Page 149 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Great,” I mumble. “Just so you know, it’s not a real marriage. I’m definitely not a bride. I’m here under duress.”

“Ah.”

I look at him, wondering if maybe I’ve found the ally I need.

He dispels that notion quickly. “Uh-oh, stop looking at me like that.”

I frown. “Like what?”

“Like I might be able to help you,” he says. “I can’t. And what’s more, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not about to cross the big guy,” he says. “No one crosses the Bratva and lives to tell the tale. I’m smart enough not to try.”

I sigh and look back towards the lake. “Guess this place is full of assholes.”

He smiles sympathetically. “Harsh but fair. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m used to it by now. Men always disappoint.”

He chuckles a little, but takes my anger in stride. “I may not be able to be your way out,” he says. “But I can be your friend. We both can.”

“Guess I can’t afford to turn down a friend,” I say. “They’re running in short supply these days.”

He throws me a guilty smile. “Great. So now that we’re friends, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Seriously?” I say. “You’re gonna say no to helping me and then ask for a favor?”

He gives me a sheepish grin. “It’s a very small favor.”

“Fine. Let me hear it.”

“I need to pee,” he says. “Could you stay here with him until I get back?”

“I suppose so,” I sigh melodramatically. “If I must.”

“Great, thanks. Back in a flash.”

He jogs back up the path and I’m left looking over at the don. Or rather, the ex-don. Don emeritus? Not sure how the titles work around here.

It blows my mind that Aleks never once mentioned to me the fact that his father was alive and well. Okay, not exactly well. But he’s still alive.

Not all of us are so lucky.

“I thought you were dead,” I tell him. “I mean, no offense or anything—it’s just that nobody mentioned that you were alive. I figured that, since Aleks was don, that would automatically mean you were… well, you know.”

He looks at me with pale eyes that are neither blue nor gray. Just a strange, in-between color that leaves me feeling unsettled. Skewered, in the strangest way. I can imagine how intimidating he would have been in the prime of his life.

He mumbles something, but I don’t quite catch it. I move a little closer. “Can you repeat that again?” I ask. “Slowly.”

I don’t hear much else the second time either, but I do catch the word “brunette” and “son.”

“Your son likes brunettes?” I parrot back to him.

He jerks his head forward half an inch. I take that as a nod.

“Well, trust me,” I mutter, “that’s not why he married me. It’s all part of his evil mastermind plan to thwart my brother’s attempt at catching him for his crimes. Not to get too dramatic or whatever.”

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