Page 169 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“No,” he says. “She had it coming, no matter who killed her.”

I smile. “We’re in agreement on that.”

Kennedy rubs his face in pure exhaustion. His conscience has taken a beating over the last few weeks. “I never expected to work with a son of a bitch like you, Makarova,” he muses.

“Nor I with a sanctimonious prick like you, Kennedy.”

“But we caught the bastard.”

“We caught the bastard,” I agree.

“This doesn’t make us friends.”

I chuckle at that. “No, it does not.”

Kennedy nods once more, as if signing off on the end of our deal, and then he offers me his hand. We shake.

As soon as his hand drops, his expression goes sour again. Ah, well. An alliance between the Bureau and the Bratva was never going to last very long. It has served its purpose.

“We’ll need to clear the room,” he intones.

“Not a problem. I’m leaving anyway.”

As Kennedy rejoins his men to coordinate whatever bullshit they have to do next, I head over to Olivia.

But I stop short a few yards away. She’s still standing with Rob by the window. They’re clinging to each other, both giving support and taking it, both trying to come to terms with the new truths slapping them harshly across the face. The ugly, sharp-edged new realities.

“How could I have been so blind?” Rob mumbles. “He was right in front of me…”

“This is not your fault, Rob,” Olivia says, always ready to forgive. “He fooled you. He fooled Mia—”

“Mia,” Rob groans. “Fuck. This is going to devastate her.”

“We can tell her together.”

“No,” he says, taking Olivia’s hand and kissing it gently. “No, I should be the one to tell her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll head over there now.”

A voice interrupts. “Before you do, can we talk?”

Both Olivia and Rob turn to Jennifer. For the first time, Rob looks at her with an expression that isn’t bristling with a year’s worth of tortured hate.

He nods awkwardly and lets go of Olivia. “Let’s go somewhere quiet,” he suggests.

“After you,” Jennifer murmurs. The two of them leave the room.

I notice Demyan has already disappeared. That just leaves Olivia and me in a room full of feds.

She meets my eyes for a moment, and then I take her hand and lead her out through the doors, putting our backs on the bloody nightmare that has consumed the last year of my life.

The sky bar is deserted. I find a corner table that overlooks the city and pull a chair out for her to sit in.

We breathe in silence for a long time. I wait for her to speak first. It’s not like her to let the quiet persist.

When she finally turns to me, her liquid honey eyes are filled with relief and the last vestiges of sadness.

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