“Boss.”
Gaiman walks into the dining room from the kitchen. I’m about to kick him out again when I notice the look on his face.
I stand up fast. “What is it?”
“We just received a package at a Bratva outpost down south,” Gaiman informs me.
“And?”
“There was a note that came with it claiming it was urgent. So the men sent it up here to you. They checked it thoroughly, no explosive residue anywhere. I went over it myself. But…”
“But what?”
“It’s here.” Gaiman jerks his head toward the door to indicate. “Outside. I didn’t want to bring it inside. The package, it… it smells.”
My blood curdles in my veins. “Willow, why don’t you go upstairs to your room? You don’t need to see—”
“Not a chance,” she retorts, moving past me and Gaiman before I can even get out of my seat.
“Fucking hell,” I growl, following her. As I pass Gaiman, I mutter to him, “You couldn’t have called me out and told me all this privately?”
“Sorry, boss,” Gaiman says, but his voice sounds strange. I’ve never seen him like this. He looks lost.
“You know what’s in the package?”
“I have my suspicions,” he confesses. “I don’t think it’s good.”
The box has been placed on the porch, right at the edge of the steps. It’s big, maybe the size of a basketball. Willow stops short and turns to me expectantly. Her nose crinkles up as she picks up on the stench.
“Jesus,” she coughs. “It’s horrible.”
The thumping of blood in my temples worsens. I feel like I’m dreaming again, but this is a nightmare. “Willow… step back.”
“I’m not being dismissed,” she argues.
“Just… back.”
She must hear the catch in my voice, because she frowns and obeys. She moves towards Gaiman as Jax comes into view from the other side. He doesn’t bother climbing the porch steps. He just stands in the snow, waiting solemnly.
I pull out the knife I keep in my right boot and slice the edges of the package open. With every second, I’m frowning more confident I know what’s inside.
There’s only one thing that smells like that: rotting flesh.
I pull open the lid and then stand back. There’s something that happens to the body when you die. Especially the face. Every muscle relaxes, sags with the weight of gravity. The person looks almost unrecognizable. Almost.
“Leo…”
“Willow,” I say firmly. “Get inside. Now.”
“What is it? I can’t see…” She grabs my arm and pushes past me.
But she stops short once the box comes into view. She goes ramrod straight for a moment as she tries to make sense of what her eyes are seeing.
The cut at the base of the neck is sharp and clean. Belov knew what he was doing. He was careful. It’s almost surgical.
Everything else looks the same as the last time I saw her. The long blond hair, as vibrant as ever, even in death. The chipped front tooth, broken from where it hit the table.
The fantasy we had withers on the vine.
No more hoping. No more pretending.
Willow claps a hand over her mouth. “Ariel…”
Then she collapses.
34
WILLOW
I keep seeing her face.
Both of them. The one from when she was breathing and walking and living, and the one from after.
I can’t quite believe that what I saw in the box was real. It looked more like doll parts, like a prop from a cheesy horror movie. Stripped to something inhuman. Disassembled like plastic.
I haven’t eaten for two days. I haven’t slept, either.
Every time I try, I see Ariel’s head in that box. Then I either throw up or wake up screaming.
Leo holds me as often as he can. He whispers things to me that I don’t hear. Things I can’t hear. Because all I hear is the thrumming of my pulse telling me I’m still alive.
And Ariel is dead.
This is the third day now. I’m getting better at avoiding that image of the bloodstained box in my mind. I’m getting better at dealing with the insurmountable weight that’s settled on my chest. God knows if I’ll ever be free of it again.
“Willow?”
Leo walks to the bed in the darkness. But I know it’s morning. Flickers of light come through the blinds every time they move in the breeze of the fan.
He sits down on the edge of the bed and I turn to him. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“Bread,” I lie.
He raises a disbelieving brow.
“Fine. Nothing. I can’t eat,” I tell him. “I’ll just throw up.”
“The funeral is today.”
“Funeral?” I ask, sitting up. “You’re having a funeral for her?”
“Of course. She deserves a proper burial.”
“But you don’t have… all that’s left is…” The image rises up like bile, and I swallow it back down.
“It’s something,” he says. “And she needs to be honored. She earned a warrior’s send-off.”
I press my forehead against the back of his hand. He’s warm to the touch, and comforting. “We need to kill him, Leo. He claimed to love her, but he…” I clap a palm to my mouth to keep in a sob. “He has our son.”
“He’s not going to touch Pasha,” Leo says confidently. “I won’t let him.”
And even though I know he can’t make those kinds of promises, it feels good to just believe him. His strength, his confidence, his unassailable self-assurance… it’s all easy to cling to.
Matter of fact, it’s the only thing I have left to cling to.
“There’s no one on the inside to protect him,” I whisper. “There’s—”
He grabs my hand and pulls it to his heart. “Listen to me: we cannot afford to crumble now. Pasha needs our best.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“I’m the don, Willow. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down. I have to keep it together. All the fucking time. No matter what.”
He knew Ariel better than I did. If either of us should be falling apart, it should be Leo.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t be—I should be here. With you. For you. I should be able to keep it together, like you are.”
He pats my hand. “You don’t have to keep it together. That’s why you have me.”
I give him a shaky smile, but it falls off my face almost immediately. “I don’t know if I can make it to the funeral,” I admit. “I… I won’t be able to hold it together.”
He squeezes my hand. “Willow, this is what we do.”
“I’m not Bratva.”
“Ariel wasn’t Bratva either,” he tells me. “Until the day she was.”
It hurts almost as bad as any pain I’ve ever felt. But I know he’s right.
I nod slowly and pull myself out of the bed. Leo doesn’t help me. He just stands back and watches me as I stumble achingly towards the bathroom.