Page 70 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Uh… maybe. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? That dress must have run you a couple grand, at least. How does a cartoonist afford a dress like that?”

I turn away from her, not even bothering with a polite smile. “You’ll have to excuse me, Aunt Agatha. I just want a moment to myself before they lower her down.”

She flushes. “Of course. Pardon me.”

She scuttles off to the opposite side of the coffin where Mia is standing beside Hargrove. I haven’t seen Rob yet. Every few seconds, I scan the group of mourners, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

“She your aunt?” Demyan asks, sidling a little closer to me.

“Great aunt,” I say. “On my dad’s side.”

“She’s the family gossip, I take it.”

“Among other things.”

Demyan smirks. “She’s been eyeing me this whole time. You cut her off at the knees before she could ask who I am.”

I sigh. “Another reason I wanted you to stay behind.”

“Tell them that I’m your bodyguard.”

“For God’s sake, Demyan, no. This is the real world. Normal people don’t have or need bodyguards.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Sounds boring.”

“How I long for boring days,” I sigh.

My eyes flit to Mia. She looks nice. She’s wearing a new dress, too. Nicer than anything I’ve ever seen her in. A gift from her fiancé, I’m sure.

“Just FYI, I’m telling people you’re my… colleague.”

“Colleague.”

“Yeah. So if anybody asks, you’re a cartoonist, too.”

“Can I tell them I draw naughty cartoons for nudie magazines?”

I glare at him. “Not the time, Dem.”

He swallows down his smile and looks away. I turn away to scan the cemetery once again.

And then I see him.

Rob is walking through the trees towards our group. He’s dressed passably well, but there’s already a five o’clock shadow clustered around his jaw, with the heavy bags under his eyes to match. It’s clear he hasn’t slept since I last saw him.

If he sees me, he shows no sign of it. Instead, he cuts through the crowd and moves straight to Mia, pulling her into a quick hug.

She whispers something in his ear and then moves to Hargrove, who raises his arm for her to slip under. The way he holds her, I can almost believe he really loves her.

But I’m still too angry to even consider the possibility that it might be real.

“You okay?” Demyan asks.

“I’m burying my mother,” I respond. “What do you think?”

“I’ve buried four grandparents, two parents, a brother, three cousins, and about a hundred men who worked for me,” he says grimly. “I know what you’re feeling right now. I get it. But don’t let it master you.”

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