regaining my throne. And you two are a…package deal?”
I focus my attention on Willow. “This will mean they’ll believe Saint and I are…sharing you.”
“Like one big happy fucking family,” Saint snaps, his anger palpable.
“However, if this makes either of you uncomfortable, I’ll devise another plan. You’ve already done so much.”
“Yes, this makes me very uncomfortable,” Saint sneers, his fists bunched by his side.
“It’s all make-believe, Saint,” Willow says softly, but I can read her apprehension.
She’s seen what these people are capable of. They won’t be satisfied until she’s shown complete submission because they believe she’s the reason my empire crumbled to the ground.
So to welcome her back into my world would mean she’ll need to show repentance for what she’s done.
They are aware of my fondness for Saint because he was envied amongst my peers for his strength and loyalty. They won’t question his return. But Willow will be a different story.
“What do you think, Pavel?”
Pavel seems to ponder on my question. “This will only work if everyone is on board. Who cares what they say? With you as leader once again, you can have whoever you want by your side. And in your bed. Figuratively speaking, of course,” he adds when Saint turns a vicious shade of red.
“Ella is there against her will,” Willow says, which pleases me. I don’t want to believe another version of events, regardless of what the picture depicts. “And all I can think about is when you were held prisoner, Saint. I can’t leave Ella there because what if there was no one to save you?”
She looks at Saint and only Saint because even though Willow is a strong, independent woman, if Saint was strongly opposed to the idea, she’d back down. And I respect them both for it.
“It’s only until we can get her out of there,” she reasons, working her bottom lip.
“And what will we need to sacrifice in the meantime?” Saint counters, eyes poignant.
Willow averts her gaze.
This is too much. I should have never asked. I’ll think of another way.
“How bad do I look?” I ask, changing the pace.
“Like shit,” Saint counters with a smirk. He seems pleased with the fact.
“Will I scare Irina?”
His smirk soon disappears.
“She’s been in here watching over you,” Willow reveals. “She doesn’t speak much, does she?”
I shake my head, remembering the vile claims Serg made. “Can you ask her to come in here please? If she’s afraid—”
“She won’t be,” Willow interrupts. “She’s tough.”
That she is.
Willow passes the jug of water to Saint, and a moment of confusion, fear, and love passes between them.
I realize how fortunate I am to have them in my life. They owe me nothing, yet here they are, willing to help me yet again. Not many would understand the relationship we have—I still don’t—but we have an unbreakable bond. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. And each of us has a love-hate relationship with the fact.
We don’t want to gravitate to one another, but we do.
“I know,” I reply with a heartfelt smile.
Willow leaves the room, so I slowly make my way back into bed, pulling the covers over me. I lean against the headboard, catching my breath because this simple action was enough to leave me winded.
Saint places the jug on the nightstand, refusing to look at me. He hates what I’ve proposed, and I don’t blame him. I hate it too.
I wish I could live my life in solitude without needing to impress others, but that’s not how Russia works. I’m expected to act a certain way, and I refuse to be beaten by anyone ever again. I can’t live a simple life. I tried. I was born a leader, and deep down, I feel most at home in the darkness.
If I were content being the “good guy,” I would swap this lifestyle in a heartbeat. But this is who I am. This is where I belong.
Drugs, extortion, and other depravities are going to exist with or without me. As I see it, it may as well be with me because at least I hold some scruples.
Willow reappears, holding Irina’s hand.
The moment I see her, I forget everything. She looks so small. Has she always been this thin? She chews the corner of her mouth, eyes glued to the floor.
Is she frightened of me?
“цветочек, I’ve missed you.” I speak in Russian. I suddenly don’t know what to say next.
I’ve put her in harm’s way, so she has every right to fear or even hate me.