Page 164 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

But I never do anything without a reason.

Before he can even blink, I shove Olivia to the side, clutch Hargrove’s wrist, and twist it backwards before forcibly wrenching the gun out of his grasp. He stumbles right into my arm. I grab the scruff of his neck and shove his own pistol right into his spine.

“That was easy,” I breathe in his ear.

“You bastard,” Hargrove growls. “Let me go.”

“In due time. Let’s clear the room first,” I tell him. “Now.”

“Not a damn chance!”

“Would you rather I pull the trigger?” I ask pleasantly.

He caves almost instantly. “Get out, the lot of you,” he snaps to his men.

They hesitate. That just pisses him off. “I said get the fuck out!” His lips are flecked with spit, his eyes bulging from their sockets. The smooth, polished veneer of the charming billionaire has long since dissolved into a million ragged pieces.

The soldiers dissipate through a side door, leaving only seven of us in the room: Jennifer, Demyan, Rob, Olivia, Yulia, Hargrove, and me.

My baby makes eight.

“Much more intimate,” I say, pressing the gun harder against his spine. “Much better.”

When Rob is sure that I’m not going to shoot him, he rushes forward and collects his sister. She takes his hand, but her eyes remain fixed on me.

She’s waiting for me to prove myself. Hoping against hope that she’s not wrong in trusting me yet again.

“Killing me will only cement your guilt,” Hargrove sputters. “It’ll prove—”

“Killing you?” I laugh. “I have no intention of killing you. Death is such a painless and unfulfilling end for a monster of your stature. No, I’m going to make sure you live. Live a nice, long life just so you can suffer.”

Donald turns his face up to Olivia. “Liv… Liv, I’m your brother-in-law. I’m Mia’s husband. You have the power to stop him.”

“No one has that power,” she says without taking her eyes off me.

“You know what he’s done. What he’s capable of now,” Hargrove continues. “You can’t deny his guilt. You can’t honestly believe the bullshit lies they’re trying to spin.”

“It’s no story,” Jennifer says quietly.

“Sophie,” Olivia says, silencing everyone. “Sophie Gonzales. I heard Yulia say that name on the phone a long time ago. I want to know who she is.”

“My goddaughter,” Hargrove says after a moment’s pause. “Sophie… is my goddaughter.”

“You must be very close to her parents then?” I ask. “Am I right? So tell me something: what are their names?”

Hargrove tenses. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping on dry land. A man like him breathes lies, and there’s none in here left for him to feast on.

“Aleksandr,” my mother says, looking at me imploringly. “Son, what’s going on?”

She can feel the tide shifting. Everyone can at this point. But I don’t have much time, which is why the explanation will have to wait until after everything is said and done. Otherwise, these ridiculous leather gloves will be a waste.

I grip Hargrove’s gun a little tighter and shove him stumbling away from me. I aim the gun pointed at his face while everyone watches me, bracing for the gunshot coming to end his disgusting life.

No one says a word.

No one speaks for him.

But it’s not him that needs speaking for.

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