Page 98 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“You think they’ll try to get to you through her?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” I muse. “She’s the only one who moves in society outside of Bratva circles.”

“Good point.”

“You better get a move on before she shows,” I tell him. “It won’t be pretty.”

“Right,” he says, grabbing his glass and downing the last of the tequila we’ve been sipping. “Fuck, that’s strong.” He stops at the door and turns to me again. “She’s not going to be happy to know you’re spying on her.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t give a shit.”

He smirks. “Some things never change.”

A few minutes after he shuts the door, it swings open again and my mother walks in. Pyotr was right—she is dressed to the nines in a black cashmere dress wrapped tight around her body. There’s a shimmer to the fabric that gives it an extra lift and her heels are black and sequined.

She’s also wearing a lot of makeup. Too much. She looks like a woman desperate to reverse the aging process.

“Nice dress,” I comment.

She flinches slightly, sensing the subtle reprimand in my tone. “Thank you.”

“It’s maybe a little young for you, though.”

A brief flash of hurt flickers across her face before she controls it. “Is there a reason I was summoned, Aleksandr?”

“Where are you going?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why does anyone ask a question? Because I’d like to know.”

“It’s not any of your business.”

She’s like a petulant teenager trying to assert her independence. I am aware of the ironic role reversal, but I don’t have the time to handle her with care. I’ve got shit to do and I don’t need to be worried about who my mother is fraternizing with in the meantime.

“Everything is my business,” I point out. “Especially since you live in my house.”

Her jaw goes rigid. I know she hates when I point that out. “Is this your way of asking me to leave?”

“Not at all. You’re welcome here, but that means you have a rulebook to follow.”

“Ah,” she says. “So your wife is not the only one under your thumb, then. It extends to all the women in your life.”

“Funny you should bring up my wife. I was told you visited her this morning.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have my permission.”

“I didn’t think I needed it.”

“You need my permission for everything,” I growl. “I thought that was understood.”

She takes a deep breath and sets her jaw stubbornly. “I have no place in your Bratva, Aleksandr. My opinion no longer matters and I have accepted that. So I’m trying to live a life outside of it.”

“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of.”

“Why?” she demands. “What do you take me for?”

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