Page 99 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“A woman desperate for attention.”

She rears back as though I’ve slapped her. “For God’s sake, my son, what have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?”

“I am not singling you out,” I tell her. “This is not personal. I have a Bratva to protect. I know you know a lot about that.”

“Not recently.”

“You know enough,” I hiss. “I don’t want you fraternizing with people who can use the information you give them against me.”

“I am not some doe-eyed idiot,” she hisses right back. “I know what to say and what not to. And it might shock you to know that I don’t talk about you at all.”

I smirk in obvious disbelief. “Is that a fact?”

“Are you really going to begrudge me a personal life?”

“Is there someone special I should know about?” I ask innocently.

“Perhaps,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “But it’s too early to tell.”

“Does he know who you are? Who you really are?”

“He knows only that I come from a rich family,” she says.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I could correct that notion, but you don’t want me to talk about the family or the Bratva. I thought we just covered that ground.”

“The family and the Bratva are one and the same,” I remind her.

“Of course,” she sighs. “But I am not really a part of either one, am I?”

“That depends on you.”

“No,” she says. “That depends on you.”

I leave that alone. Mostly because I can’t in good faith deny it. It’s been easier having my mother out of things.

“I won’t stand in the way of your social life,” I say. “I just expect you to be careful about who you associate with. The FBI may be quiet now, but it’s only been a few days. We can’t know for sure if they’ve really dropped the investigation yet.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” I say. “Just out of curiosity, does this new man know about your… situation?”

She purses her lips. She hates when I bring it up, and despite my usual irreverence, I try not to for that reason.

But this time, it merits asking.

“He knows,” she answers softly. “And he doesn’t care.”

I smile. “Of course not. Does his wife know about you, though?”

Her eyes go cold instantly. “Goodnight, son.”

She bustles out. The door snaps shut. I grab my drink and down it in one gulp. When I’m done, I wait only long enough to make sure I won’t bump into my mother again.

Then I head upstairs to see my wife.

When I walk in, I find her lying on her belly on the floor. She’s sketching something into the foot of the wall with a stub of a pencil that looks like it’s on its last leg.

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