“Ariel…”
She flinches again. Then, with a sharp exhale, she straightens her posture and puts her game face back on. Tucking away years of pain behind a mask that has, bit by bit, become fused to her face. “We’re getting off track. I came here to give you sensitive information. I didn’t want to risk using a phone.”
There’s no point trying to press the issue.
“How much time do you have?” I ask.
“Spartak is in Russia right now. He’ll stay there for at least another week. Which is why I’m here.”
“And if he checks in on you?”
“My alibi will hold up.”
I nod. Ariel’s not a stupid woman. If she says she’s covered her tracks, then I’m not going to question her. “Why’s he in Russia at all?”
“Mercenaries,” she says simply.
My gaze snaps to hers. “Surely he wouldn’t be so desperate already.”
“Then you’re overestimating him,” she says. “You know Spartak. He doesn’t care about Bratva rules. He doesn’t care about honor or loyalty. It doesn’t matter to him where his men come from, so long as he has the numbers. So long as they fight for him.”
“He needs money for the kind of mercenaries it would take to go against a Bratva.”
“He’s got money,” she says. “He’s got access to all Semyon’s bank accounts. The old man is getting bled dry.”
“All of them?”
“All of them,” she confirms.
“Speaking of Semyon, where is he?”
“Out of commission. Most days he stays locked inside his room with no one but his nurse.”
“Just the nurse?” I ask.
“Just the nurse,” Ariel confirms. “Most days, I think she’s the only one who sees or speaks to him.”
I nod. “That’s just as well.”
“Leo, after both buildings went down…” She shakes her head. “Spartak lost his shit. No one saw it but me. He likes to give the illusion of calm, but I’ve never seen him more furious. It’s the reason he sent me into Willow’s room. He watched from cameras he had installed. He wanted me to hurt her.”
I clench my jaw. Ariel notices and hurries to explain.
“I couldn’t get away with not hurting her at all, but I hurt her as little as possible. The only reason I got away with it is because Belov never entered the room. If he had, he’d have known just how much I was pretending.”
“How much could you be pretending?” I grit out. “She looks at you like you’re the devil himself.”
“She’s lucky it was me,” she says softly. “When Spartak tortures his victims, it gets a lot worse. The only thing that spared her was her name.”
The thought of Spartak laying a single finger on Willow makes me want to tear this room apart. Just so I can wrap my hands around something. Burn off some of the rage I’ve been holding onto for far too long.
But I’m not about to lose it in front of Ariel. Especially since I know it’s not her fault.
It’s mine.
She’s been undercover for too long. She’s in way too deep. If I could save her, I would. But pulling her out now will change the course of my mission. And I can’t afford to change plans now. We’ve come too goddamn far.
“After she disappeared that night, his anger only multiplied. The sole reason he managed to retain control over the Bratva is because there was literally no one left to lead,” she says. “Semyon was locked away in his room, Anya had disappeared, and Willow… she wasn’t a player yet. Men left the Mikhailovs after that night.”
“How many?”
“Not many, only a dozen or so,” she says. “Enough that Spartak’s ego took a hit. He hunted down the men who ran. He murdered all of them.”
“Ariel—”
“And I helped,” she says, nearly choking over the words.
“Ariel…”
She looks back up at me. Her eyes are shining with tears she’s struggling to hold back.
“You can let it out. You don’t have to lie with me.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No. No, I can’t. If I let it out, I’ll never stop. And you still need me in there.”
“We’re close, Ariel,” I tell her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “We’re so fucking close. And after it’s done, you’ll be free.”
“Will I?” she asks, searching my face. “I’m not sure freedom exists anymore, Leo. Not for me. Not the way I once had it. These ghosts will haunt me forever. Pavel. Petyr. Logan. And if we succeed, Belov will haunt me, too.”
“I won’t let him,” I say fiercely.
She looks at me and a smile flits over her lips. She’s managed to stave off the tears. But just barely.
She reaches up and cups the side of my face. “You remind me a lot of him, you know.”
“Do I?” I ask. “I didn’t think I was anything like him.”
“When you started this, no. But now… I can see it.”
“Is that a good thing?”
She nods. “Pavel was the best man I knew. He restored my faith in people.”
I take a step back. As much as I’ve missed Ariel, being around her is hard, too. The weight of our shared loss is too much to bear sometimes. And being with her reminds me of it constantly.
In many ways, I’ve moved on from that day. I’ve learned to cope.
But I’m not sure Ariel has.
“Once I’ve avenged his death—their deaths,” she corrects softly. “I won’t have a purpose anymore.”
“You can start again. Fresh. Free from all this.”
“Start what again? I don’t know if I even want to.”
“You don’t have a choice, Ariel,” I tell her. “It’s death or survival.”
“Death doesn’t seem so bad,” she whispers. “At least I’ll see him again.”
I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”
“You have something to live for, Leo,” she tells me. “A wife, a child. You have a future. But I don’t.”
“But you could if you wanted it. Do you think Pavel would begrudge you meeting someone else and moving on?” I ask. “I know that’s what my brother would want for you. It’s what I want for you.”
She just shakes her head. There’s no arguing with that kind of solemnity, that certain. “I can’t be happy without him. I realized that a long time ago.”
She turns towards the window and stares at the dark clouds overhead. It’s started snowing. I can see the tumbling flakes reflected in Ariel’s eyes like ash falling from a fire in the sky.
“She loves you, you know?” she says suddenly.
I snort. “She doesn’t know how she feels.”
“I’ve looked into that woman’s soul,” she says. “She is in love with you. Even if she doesn’t want to be.”
I almost smile at that.
13
WILLOW
All my fears seem to culminate in the darkness.
I try to fall asleep, but the room is so dark I can’t tell when my eyes are opened or closed. It feels like I’m tumbling heels over head into a black hole, being swallowed alive by empty space.
But somewhere between anger and hopelessness, I manage to drift off.
And when I do, I see so many things.
My son.
My parents.
I see all the people that used to inspire fear in me: Casey, Brit, Belov. They’re all moving images, rolling around inside my head, reminding me how far off-track I’ve gotten.
Accept it.