Page 17 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

Talking about this ad nauseum doesn’t make it hurt any less, either. We need to talk about something else, anything else.

“Where’s Jennifer?” I ask.

“Back underground,” he answers, to my surprise. “We had some work that needed doing.”

“I think it would help Rob if she could talk to him.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t care what your brother wants or needs, Olivia. And neither should you. You spend entirely too much time worrying about what your family will think.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He snorts. “If I stopped for a single second to worry about what my family thought, I wouldn’t be where I am.”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “Because you don’t give a shit about your family. Not your mother or your father or anyone but yourself.”

“There are plenty of other things I give a shit about,” he says, closing the distance between us as his voice dips low.

As always, his words are laced with implication. A message beneath the message. A tease just out of sight.

But I can’t let myself get wrapped up in the enigma of the man in front of me. I refuse to make assumptions anymore.

It just gets me hurt every time.

“Aleks—”

“You’re not safe here,” he says, cutting me off. “You never should have left.”

My heartbeat races. I have to resist the urge to touch my stomach, where our baby is hiding in plain sight. “Are you going to make me come back to you?”

He tilts his head to the side and looks at me for a long time.

“No,” he says at last. “I’m not. I could, but I won’t.” Then he tightens his fists at his sides and adds, “But I’m keeping an eye on you, Olivia. I’m gonna make sure that motherfucker doesn’t touch you.”

The way he says it makes my entire body quiver. There’s possessiveness in his tone. A ferocity that could turn the bravest man into a coward.

My eyes go wide with fear. “What are you planning?”

“You want to know my plans?” he asks. “So you can run back to Donald and tell him everything?”

I stop short. “You really think I would do that?”

“You ran from me willingly enough, didn’t you?”

“Because you cut me off at the knees. You humiliated me. What did you expect after that—gratitude?”

“Jesus Christ,” he growls as his patience wears thin. “Don’t you get it, Olivia? I was trying to keep you out of this. I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Why do you even care that I’m safe?” I yell back at him.

He walks forward so fast that I find myself pressed up against the window overlooking the city.

The glass is so clear that my head spins, irrationally terrified of the height and the possibility of falling fifty stories down.

“Because you are mywife,” he snarls, forcing my attention back to his face.

“I thought marrying me was nothing more than a strategy.”

“It was precisely that,” he says unapologetically. “But that doesn’t change the fact of what you are. And when I said my vows, I meant them. I will do anything to make sure you’re safe.”

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