.”
Anya looks skeptical, but it’s clear she’s losing her own argument. She’s clinging to a power that no longer exists. And she’s starting to realize that it may never have existed at all.
“Did you even see them take him?” Willow whispers suddenly.
“No.”
Willow’s expression turns deadly. For a moment, I think she might run past the guards and throw a punch. I wait for it. She might be the only person in the world who can get away with that shit.
I can't touch Anya without a full-on war breaking out between Anya’s men and my own.
But Willow? Willow can spread pain as she sees fit.
Instead of fighting, though, she walks away. Away from Anya, away from her men and the cabin, away from heartbreak and fear. She heads into the trees.
“Boss…” Jax says, coming forward.
I hold up my hand. “No. Let her go. She needs time.”
I look up at her mother, standing in the snow with fists clenched. Anya meets my gaze, one eyebrow arched. Then she sighs. “No point in standing in this godforsaken cold. Come in. Your men can freeze. Mine, too, the useless fucks.”
I nod and follow her into her cabin.
Unsurprisingly, it’s just as bleak on the inside as it is on the outside. No decor, no finish, and what little furniture there is is a bone white. It feels like I'm walking into a hospital room. Maybe the psych ward.
Seems fitting.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She glares and gestures towards the white, L-shaped sofa. “Sit. I’m not going to offer you anything to drink.”
I snort. “I wouldn’t drink it even if you did.”
“Worried I’ll poison you?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She meets my gaze. I can tell she’s sizing me up. “She’s in love with you,” she says suddenly, making a sharp detour.
“I know.”
“Do you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Men believe women are in love with them even when they’re not.”
“I can’t imagine any man has been foolish enough to make that assumption about you.”
She smiles. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“It might have been. Haven’t decided yet.”
She brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Leo,” she says. “Why bother coming here? What do you want from me?”
“Information,” I say.
“And what do I get in return?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“Your life.”
She laughs. It’s a harsh, grating sound, like rocks scraping down sheets of ancient ice. “You really think you can kill me if I say no?”
“I know I can.”
“There are quite a few men who have tried in the past,” she says. “None of them have succeeded. I’m like a cat, but with more lives.”
“No one can live forever,” I tell her, without breaking eye contact. “Especially after they meet me.”
“I bet men quake in their boots when they meet you."
“Women, too,” I add, glancing down at her boots.
She laughs. “Cockiness is a young man’s game, Leo. But you play it well."
I lean back on the sofa and drape my arm over the cushion. “I like you, Anya. I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to.”
Her response is whip-quick. "You may have won over my daughter and made me a grandmother, but that doesn't mean I give a shit what you think of me."
“And I wouldn’t expect you to,” I say. “But what I do expect, I will get.”
“You can’t make me talk by threatening my life.”