Page 147 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“He’s… my son.”

“Yulia!”

“Maybe… maybe there’s some sort of mistake,” she gasps, tears brimming in her eyes. “Maybe we’re misunderstanding what’s happening here.”

“There’s no misunderstanding, Yulia!”

I turn around to see if my shout has woken the girl, but she doesn’t stir. Another horrifying possibility washes over me.

“Oh, God.”

I rush to the edge of the bed and put my hand on her shoulders. “Hey. Hey, wake up.”

“Olivia, what are you doing?” Yulia hisses.

I ignore her and keep shaking. “Please wake up.”

When the girl still doesn’t rouse, I give her a light slap across the cheek. That doesn’t wake her up, either.

I turn back to Yulia. “She’s been drugged.”

A tear slips down Yulia’s cheek. “Oh, God…”

“Listen to me: you won’t be able to live with yourself if you just turn a blind eye to this. And I can’t do anything without your help.”

She absorbs that for a moment. Then she nods, making up her mind in an instant. “Okay. Okay. I’ll help.”

“How do we get her out?”

“The two of us might be able to carry her,” Yulia says haltingly. “But I doubt we can do it without being noticed. We’ll need some muscle.”

“How are we supposed to do that? Every man here is loyal to Aleks.”

She shakes her head. “Not every man. Wait here.”

She leaves me in the room with the girl and disappears. For a moment, I’m worried. What if this is just a ruse to sound the alarm?

But I take a deep breath and try not to panic. I know Yulia. Deep down, she’s a good woman.

She’s going to help me.

She’s going to save this girl.

She’s gone for five minutes, but it feels like hours. With every passing second, I can feel Aleks getting closer.

When the door finally opens, Yulia isn’t alone. Behind her is a burly man I’ve seen in her security detail before.

“Moritz,” she instructs, “carry the girl. I’ll lead us out of here, but we have to be careful not to be seen. All the maids answer directly to my son.”

I stare at the man’s face. It’s devoid of expression, like a robot. I find myself thinking about capturing his likeness on paper before I catch myself.

Not the time.

Definitely not the freaking time.

I’m vaguely aware that I might be verging on an anxiety attack, but I don’t have the luxury of time to indulge in that right now. So I draw in a deep, shuddering breath and force myself to focus.

The big guy, Moritz, moves forward and scoops the girl up in his arms as though she weighs nothing at all. He turns around to face Yulia.

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