Page 121 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

He frowns.

“Sick,” I correct quickly. “I meant sick.”

He eyes me. “You do look a little pale.”

“Yeah, totally. I think something is up with my stomach.”

“Too much lasagna?”

I try to muster up a smile for that one. I barely manage it. “Probably. I’m heading to my room now.”

“Safe travels,” he mocks.

He moves to the side, allowing me to pass by him. As I step down, our arms brush against each other, and I feel a static zip between us.

“Oh, Olivia?”

I turn slowly, dread clawing at my chest, feeling certain he’s figured out what I stumbled upon. That he knows what I’ve seen and that being his wife isn’t enough to keep me safe from him anymore.

“Yes?” I say, swallowing past a suddenly dry throat.

“You’ll be having dinner with me tonight,” he says.

My eyes go wide. That was certainly not what I was expecting. “Oh. Um, tonight? I—”

“It wasn’t a question.”

I take a steadying breath. “Okay. Dinner. Got it.”

He nods. “See you tonight.”

He disappears upstairs. I go straight to my room, shut the door, and press myself against it, as if that’ll be enough to keep the danger outside.

“Oh God,” I gasp as tears jump to my eyes. “What is happening? What is happening?”

It takes me several minutes of hyperventilating to calm down. Even then, I’m not very calm. I do laps around the room as I mutter under my breath. It takes me ten circuits before I realize there’s something sitting on the table by the balcony.

A brown-wrapped package. Tall and sort of square, tied with a knot of twine. My name is printed neatly in charcoal pen on top.

Frowning, I undo the knot and peel away the wrapping paper. When I see what’s inside, I freeze.

Half a dozen art books, a case of pristine new colored pencils, a set of pen-and-ink tools.

There’s no note, no explanation, nothing besides my name.

But I know who sent them for me.

I close my eyes and remind myself what I just discovered. When that doesn’t work, I drop down to a seat at the table, feeling drained and helpless.

I don’t know how I’m going to get through this, but I know I have to. For my brother. For Mia. For my mom.

For the girl in the strawberry scarf.

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