Page 72 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

It feels like the world I knew has vanished. Like I’ve come untethered from gravity, unmoored from the surface of the planet.

Nothing I knew is as it was.

Nothing I love will ever be the way I loved it again.

The pastor finishes the recitation and turns towards Mia. She gives him a stoic nod and moves forward to grab a fistful of dirt.

The coffin descends faster than I expected. She throws her handful of dirt on top of it and steps back into place beside Hargrove. Then Rob takes his turn to do the same.

I wait for them to call on me, but neither one says a word.

“Go on,” Demyan tells me. “Don’t wait for permission.”

His words spur me forward. The pastor is about to talk when he sees me and stops short. I ignore everyone gawking at me as I grab a fistful of dirt and throw it down onto Mom’s coffin.

“Bye, Mom,” I say softly to myself. “I love you. I forgive you. I’m sorry.”

When I turn away from my mother for the last time, I walk back to where I was standing. But I don’t stop there; I keep going. Tears are pressing against the backs of my eyes, and the last thing I want is an audience to watch them fall.

I weave between gravestones until I find a willow tree looming over the cemetery. The foliage hangs down around me like a veil. Like tears frozen in time and space.

But as soon as I step beneath the canopy, my own tears come, and they keep coming. For two or five or ten minutes, I let them.

Part of me expects Mia and Rob to materialize on either side of me, offering comfort and love and apologies. But no one appears.

Until Demyan does.

He’s awkward and quiet for a moment, lingering in the periphery of my vision. Hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. Just sharing the space and breathing with me.

Slowly, the onslaught of tears eases and disappears. Only then does he speak.

“You okay?” he asks.

I sniffle. “That feels like a trick question.”

“Only if you think that saying ‘no’ makes you weak.” He shrugs. “Aleks might say it does. Me? I’m not so sure. There’s room in this world for all kinds of feelings. Not all of them are particularly enjoyable.”

I blink, not quite in confusion, but not totally understanding, either. Demyan shrugs again and opens his mouth to say something else.

But before he can, I hear the rustle of leaves. We both turn to see someone parting the curtain of the tree’s flowers and stepping into the quiet space.

Mia.

Demyan slips away without a word. I take a deep, shuddering breath and turn to face her.

Her makeup is carved with tear tracks, just like mine. She pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at her eyes again. It’s classic Mia, fidgeting with this and that so she can avoid dealing with the tough issue at hand.

She tucks the handkerchief back into her black clutch, sighs, and finally, raises her eyes to look at me.

“You look nice,” she says.

“Thanks. You—”

“Did Makarova buy that dress for you?”

I stop short, feeling a disappointed heat spread through my body. “Mia, I don’t want to fight.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have come.”

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