Then he’s gone, and I’m alone with my coffee and uneaten breakfast. My stomach twists into a knot of self-loathing, and nothing will fit past the constriction in my throat.
And as I take another sip of coffee, the weight of an impossible choice grows heavier in my head.
40
BELLA
I’m notsure what I was expecting to find when I walked into the foyer at a quarter after one, but Slava standing there wearing matching riding clothes with Alessandro was not it.
Alessandro breaks the silence. “Papa says you’re coming with us! Do you know how to ride?”
“Ride what?” I ask.
“Horses,” Slava answers. “The far pastures of the grounds can only be reached on horseback.”
A picnic. On horseback. With the Bratva boss and his child—a child whose life I hold in my hand right now.
“I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.”
There’s no point lying about something that will become catastrophically obvious within minutes.
“Then you’ll learn today,” Slava says, like it’s that simple. “We’ll pick one of the more well-mannered ones.”
With that, the three of us set off. It’s a quick ten-minute walk to the stables. Inside, the air is warm with the smell of hay and leather.
The stable master is already waiting for us with three horses: a massive black stallion for Slava, a smaller chestnut pony for Alessandro, and a gray mare with white mane for me that he swears is “as gentle as a lamb.”
But as I look up at the snorting head of the gray mare, I’m not sure if I trust this man’s claims.
“Foot in the stirrup,” Alessandro instructs me cheerfully. “And then you swing up, like this.”
He lifts one leg and shows me, and I puff out my cheek at how effortlessly he makes it look. Something tells me that it’s probably not that easy.
“Left foot,” I repeat. “Got it.”
I do not, in fact, have it.
The horse shifts as I try to mount, and I almost fall off before I even get on. The gray mare gives another snort, and stamps its front hooves in the dirt, and suddenly I have a terrible vision of being kicked right in the ribs.
At least then I won’t have to think about which child I’m going to offer up.
Slava walks up next to me and suddenly, his hands are on my waist.
“Relax,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “She can feel your tension.”
Easy for you to say.I cling to the reins. “I am relaxed.”
He doesn’t dignify that with a response as he lifts me up with one single swift motion onto the saddle. His hand rests for a second too long on my ass as he helps me settle into the saddle, and the breath hitches in my throat.
He makes it feel too goddamn easy.
“So, how do I get her to go?” I ask. “I didn’t bring my cowboy boots.”
“She’ll follow us,” he replies and then swings himself onto the black stallion in a single graceful arc that has my thigh clenching around the saddle.
Together, we set off across the grounds, and they are extensive. The rolling hills are dotted with wildflowers. A forest edges the distance, and the summer sun is warm on my shoulders. It’s obscenely beautiful.
It’s almost enough for me to forget that I’m complicit in terrible things.
