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“A-fucking-men,” Ransom adds.
Emotions swell inside me, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by how much I love these three men. Tears well in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, but for the first time in a long time, they’re not sad tears. They’re tears of joy and love and relief.
“That sounds perfect,” I breathe.
The room tilts around me as Victor picks me up, cradling me in his arms. He carries me into the bedroom with his brothers close on our heels.
Between the three of them, they get me undressed, doing their own checks to make sure I’m okay. Other than some bruises and scrapes like they have, I’m fine, and the three of them kiss each mark on my body.
They kiss every bruise and all of my scars, making me feel so loved and cherished that I start crying all over again. Then they kiss my tears away too.
There’s going to be a lot to do going forward, but for now, there’s just this moment.
Me and the three of them, celebrating the one thing that matters most.
We’re alive.
And we have each other.
40
WILLOW
A few days later,we go to meet with the Copeland family.
Just like the last time I saw them, I’m dressed well, and my men have echoed that. All three of them are in dark pants and blazers, looking somehow professional and dangerous all at the same time.
We meet Alexander and Stella at their company headquarters, which is sterile and beautiful. White marble gleams everywhere, and there are flower arrangements on strategic surfaces. The glass of the doors and windows is so shiny we can see ourselves in it, and there’s nothing out of place or a speck of dust or dirt to be seen.
But like everything in this world, I know it’s a facade. Just a pretty veneer to hide the ugliness underneath.
There was a time when I would have felt small, walking into this boardroom and trying to speak to people like this. I would have seen their expensive clothes and the way they hold themselves and thought they were better than me. That I had no business here.
I know so much better now.
So I sit across the table from them, chin lifted and shoulders squared.
Malice, Vic, and Ransom stand behind me, backing me up but letting me handle this.
Alexander and Stella Copeland are as unpleasant and bitter as ever, and they glare at me with raw hatred in their expressions. I’ve earned it, I guess, since I’m the reason the Voronin brothers killed their son. But I hate them too, for raising their son to be a monster, so I guess we’re even.
“What do you want?” Stella asks stiffly, her hands laced together on the table.
“I want to offer you a deal,” I tell her. “You can buy me out of Troy’s shares of your company and get me out of your lives. You won’t have to deal with me fucking with you or abusing the power I have as his widow, sitting in his seat at the table.” I pause for a moment, letting that sink in. “Or, you can refuse, and I’ll use my power as a shareholder to make shit difficult for you every chance I get.”
Alexander sends me a look so full of anger and hate that it would have frightened me if I wasn’t the one calling the shots here. Whatever option they choose, I can’t lose.
“Someone should have taught you your place a long time ago,” he hisses, contempt in every word.
I don’t even flinch.
“People have tried,” I say lightly. “Your son, most notably. And look what happened to him. My grandmother also thought she could decide for me what my place was and what my life should be like. I hope she’s reflecting on how well that worked out for her, wherever she is.”
Stella puts a hand over her mouth, and she and her husband both eye me with suspicion. Olivia Stanton has officially been reported missing, and since there hasn’t been any sign of her body, no one can say for sure what happened. Vic wiped our tracks clean, and only the four of us know that she’s buried under seven feet of straight concrete.
But I let the threat be what it is.
Holding their gazes, I slide a piece of paper across the table with the amount I’m willing to accept as a buyout written on it. Vic and I went over everything yesterday, deciding what I should ask for. And it’s not a small amount.
