Page 179 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Right,” I say. “Just like Jennifer was playing a part with Rob. With all of us. Guess the Lawrence clan makes for easy targets, eh?”

“You want to see the best in people. That’s not a bad thing.”

“It sure feels like shit.” I crack open one eye and give her a sad smile. “Thank you for that, though.”

She pats my hand. “You deserve to be treated better than this. You’re a good girl.”

My thoughts are racing. If I’m such a “good girl,” like everyone keeps telling me, then why did I have to go and fall for a monster? Maybe this is why I stayed clear of bad boys and risky choices, even when my heart was pulling me in that direction—because somewhere, deep down inside of me, I knew that I wasn’t capable of surviving this kind of heartbreak.

I can already feel the fissures he’s made inside me.

And it’s only going to get worse.

“I need to get away from him,” I whisper to myself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

I like Yulia. A little part of me even trusts her. But at the end of the day, she’s still Aleks's mother. And she’s made it clear on numerous occasions that, like it or not, she has to take his side.

Who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same for my own child?

“You miss them, don’t you?” she asks suddenly. “Your family.”

I nod. “All day, every day. I’m not used to not talking to them. I get on the phone with my mom and brother at least once or twice a week. And my sister and I text all day long.” I glance up at her. “Is it pathetic to need that kind of safety net?”

Pathetic. The word feels all the more painful because I heard it from his lips only moments ago. Only Aleksandr Makarova can make an already-cruel word sound so much crueler.

But Yulia just looks at me with a sympathetic expression. “It’s not pathetic at all, Olivia. I’ve always admired the people who can be alone but not feel lonely. For me, it’s always been the other way around.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “There are moments when I’ve felt lonely.”

“And what have you done about it?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I admit.

She raises her eyebrows. “That’s where you and I differ. I did everything in my power to reverse that feeling.”

“And did it work?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” she says. “But I’ll tell you this: even if it didn’t work, I never regretted the attempt.”

“Well, then, you’re a braver woman than me.”

“You keep saying that, but how do you know if you’re brave or not, darling?” Yulia asks me seriously. “You’ve never tried to be.”

Those words hit me sideways. I stare at her, but I’m not seeing Yulia—I’m seeing all the ways in which I failed to live the life that my father always encouraged me to live.

“Thank you, Yulia,” I say at last. “I never expected to find a friend here.”

“A friend, hm?” she says, repeating the word as though it’s foreign to her. “A friend…”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“Harder than you could possibly know. But thank you. That means… well, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

A few minutes ago, I didn’t think there was any way to feel better. The ache still isn’t entirely gone.

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