Page 46 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

Her eyes grow wide, but for the first time, I see an inkling of fear in them.

“That was your first warning,” I tell her. “Mother or not, there won’t be a second.”

I step away and sit back on the edge of my desk. She looks up at me with new caution. “You’re right,” she says with a repressed shudder. “You are good at this.”

“You’d do well not to forget it.”

She exhales slowly. “I know… and I’m sorry, son. It’s just…” She raises her eyes to mine. The resentment ebbs and something else takes the forefront. “It’s hard for a woman to find her place in this landscape. I thought I’d found mine.”

I know what she means. I observed it first-hand. My father’s stroke had come out of nowhere. But in the wake of that shock, my mother had found herself in a position that rarely comes around for a woman in the Bratva: she was in charge.

She took the wheel of my father’s legacy willingly, and she thrived. He may have laid the groundwork, but she built a fucking palace on top of it. An empire worthy of the name.

Unfortunately, the position was never hers to keep.

“You did well,” I tell her, knowing she needs to hear it. “But you aren’t made for this. Not like I was.”

“I know. I was just keeping the seat warm until you could get here.” She twines her hands together, lost in thought for a moment. “It’s not easy, you know? Once you’ve sat in that seat for long enough, you forget the fact that it was never yours to begin with.”

I nod. “I understand.”

“I don’t know that you do,” she says. “You came back from Russia and… I always understood that I would have to step down eventually, but it was more than that. You didn’t just dismiss me from your throne; you slammed the door in my face. I was left in the darkness, in the cold, in ignorance.”

“Because you would have questioned me,” I say unapologetically. “I needed to establish myself as the leader.”

She sighs. “I would have liked to be included. I still would.”

I observe her carefully, trying to see things from her perspective. It’s not a gesture I’ve attempted very often. “There are still duties that are required of you.”

“Yes,” she says bitterly. “That of a glorified housekeeper. How could I forget? Tend the gardens, oversee the staff, dust the bookshelves.” Her expression twists into disgust, mixed with anger. “I led this Bratva through war, through expansion, through everything. You think I’ll be satisfied folding laundry?”

“There is a life for you outside this Bratva, Mother,” I say. “You just have to find it.”

“Is this your way of asking me to get out more?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

She presses her lips together tightly. “I’ll work on it.”

“Good.” I walk back around to the seat behind my desk.

She nods and stands, hands folded in front of her lap. “I stand by what I said before: I think you’ve made this thing bigger than it needs to be by taking the girl.”

I don’t even bother looking at her. “I can handle it.”

“Which one: the girl or her brother?”

“Both. All of them. Anything.”

“Then why such drastic measures to ensure he backs off?”

Finally, I meet her gaze and give her the crumb of information she’s so desperate to feast on. “Because I’m trying to catch a bigger fish.”

Her eyes go wide with excitement. “What do you mean?”

“The FBI didn’t come across my name by accident,” I inform her. “It was planted. Someone decided to frame us for something they did.”

She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

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