I shrug. “Just telling you how I feel.”
She sighs and crosses her legs. “That’s the one thing I regret about letting you go: so many fucking feelings. They formed you in their image, and that image was weak.”
“If you’re talking about my parents, they’re the best people I know.”
“They are weak. They think feelings matter. They think that’s how you decide things—how you feel about them. Pah! Pathetic.”
“Some would call that love.”
She snorts, and her eyes dance with irritation. “They didn’t approve of the man you were with. And what did they do? They said their piece and that was it. They couldn’t stop you from making a choice they knew was wrong.”
“What would you have done?” I ask impatiently.
“I would have gotten rid of him.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
She nods. “Why would I joke?”
“You realize that your father killed the man you claim to have loved,” I point out. “And you hate him for it.”
Anya sighs. “What I’m saying has nothing to do with Mattias. It’s about control, Viktoria. He tried to control my life when it was not his to control. I needed to take back power. I needed to show him that he couldn’t interfere in my life.”
I stare at her for a long time, wondering how we could be related. “I don’t understand you.”
“You will,” she says. “When everything you love is burning.”
“Jesus…”
“You think we’re on vacation here?” she asks bluntly. “We’re not hiding out, Viktoria. We’re preparing. They’ll come for us. And when they do, we need to be ready.”
“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name.”
“My name is Willow.”
“Do you know why they want you?” she asks angrily.
I sigh. “I don’t want to do this again.”
“Too damn bad. Say it.”
“They’re coming for my name,” I recite. “And everything that comes with it.”
Anya nods. “Exactly. It’s the most valuable thing about you. So you might as well own it. Because you very well could end up dying because of it.”
“Great,” I say tiredly. “Good mother-daughter chat.”
“You’ll thank me one day.”
Doubt it, I think to myself. But I say nothing out loud. I just look down at my son and marvel at how much he looks like his father. When I spare a moment to think of Leo, my heart clenches.
Every. Single. Time.
I’m hoping it’ll pass with time.
So far, no such luck.
The door opens and Leo walks in. I rush to him, stopping just out of arms’ reach. “I think I know where she might be.”
“Tell me.”
I take a breath. “Leo… I know I messed up. You have every right to be angry at me.”
“Thank you for your permission.”
The way he’s looking at me is so different from this morning. So different from last night. Can all of that really have been in the last twelve hours?
“Leo,” I plead. “Please let me come with you. I need to speak to her.”
He stares at me. I’m expecting to do more begging, but he nods curtly. “You have five minutes to get your ass into my jeep or I’m leaving without you.”
He turns and leaves the room. I dress as warm as I can, grab a coat, and run out after him. By the time I trudge the snowy path down from the cabin, there are a trio of jeeps parked along the road. Leo, Jax, and Gaiman each sit behind the wheel of a different car.
I head towards Leo’s, despite the look he gives me.
“Get in the front seat,” he instructs. “If there are guards posted out front, I want them to see you.”
Nodding, I get into the passenger seat and put my seatbelt on. There are four men in the back of the jeep, but Leo puts the partition up so they’re essentially cut off from the front of the vehicle.
“Show me,” he says, tapping the screen where a map of the territory is waiting.
I scan for a while to get my bearings, then point to a mountain pass that’s barely marked. “The safehouse is there.” No address pops up on the screen, but then, there wouldn’t be.
“How do you know she’ll be there?” he asks.
“She mentioned that if the compound were ever attacked, we would evacuate to this safehouse,” I explain. “She had a secret passageway out of the compound.”
He falls into silence again. No matter how many times I look his way, he doesn’t offer me a single glance.
“I regret leaving him with her,” I finally say when the silence gets too oppressive. “I never should have trusted her.”
“You didn’t trust her,” he says. “And you didn’t leave Pasha with her because you thought she’d be better for him than me. So tell me why. Tell me the real reason why.”
I frown. “What do you—”
“I know who Anya is. I know what she’s like. And despite your choices recently, I know you’re not stupid. So, what’s your reason?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“If you don’t start telling me the truth right now, Willow, I’m going to pull this vehicle over and kick you out.”
I gape at him, wondering if I should call his bluff. Then he glances at me and that one look is enough to tell me what I already know: Leo Solovev always keeps his promises.
I close my eyes. “I was trying to… to hurt you.”
He nods, satisfied. “Keep going.”
“You used me for my name,” I say, trying to push back the sobs that threaten to derail my composure. “You married me to gain more power, to gain a hold over the Mikhailovs. Do you know how that made me feel?”
“About the way I feel right now,” he snarls. “Was that the goal?”
“I never meant for this to happen.”
“And yet here we are.”
I turn towards him. “This would never have happened if you’d been honest with me from the start.”
His grip tightens on the wheel. “Right, because you could have handled the truth?”
His tone is cutting. It makes me feel the way I felt all those months with Anya. Like I’m a disappointment. Like I’m not good enough.
“You don’t know that I couldn’t. You just assumed.”
“Jesus Christ, Willow. Do I really need to remind you?”
“Remind me of what?”
“Of the woman you were before I walked into your life?” he demands. “You were living with a man who was abusing you. You had nowhere to go and no money of your own. I saved you from that hell. Never forget it.”
My words cut off with every new wound he leaves on my soul. It’s like he’s become that little voice in my head, whispering back all my weaknesses. All the qualities I hate most about myself.
It hurts most of all because I know he sees strength in me, too. He’s said as much. So which is it? Does he love me or hate me? Respect me or pity me?
His hand closes over mine as I’m lost in thought. When I look up, his eyes are searching mine. The temper recedes, the edges soften. “We’re getting him back, Willow,” he rasps quietly. “We’re getting our son back.”
Then his eyes go wide. He whips his head around to see something out the window, but before I can follow his gaze, he wrenches the car hard to the right.
If it weren’t for my seatbelt, I might have flown into the window. “What the—”