Page 42 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“I’m not very good at that.”

I shrug. “I disagree. You do fine with me. I’d say it has more to do with you constantly underestimating yourself.”

“What a joke,” she mutters. “As if you don’t underestimate me all the time.”

“I used to,” I admit. “Not anymore.”

She blinks in surprise. I can tell she’s touched, though she’s trying to hide it. She pushes off the bed and clears her throat. “I should get back, though.”

“As you wish.”

She frowns. “Will you take me, please?”

“I suppose so,” I say. “Should I walk you in? Say hello to the family?”

Olivia flashes me a middle finger. “Don’t be an ass.”

Smiling to myself, I grab the duffel and follow her out of the room. The rain is long gone, but the gutter over the staircase down from the porch is leaking, casting a curtain of water across the steps.

“Stay here.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get you an umbrella.”

“It’s a trickle of water, Aleks. I won’t melt. I’m not the Wicked Witch of the West.”

I don’t bother answering. Just duck back inside and retrieve an umbrella from the closet by the door.

“I think you’re taking this a little too far,” she tells me as I open it up and usher her down the steps beneath it. “I mean, I’m pregnant, not helpless.”

“Just get in the damn car.”

I don’t miss the smile on her face when I help her into her seat and buckle her in.

She’s quiet for a while as I start up the car and head back towards Hargrove’s hotel. “Mia’s going to be a nightmare,” she mumbles when the skyscraper emerges in the distance.

“So ignore her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s my sister,” Olivia scoffs, as if that’s a self-evident explanation.

“I fail to see the relevance.”

“Of course you do.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What would you know about family, Aleks?”

I clench my teeth. “You don’t know the first thing about my family.”

“No? I know that your father lives in your compound, but you never once mentioned him to me. I thought he was dead until boom, whaddayaknow, he’sright fucking there. I know that you barely spend time with him despite the fact that he spends his days trapped in his room, being cared for by strangers.”

“What did you expect?” I ask. “That I would stop my life to take care of him?”

“I figured you would show some concern for him, at the very least. Act like a goddamn human being.”

“Because that’s what you would do?”

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