Page 136 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

OLIVIA

“Mom, I already told you, I’m fine.”

Her voice comes through hazily. I know it’s because she’s not holding the receiver to her mouth properly. She’s always been this way, buzzing around the house, cell phone held to her cheek with her shoulder while she tidies up or folds laundry. It drives all of us nuts.

“Mom,” I chide for the billionth time, “you have to speak into the receiver. I can’t hear you.”

“What?” Her voice is still soft before she readjusts the phone. “How’s this?”

“Jesus, Mom. Not so loud.”

“I thought you couldn’t hear?”

“I couldn’t hear when you weren’t holding the phone right. Now, you are, and I’m deaf.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I can hear you,” I say, trying hard to hide my laughter.

“Oh, okay… so I can talk normal?”

“Phones are not a new technology, you know.”

“This phone is,” she complains. “I don’t know why your sister insisted on getting me a new one. My old phone was working just fine.”

“You had a Nokia flip the size of a brick.”

“Mhmm, and I miss the flip,” she retorts. “I miss the keyboard, too. I hate all this tap-tap-tapping.”

I snort with laughter. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mom. You’re only a little late.”

It feels nice to chat with her like old times. At least for a minute, I can forget how messed up everything is.

“Oh, stop that. I’m not old. I just like what I like,” she says. “And besides—your father gave me that phone.”

“Oh.”

And there it is again. The reminder bringing me back down to Earth.

“You keep asking me if I’m okay,” I say, “but… are you?”

“If my children are fine, so am I. Except my children are all in danger right now,” she says testily. “So no, I’d say not.”

“I’m not in danger, Mom,” I reassure, wincing at how forced and rehearsed it sounds. “I promise. I’m being treated well.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“In my own room,” I tell her. “He hasn’t tried anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the only question everyone else cares to ask.”

“Nor should he! I don’t understand why we can’t just get you back. Your brother’s an FBI agent, for crying out loud.”

“His hands are tied, Mom. And anyway…” I trail off before I can finish my sentence. Mom doesn’t need to know about the strawberry scarf or what that means to Rob. “Anyway, it’ll all work out. Trust me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I am.”

She sighs. “I have to admit, talking to you helps. You do sound like you’re doing well.”

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