Page 138 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“It’s fine,” I say, careful to choose my words so she doesn’t revert to Big Sister Who Knows Best mode. “I mean, I really don’t see him much.”

“And he hasn’t tried to slip into your bed at night?”

“Mia!”

“What? It’s a valid question.”

“It’s a repetitive one. He’s not that type.”

“For someone who claims not to spend a lot of time with the man, you seem to have a pretty good handle of his character.”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Mhmm.”

“Don’t do that,” I snap. “I’m not—”

“Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, you know?” she cuts in. “Especially when the guy who kidnaps you looks like Paris.”

“Paris?”

“You know, Paris, from Troy? Orlando Bloom?”

I snort. “I think you mean from The Iliad, you uncultured swine. And no, not like Paris. Aleks is more of an Achilles if anything.”

“Wasn’t Achilles gay?”

“Not in the movie, he wasn’t.”

“But that was the Brad Pitt one, right?”

“Yeah.”

I’ve watched that dumb movie like a thousand times. And it wasn’t for Paris.

“Well, obviously because they cast the wrong man. Orlando Bloom is not my type. Paris was supposed to be beautiful.”

“So you think Aleks is beautiful?” I tease, turning it around on her.

“Objectively speaking, yes,” she says. “But he kind of ruined the effect when he took me and my family hostage.”

I cringe. “Ah. Yeah, that’ll do it.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Liv,” in a tone I don’t like.

“Yeah?”

“I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

I frown. “Not true. I’ve told you everything.”

“Really? Because whenever we start talking about Aleks, you sound… different.”

“Different how?”

“Like you’re guilty about something.”

Jesus. Talking to my siblings is dangerous. They know me way too well. Mia can’t even see my face and she still picked up on my guilt.

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