Page 165 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

She looks at me with a sympathetic nod. “You are much too young to be playing it safe, Olivia.”

I laugh bitterly. “The last time I decided to live on the edge, I ended up trapped in this house with a sick man who forced me to marry him. As soon as I get out of here, no one in history will ever play it safer.”

“Those are all things he would have done regardless,” she replies. “He had his sights set on your brother long before he ever set eyes on you. This had nothing to do with your choices.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better,” I mutter. “Possibly even worse, actually. The only reason he even looked my way that day is because he was planning this diabolical scheme to get even with my brother. I could have been anyone.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yulia asks. “The fact that he was only feigning interest in you?”

“I… no, of course not. We don’t have to talk about this,” I say awkwardly, even though I’ve already blurted out the embarrassing truth.

“Don’t worry, Olivia,” Yulia says kindly. “He has that effect on women.”

“Oh God. Kill me now.” I bury my face in my hands.

She chuckles next to me. “Don’t be embarrassed. You have nothing to be ashamed of. All women want to be seen. That’s no crime.”

“Would you mind not…”

“Not telling him?” she asks. “Of course. Our little secret.”

“Thank you,” I say, even though I’m not a hundred percent certain I can trust her word.

“But a word of advice from an old woman who’s been through it all,” she says, turning to me with solemn eyes. “Don’t lose yourself to him completely, Olivia. It will destroy you before it makes you stronger.”

“I know.”

She nods. “Of course you do. You’re a smart woman. Smarter than I was at your age.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

She sighs and is quiet for a moment while she thinks. “Do you know, I was actually relieved when my husband had his stroke? It’s a horrible thing to admit, I’m aware of that. But it’s the truth. I finally had some measure of freedom. I was finally able to live the life I wanted.”

“And did you? Have you?”

“Some days, yes. Some days, no,” she admits. “I still have a son to answer to.”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t do what you do.”

“You might have to, unless you are ready for war,” she warns. “Or you can be like me and take the hard route. I did the latter; I rebelled. Sometimes, if I was secretive enough, my affairs went unnoticed. But other times, we were caught.”

“What happened then?”

“I would be punished. The men would disappear. I knew better than to ask questions.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I think about the kindly old man I shared a few laughs with by the lake. Suddenly, I feel guilty about that.

Just another thing I have to add to the list.

“What a bullshit double standard,” I spit. “He can bring women home whenever he likes, but you step one toe over the line he dictates for you and people die? It’s fucked up.”

My thoughts are beginning to spiral as I stare at the woman who’s been through it all and still manages to present herself with grace and dignity.

I admire Yulia.

But I refuse to follow in her footsteps.

“If I’m not free, then neither is he,” I conclude.

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