Page 114 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Where are you going?” I ask, trying to sound unconcerned.

“I have a few things I need to discuss with my mother.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He eyes the half-empty container in front of me. “Don’t let me stop you from picking up where you left off.”

The moment he leaves, I end up opening the container and taking another huge mouthful. I’m not hungry anymore, but I have a tendency to eat my feelings when the mood catches hold of me.

Apparently, today’s one of those days.

I’m washing my dishes in the sink when it strikes me that Aleks and I had an entire conversation without my brother coming up once.

Somehow, that feels like a betrayal.

This is not some vacation home I’ve come to so I can unwind and relax. I have a family on the outside who is no doubt scared shitless on my behalf. I have a brother who might be sacrificing his career to save me.

I should not be having comfortable little chats in the kitchen with the man who is responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in my life since the moment my flight was delayed.

I drop the dirty fork and Tupperware in the sink. Aleks can pay someone else to clean his shit.

I’m stalking towards the gardens, fed up with someone—myself? Aleks? God? Fuck if I know the answer—when I hear a voice. Definitely a woman’s.

And she sounds upset.

I follow the sound of the voice to a room in the far corner of the house. I position myself between the staircase and the wall in front so there’s no chance of me being seen.

From here, I can see Aleks’s broad shoulders. I’m silently grateful that he has his back to me. The man is too perceptive not to notice me standing here if he was facing the other direction.

He leans slightly to the side and Yulia comes into view. She’s wearing pale jeans and a cashmere sweater. She doesn’t have any makeup on today, and for the first time, I can really see her age.

“Calm the fuck down,” Aleks growls.

“I will not calm down,” she stammers, clearly rattled. “Now, you’re telling me who I’m allowed to associate with?”

My first thought is that she might be talking about me. But the fact that she’s so worked up makes me think otherwise. What would she care if he said she couldn’t see me anymore? I’m nothing to her. Just her son’s helpless little toy.

“I’m not telling you anything of the sort,” he says. “I’m telling you to be careful. The man is the king of network television.”

King of network television—that rings a bell. A name is right on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite place it. The fight happening before me is too distracting, anyway.

“So? He’s accomplished and entertaining. And he enjoys my company.”

“Are you dating him?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

I wouldn’t trust anything she’s saying right now. Apparently, Aleks doesn’t either.

“You are not to discuss Bratva matters with the man,” he says firmly.

“What makes you think I will?”

“Because you’re lonely and you have been known to make poor choices in the past.”

“Don’t,” she hisses, twisting away from him. “Donald and I are just friends. We share a lot of the same interests. Besides, it’s good for me to get out of this godforsaken house.”

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t you accept the mansion I bought for you in Paris last year?”

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