Page 85 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

ALEKS

Three of my men surround Rob while Olivia rounds on me. Her eyes are wide, but there are no tears in sight.

Even now, she tries to be brave. It’s admirable.

Foolish, but admirable.

“What are you going to do to him?” she demands.

“I’m going to make sure he understands that I am not the man to fuck with.”

“He needs all his limbs, Aleks!”

“Not what I had in mind. But thanks for the inspiration.”

She grabs my arm. “You can’t do this.”

I use her hand to pull her towards me. She hits my body, and I can’t help glancing towards her brother to see what he thinks of our intimate proximity.

That snarl seems to suggest he isn’t such a fan.

“I can do whatever the hell I want, princess,” I growl into her face. “You know why? Because I’m the fucking don.”

“Tell me what I can do to save him,” she pleads. “I’ll do anything.”

“We’ve been down this road before, Olivia. Unless you want me to fuck you in front of him for the sheer sport of it, you’re not much use to me.”

She flushes with both embarrassment and anger. But then her jaw clenches and her eyes burn. “If that’s what it takes, so be it.”

I sigh as if I’m disappointed. “You’re the same thing you’ve been from the start, Olivia: a horny little girl in over her head. Just step back and do as you’re told.”

She jerks her face out of my grip, looking like she wants to take a shot at me. I almost wish she would. It would make this day so much more interesting.

But while her hand trembles, she doesn’t try to touch me again.

“Don’t do this,” she says instead.

“There’s no saving your brother from himself,” I tell her. “But at the end of it, you might wish that I’d just taken a limb instead.”

Her expression clouds over with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” I say. Just then, a side door opens and a man in a priest’s collar shuffles in. He keeps his head down—the less he sees, the better, as per my instructions to him. Nice of someone to do as they’re told for a change.

“What is this?” Olivia asks in a rising panic. “Who is he?”

“The officiant."

"The officiant? Like…" She frowns. "Huh?”

“Who else would you have marry us?"

Over his sister’s shoulder, Rob is purpling with silent rage. How he’s holding it back is beyond me. He looks like he might pop a vein in his forehead if he doesn’t scream and kill something right now.

Poor bastard. I know the feeling.

But he should’ve known better than to fuck with the Bratva.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia splutters. “I think I heard you wrong.”

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