Page 100 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

Then I glance around and understand why.

The white walls have been transformed.

“Jesus Christ.”

Olivia gasps, twisting around so fast she hits her head against the same wall she’s defacing with her drawings. When she sees me, she stumbles to her feet, holding her pathetic little pencil like a weapon.

“What have you done to my walls?”

She stares at me for a moment. Then her jaw loosens and that familiar bratty fire flares in her eyes. “I improved them.”

“Is that what you call it?”

My eyes latch on to the drawing of myself next to the bed. She’s drawn me behind an uncanny image of Pyotr. The expression on my face is less than flattering.

I make a quick scan of the room, noticing other images, other characters. Some of them I recognize; most of them I don’t. I ignore the speech bubbles—no good can come of getting riled up about her juvenile jabs—and turn back to face Olivia.

“You’ve been keeping busy during our little détente, it seems.”

She cocks her hip to the side and glares at me. “What do you want?”

She’s lost weight. I notice the way her collarbones stick out, the way her cheeks have hollowed in. It makes me wonder if I’ll still see those dimples of hers if she smiles or if I’ve stolen those from her, too.

Though with the way things are going, I doubt a smile is very likely.

“I wanted to reassure you,” I tell her. “This marriage is legal, but it doesn’t have to be forever.”

She frowns. “Why does that sound like a promise you have no intention of keeping?”

“Once your brother backs off, and once I have certain assurances from him, you will be able to get back to your life.”

Her eyes flash with nebulous hope. “Great. Grand. Fabulous. When will that be?”

“I have to make sure he’s serious,” I tell her. “Let’s call it one year from now.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a generous estimate. I will hold onto you for a year to make sure your brother stays good on his word.”

“You expect me to stay here for an entire fucking year?”

“Did I stutter, kiska?”

“That’s… I… I can’t.”

“Why ever not?” I ask with saccharine fake sweetness. “It’s not like you had much of a life to go back to. In case you’ve forgotten, you were a freelancer who was between jobs. Your friends were mostly colleagues who never bothered phoning after the work day ended. You have no boyfriend, no lovers, not even a pet to miss you. So tell me: who exactly is waiting for you back in New York?”

Her skin is flushed with anger. “Who are you to decide my life was worthless?” she rages. “It was lonely, but it was mine. I liked it.”

I shrug. “You can just as easily be lonely here.”

“My family—”

“Your family will be safe from me,” I tell her. “Just as long as you play the part of my wife for the year you live in this house.”

“Convenient,” she spits. “How beautifully this worked out for you. Not only can you control my brother using me, you can control me using my family.”

“Isn’t it lovely how things work out sometimes?”

---