Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) Nicole Fox (people reading books TXT) 📖

don’t understand how he got his blood all over you.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

I stumble back from the mountain edge as my eyes dart around, searching for the security that I felt only moments ago.

His story had been strange from the get-go. It hadn’t really made sense to me, so why had I believed him so easily?

Because you love him.

Because you wanted to cling to an idealistic dream rather than face harsh realities.

“Oh, God,” I breathe.

But my words are drowned out by the birds’ shrieks. I don’t even hear myself.

I force myself to breathe through the pain in my chest. I need to get my head back together before I return to the cabin.

I try to think through things logically. It is definitely possible that Artem had nothing to do with the dead body down the ravine. That’s probably likely, as a matter of fact.

But in the same moment I consider that possibility, I dismiss it.

There are just too many clues.

Too many coincidences.

And now that the blindfold has been stripped from my eyes, I can’t go back to denial.

Who was that man?

Why had Artem killed him?

Were there others?

And if there were, had Artem killed them all?

I take deep, gulping breaths until I stop feeling so off balance. But the squawk of the birds now feel like someone is trying to drill holes through my brain.

I need to get away from the sound, so I keep walking, trying to put as much distance between myself and the dead man as I possibly can.

When the sound of bird cries has faded with distance, I allow myself to slump to a seat on a mossy rock. I support my head with my hands and try once more to calm myself.

We’ve been found. That’s the only explanation for what I just saw down the ravine.

We’ve been found and Artem did what he had to do. Defended himself. Protected us.

The fact that he had murdered someone isn’t what’s upsetting me.

The fact that he lied to me about it—that’s what’s breaking my heart.

When I look back up, I feel tears drying on my cheeks. I didn’t even realize I was crying.

I look across to the mountains in the distance, but nothing feels the same. The serenity that accompanied me on my walk through the trail has now abandoned me completely.

That’s why he didn’t tell you.

He was just trying to protect you.

He didn’t want the stress to hurt you or the baby.

The explanation makes sense to me. It feels true. Or at least, like it could be true.

But I can’t help second guessing myself.

Is this just more denial dressed up a different way?

Am I making excuses for a man I don’t really know at all?

Yes, I love him.

But I’ve learned the hard way: love and trust are two very different things.

69

Artem

I get home late that night. I waited until sundown to even go into town. Sitting in the car on the outskirts, watching farmers drive their wares in and out of the little village.

Once dark fell, I ventured in, did what I needed to do with my hood up and my head down, and got out.

After the confrontation with the cartel men, I’ve been on high alert. The fewer people who see me, the better.

Driving home after dark means I have to take the road back up the mountain slowly, too. I kill the headlights and drive carefully, flicking them on to get my bearings before extinguishing them again.

Just in case anyone is watching. Looking for signs of life, a trail that leads them right to our doorstep.

I park the car in front of the lodge and kill the engine. Mountain silence takes over, cold and austere.

I’ve grown used to the silence since we get here. It helps me think.

There’s a lot to fucking think about.

I set the groceries down on the kitchen table and creep into the back bedroom. All the lights are out. I listen at the doorway until I’m sure that I can make out Esme’s soft, even breathing.

She’s asleep. Odd—she always waits up until I’m home.

But something shifted since I killed the men and threw them in the ravine. Something subtle, but I notice it and she does, too.

We’re both pretending that the future we want is possible.

I don’t know.

I don’t fucking know anything anymore.

Because if I’m not a don, what am I?

A husband. A father. A friend.

I wonder if that’s enough.

I hate myself for even asking the question.

“Artem?” comes her meek voice. “Is that you?”

I sigh and slip inside the bedroom. I undress in the dark and crawl into bed with her. Her cold hand finds mine, squeezes.

“I’m here,” I tell her.

She whimpers, still half-asleep, and nods.

I lay there propped up on my elbow to stay at her. My eyes adjust to the darkness. I can make out the soft slop of her cheeks, the curve of her lips.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper. I didn’t realize I said it out loud until I heard my own voice.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she murmurs back.

I know she’s teasing, so I don’t know why I sense a hint of disappointment in her tone.

You’re reading too much into things.

Those fuckers burst the protective bubble you’ve created here.

You’re just feeling a little off-kilter.

“There’s only you,” I tell her honestly.

I can sense her smile even though I can’t see much of her face. Her hands fall to her stomach and she sighs deeply. My heart throbs with emotion.

Had it ever been like this with Marisha?

I honestly don’t remember.

Out of nowhere, my stomach rumbles. Loud enough for Esme to crack an eye open warily.

“Sorry,” I chuckle.

“Hungry?” she asks. “You missed dinner.”

“A little,” I agree. “Hungry for you.”

I grab her and roll her on her back to look up at me. She giggles sleepily. The smile breaks through the sad lines of her forehead.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m not on the menu tonight.”

“Don’t care,” I retort. “I’m not accustomed to following rules anyway. I take what I want.”

Her brow furrows just a little bit, but her expression