Page 37 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Finding a woman beautiful is one thing,” he says. “Finding a woman fascinating is another. When they go hand-in-hand… that’s trouble.”

“This girl is nothing more than a conduit, Demyan. I took her for a purpose. Once that purpose is served, she’ll go right back to her mundane little life. And I’ll get on with mine.”

Demyan purses up his lips. “You sure about that?”

“Just because you married the woman you thought was beautiful doesn’t mean I will.”

“Okay. But just remember I also divorced her,” he says. “You know why? Beauty doesn’t get you very far when you’re living together day-to-day and trying to mesh together two lives that just don’t fit.”

“You married outside the Bratva,” I point out.

“Good point. So remind me: is this chick Bratva?”

I give him the finger. “She is a means to an end,” I growl. “ I sought her out to carry out a mission. You married a girl you met in a club because she got your dick hard. The two things are worlds apart.”

He narrows his eyes. “Does that mean you’re done fucking her?”

“I can fuck her without getting attached. Believe me.”

“That’s dangerous territory, brother.”

“You think too much.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong. Women like them… they’re not suited for this lifestyle, man. She’ll crack under the stress of it. She’ll fall to pieces every time you have work to do.” He shakes his head. “They want quiet and calm. They want stability. And the Bratva feeds on chaos.”

“I’m not going to marry the woman, Demyan. And as for fucking her, I’ve already done that. Why would I need to do it again?”

Demyan doesn’t look fully convinced, but he nods regardless. It’s been three years since his divorce, but it still wears on him. He tries to hide it, but I know the toll it takes. He is a good man at heart.

Me, on the other hand?

Not so much.

“Do you think she’s serious?” I ask. “About Nebraska?”

“Her argument is that I’m barely around anyway,” Demyan says through gritted teeth. “The fact that I missed her birthday doesn’t help.”

“When was that?”

“Three weeks ago, when we were dealing with the Boskovic scum.”

“We were out for three days.”

“Exactly. Which is all it took for it to slip my mind that Callie’s birthday was right around the corner.”

“Fuck. How old is she now?”

“She turned eight.”

“Eight?” I say in disbelief. “Blyat’. Feels like just yesterday she was born.”

He sighs and passes a hand over his face. “Sometimes, I think that Miranda is right. I’m not around as much as I should be.”

“So change it.”

He fidgets in his seat. “I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“You’re her father. Just be there.”

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