Sighing, I grab the first bag and empty its contents onto the bed. There are jeans, sweaters, blouses, and scarves in a rainbow of colors and styles. I’d never admit as much, but they’re all exactly my taste.
The second bag is lighter. When I dump it out, the frown freezes on my face. “Dresses?”
Formal dresses, at that.
Leo shrugs. “We’re having dinner tonight.”
“Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”
He smiles. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. It’s dinner. And a conversation.”
I tense immediately. “A conversation about what?”
“The last eleven months.”
Fuck. I’m under no illusions about what he wants. He wants my secrets. And if the last hour—not to mention the last two years—has taught me anything, it’s that Leo Solovev always gets what he wants.
Especially where I’m concerned.
But not this time. Not my secrets. Those I’m going to fight for.
“Something scaring you, Willow?”
“It’s Viktoria, remember?”
“That’s a name you have to earn.”
“It’s a name that was forced on me,” I remind him. “By you and all the men who want me to claim it so they can claim me.”
“They’re too late. I already claimed you,” he growls. “I married you before Spartak Belov ever even knew you existed.”
I give him a slow clap. “Congrats. You’re more of an asshole than he is.”
“Smarter, too.”
“Is that a fact?”
“I deal only in facts.”
“Then let me ask you something,” I say, stepping forward. “How long has she been working for you?”
I don’t like his smile. It’s all confident, all knowing. I’m convinced he can see straight through my skull and read my mind.
“Does she occupy a lot of your thoughts, kukolka?”
I feel my knuckles go white as my hands clench into fists. I never used to be a violent person. But I’ve been transformed in the last year. Into a person whose fists have become hungry for the relief that her soul can’t seem to find.
Now, Leo smiles, and as much as I want to launch another attack, I feel the barest hint of hesitation. Because as monstrous as he is, he has a beautiful face. It would be a shame to destroy it. Even if it’s deserved.
“Tell me,” I demand.
He raises his eyebrows, noting the change in my voice. “That was very good. Commanding. Confident. Almost believable.”
“Almost?”
“Your eyes,” he says, pointing. “They give you away.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“How?”
“The tone was pure Viktoria Mikhailov. Self-assured and powerful. But the eyes?” He tips his head to the side like he’s studying a piece of art. “The eyes are Willow Powers. Nervous. Filled with doubt.”
“You don’t know me anymore.”
“That implies I ever bothered getting to know you in the first place.”
These sparring contests are dangerous, mostly because he’s so damn good at them. But my pride is involved now. I don’t back down, even though I know I should.
That’s another thing that’s new. The pride. You can’t survive in this world without it. Without pride, what are you? Just a random person with nothing to prove. Nothing to protect.
He smiles. “But I see you, Willow. The girl you once were is still there, hiding behind that tight little body and some slapdash combat training. Little Willow has been forced inward by an exiled queen who respects only brutality and strength.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I bite back at him. “How can you accuse her of something that you yourself are guilty of?”
“Because I would never use my child as a weapon.”
His words lance through me like blades. I fight to hide my reaction. “You used me.”
“You’re not my child. You’re not my blood.”
“And you hold her to higher standards?” I ask. “Why should that matter? She didn’t raise me. She doesn’t know me, either.”
I regret it the moment I say it. This is why talking to him is never a smart choice. My mouth runs ahead of my caution.
“Life with your mother hasn’t been as smooth sailing as you’d have me believe, then?”
I bite my tongue and curse myself for being so easily manipulated. “It’s been educational. I needed it.”
“Is that right?”
He doesn’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth. Anya did teach me a lot. Without her, I’d already be dead.
“Are you going to answer any of my questions?” I ask.
“I might,” he says. “But it’ll have to wait until dinner.”
He eyes the dresses on the bed, and I shake my head. “If you think I’m dressing up for you, you’re delusional.”
“Do you have something against nice clothes?”
I take a step towards him, summoning up all my strength, all my resolve. “I’m not your doll. I’d rather walk around naked than dress up in anything you choose.”
He raises a brow. “If you insist.”
I blanche. “I…”
“See?” he laughs. “Stop fighting me, Willow. You can’t win.”
He heads for the door, but stops at the threshold and looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Eleven fucking months of training, and standing in front of Leo makes me feel like I’m back at day one.
But I can’t give up.
Leo wants me to earn the name Viktoria Mikhailov?
Fine. Challenge accepted.
7
LEO
I follow the smell of cigars to where Jax and Gaiman are sitting on the porch.
“Want one?” Jax offers.
“I’m good.”
“Nervous about tonight?” Jax asks.
I glare at him. “It’s just business.”
He smirks. “Wish I had business like that. Lucky bastard.”
He’s ignoring his cigar now, drumming his fingers on his legs. Gaiman won’t even look at me, but he sighs.
“What’s the bet?” I ask.
Jax practically leaps out of his seat. “How the fuck did you know?”
“I know everything, sobrat.”
“Jesus,” Jax groans. “You take the fucking fun out of life.”
“Hurry up and tell me what’s at stake.”
“Gaiman thinks you’ve already fucked her,” he says. “I say no.”
I raise a brow. “So little faith in me, Jax?”
“Have you seen her now? She’s a fucking spitfire. Even you might have trouble landing that. I mean…” He whistles long and low. “She was always hot, but now she’s hot in the same way her mother is.”
“You let your dick do too much of the thinking.” Gaiman rolls his eyes.
“Sue me for noticing a woman’s beauty.” Jax turns back to me. “Although Willow looks like she’s more likely to bite your dick off now than suck it.”
I shrug. “What’s fun without a little risk?”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Jax looks at me eagerly. “So? Which of us won the bet?”
I glance towards Gaiman casually. “Him.”
“Are you shitting me?!” Jax yells.
“You’re right about one thing,” I concede. “She’s a spitfire. But it only makes the sex hotter.”
“Lucky bastard,” Jax mutters again. “Lucky goddamn bastard.”
I smirk and then shift into business mode. “Any movement?”
“Anya’s men are out looking for Willow,” Gaiman tells me. “But we have men arranged at a ten-mile radius from our location. If anyone tries to get up this mountain, we’ll know about it.”
“And what news of Belov?”