Page 172 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

I wave my hand in the air. “I can take care of that, too. If she chooses to accept my help, that is.”

Olivia nods again and gnaws at her lip. “Do you think she’ll hate me?”

“For being right?” I ask. “For choosing the right side?”

“Emotions aren’t always rational.”

“All the more reason they’ll pass. And anyway, Rob will speak for you.”

“Yeah, I guess he will now.” She turns a shrewd eye up to me. “You took a huge risk, trusting that he would have your back in there with Kennedy. What if he’d decided to just tell the truth?”

I shrug. “After what he knew? No. Your brother may be a lot of things, but he’s honorable at heart. He’d never defend a beast like that.”

“And I suppose he was trying to make amends.”

“He’s not the only one trying to do that.” She looks towards the door. The cops are out of sight now. It’s just the two of us. “You think Jennifer and Rob will work it out?”

I frown. “I have no idea.”

“Would you hate it if they did?”

“Why would I hate it?”

“Well, you don’t really like my brother.”

I can see the earnestness in her eyes. The hope. Nothing—not blood, not horrors, not secrets and lies and betrayals—can snuff that out of her.

It’s why I can love her the way I do.

And it’s why I can give her something I never thought I’d be able to give: a happily-ever-after with everyone she loves included.

“He’s your brother,” I say. “I’ll learn to deal with it.”

She gives me a tentative smile. “Aleks?”

“Yes,kiska?”

She sits up and moves back a little so that she can look me in the eye. She holds herself differently now than she once did. Royally, almost. There’s determination in her face, in her voice, in the steady clasp of her hands.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a very long time. But I’ve never dared to because, well… I’ve been afraid to come across as weak or needy or desperate or whatever. But now that this thing with Hargrove is more or less behind us, I need to know.”

“Then all you have to do is ask.”

She takes a deep breath and says, “What are we going to do next?”

There’s a long pause. I take my time in answering. I smile, pull her hand up to my lips and kiss each knuckle slowly. Savoring it. Worshiping her.

When I raise my eyes to hers, I can tell she’s holding her breath.

It’s amazing to me: Can she still not know? Can she still not see?

“What we’re going to do is go home,” I tell her in a low rasp. “We’re going to take a long, hot shower, and then we’re going to go to bed together. And after that, tomorrow, we’ll wake up together and start.”

“Start what?”

“Living life.”

Her eyes go wide. “You want me to stay with you? Be your wife?”

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