Page 27 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

ALEKS

“What the hell is going on?” Olivia blurts. Behind her, her family struggles feebly against their restraints.

I ignore both them and her question. “I’m glad you ditched the sweater,” I remark. “It was hideous.”

She doesn’t immediately answer. She’s still trying to process the scene before her. Her eyes keep flitting between her mother and siblings.

She’s terrified, of course, but none of that fear is for herself. She’s only concerned about them. It’s admirable, quite honestly. Misplaced, but admirable.

“A sweat—what? No. Hell no. Tell me who you are and what the fuck you are doing in my house?!” Her voice rises to a keening screech.

“You’re getting worked up,” I inform her. “That’s counterproductive.”

“I’m not particularly interested in being ‘productive’ right now!”

I move forward and she backs up immediately. She’s tense, anticipating an attack. What she doesn’t know is that the attack is already over. Everything that happens next has been in the works for a long time now. It cannot be changed.

I lean back against the kitchen counter to help put her at ease. We have so much left to do here. I can’t have her getting hysterical on me just yet.

I glance at the others just to be sure everything is as it should be. Her mother is sagging in the chair. Fatigue has begun to replace her fear. A body can only run on adrenaline for so long, particularly in a woman of her age.

The other two still look furious and ready to fight. I’m impressed by their determination. It’s hard to muster up that kind of attitude when you’re bound and gagged. I expected it from Rob, but not from the sister.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Olivia?” I suggest.

“I’d rather stand, thanks. Why don’t you stop bossing me around my own goddamn house and tell me what’s happening?”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Very well.” I pull the gun from the back of my pants and set it on the kitchen counter, then sink into a seat on one of the barstools. Her eyes bulge at the sight of the weapon.

Never looking away from her, I raise my hand and beckon. My men step in from the shadows.

Olivia turns on the spot, eyes going wide as she counts the number of strangers in her house. It doesn’t take a genius to see she doesn’t have a chance.

She does a full, stunned three-sixty and then stares at me. “Who are you?” she whispers.

“Sit down,” I say, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

She looks at her family. Her lower lip trembles. “Please let them go.”

“If you want me to listen to you, you have to listen to me first.”

Left with no choice, she pulls up a chair and sits down. I give a subtle signal to my men and they melt once again into the background.

Olivia releases a shaky breath. “Is your name even Aleks?”

I notice Rob flinch, clearly rattled by the fact that I seem to have an established rapport with his sister. But then, that was all part of my plan.

“It is,” I confirm. “But my last name is the one you need to remember. I’m Aleksandr Makarova.”

“What do you want with me?” she asks desperately, unable to stop herself from looking over at her family.

“Oh, Olivia,” I say with a menacing smile, “you misunderstand me. I’m not here for you. I’m here for him.”

She follows my gaze to her brother. “What do you want with Rob?”

“Would you like to tell her, Robert?” I ask coldly. “Or should I?”

The man growls, but the sound is muffled by the duct tape over his mouth. I stand and walk over to him.

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