Page 134 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Of course,” Rob says with a resigned nod. “I’m sure he had some ornate, masterful plan to oversee.”

“You’d know better than me.”

His brow wrinkles. “What does that mean?”

“All of you have ulterior motives. Aleks, Hargrove, you.” When he gives me an incredulous look, I continue. “Come on, Rob. You just wanted to ‘introduce’ us to Steven Kennedy? Thought maybe we’d be good friends?”

He purses up his lips but doesn’t say anything. So I push on. “He’s the detective that replaced you on Aleks’s case, right?”

“He’s an old friend of Hargrove’s.”

“I’m not stupid.”

Rob sighs. “I may not be on the case, Liv, but I know that they’re closing in. It’s only a matter of time now.”

“Is that a fact?” I ask coldly.

“You shouldn’t have brought him.”

“I told you already: I didn’t bring him. He showed up.”

He looks torn for a moment. Then he steps towards me and takes my arm. “Just stay with us, Liv. We’re your family. It’s where you belong.”

“And my child?” I ask, pulling myself free from his grasp. “Does my child belong? Or am I still expected to get rid of it like you expect me to get rid of him?”

“I know you think you care about him—”

“He’s the father of my child,” I snap. “That makes him my family now. It makes him your family, too.”

Rob falls silent.

“You saw Jennifer,” I point out. “You spoke to her, Rob. Didn’t that make you question this witch hunt even a little?”

He shakes his head like he’s trying to convince himself of something. “Isabel—fuck, Jennifer is no longer a factor,” he says. “The girls he hurt are my only concern now.”

“You were wrong about Jennifer,” I point out. “Isn’t it possible you’re wrong about Aleks, too?”

“I know you need to believe that in order to get through this shit, but—”

“No, I do actually believe he is innocent,” I say. “I’m not lying to myself. I am capable of making up my own mind about things, Rob. None of you seem to be able to appreciate that.”

“You’re not safe with him, Olivia.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Robert,” I fire back just as formally as he said my name. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Before he can say another word, I turn around and march for the exit. At first, I can’t see Aleks, but the moment I step through the gigantic hotel doors, I catch sight of him.

He’s standing by the steps, facing a throng of reporters who’ve got their microphones and their cameras pointed directly at him. I freeze, realizing what he’s doing.

“… Of course,” I hear him say, in a smooth, polished voice very unlike his own feral growl. “I wish nothing but the best for them. Donald and I are very close. Friends first, and now… brothers.”

I head down the steps, ignoring the flashing lights around me. I grab Aleks's hand and steer him gently away from the cameras and down the steps. He lets me take him, smiling and calling a friendly goodbye to the reporters as we go.

My security is gathered around a stretch limo that Aleks must have brought. They part as we pass and hold the door open so I can get in.

Everything inside the limousine is plush and leather and gilded. Just absurd wealth stitched into every inch of the fabric. A mini-bar holds glistening bottles of champagne stamped with some unpronounceable French name that I assume translates as“Not for the Poors.”

I wonder if Aleks even notices that the world he lives in and the world everyone else lives in are not the same.

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