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

“Joaquin? I’ve been meaning to ask you about these sconces all night. They are fabulous.”

I look over Papa’s shoulder to see the woman I made eye contact with only moments ago.

Does she know she’s saving me? I can’t be sure. But I try to send silent gratitude in her direction either way.

My father’s smile slides back in place as he releases his hold on my elbow and moves toward her.

I can feel tears welling up more and I know that this time, I can’t hold them in any longer.

So I back out of the room as surreptitiously as I can.

The moment the doors close behind me, I lift my dress and run down the hall towards the staircase.

Nausea overwhelms me but I don’t stop running until I’m in my room. I make it to the bathroom just in time.

It brings on a strange sense of déjà vu.

Except in this case, Tamara’s not the one with her head in the toilet.

I throw up dinner instantly. When there’s nothing left in my stomach, I just dry heave for a few minutes until I’m weak and exhausted.

Once I’m done, I wipe my mouth and slump against the cool wall of my bathroom, feeling strangely dizzy.

It takes a while before I start to feel something like normal again.

When I think I can manage it, I get to my feet and remove the lilac dress. I hang it up and walk around to my shelf space where I keep my night clothes.

As I pass the mirror, I stop short, wondering why my body looks so unfamiliar all of a sudden.

Perhaps a little extra weight around my hips? My breasts are maybe a little fuller, too.

Shrugging, I move to my shelves and pick out a soft cotton night shirt.

I’m about to close the cupboard door when something catches my eye.

Tampons.

I don’t know why I’m staring so hard. Don’t know why seeing my stack of tampons has me feeling sick all over again.

And then my worry starts to crystalize in front of me as I realize something.

I haven’t touched my supply of tampons in a while.

It’s been so long in fact, that I can’t remember the last time I used one.

“This can’t be happening,” I whisper out loud as my mind scrambles to piece together a truth I don’t want to face.

Yes, I’d been feeling different lately.

I’d been emotional.

I’d been eating more.

I’d been experiencing small bouts of nausea.

But all of those symptoms were easy to explain away.

Papa wanted me to marry, my life was closing in around me, it was only natural that I’d feel… off.

But now, all I feel is stupid.

I rush to my dressing table and rifle through the drawers. In the very last one, I find what I’m looking for wrapped in a brown paper bag.

I pull it out gingerly. The pregnancy test is at least two years old.

I bought it right after I was with Mattias, the pool boy. It was the paranoid purchase of a frightened teenage girl—albeit one who knew extremely well what her father would do if she got knocked up.

Now, I get to live that nightmare for real.

I pull out the pregnancy test and rush back to the toilet. The whole time, my heart thunders unnaturally against my chest.

I pee directly onto the stick, taking care to keep my fingers out of the line of fire.

Once I’m done, I kind of stumble to the sink, hoping and praying that my body is just playing tricks on me.

This. Cannot. Be. Happening.

I put the pregnancy test down and start pacing.

The instructions tell me to wait five minutes, so just to make sure, I wait ten.

When the time is up, I turn and face the sink.

It feels like I’m walking to my death.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One step.

My hands grip the edge of the sink but I’m still not looking at the test. I can’t bring myself to.

Breathe, Esme. You can do this. You have to.

So I look down.

And just like that, my life changes forever.

12

Artem The Moreno Compound, Mexico

The compound is lit up like a jewel.

Guards with automatic rifles patrol the tops of the encircling wall and man each of the two security posts outside the perimeter.

Roving floodlights, cameras at strategic locations, and a swath of clear land so the forces can spot intruders coming from a quarter mile away.

It’s Fort fucking Knox.

And I’m about to burn it to the goddamn ground.

I’m lying belly-down on a large hill in a rocky outcrop far enough away from the compound that my men and I won’t be visible.

We don’t actually have to worry, though.

Not a soul knows we’re here.

“What’s on your mind?” Cillian asks, as he sits down next to me and passes me a bottle of water.

I crack it open and take a sip, but what I’m really craving is something much stronger.

“Just game-planning.”

“The game has been planned for a while now,” Cillian says. “There’s nothing to think about. Quit overanalyzing.”

“Nothing can go wrong. Quit bitching.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Cillian says. “We’re prepared.”

“That’s not the question. The question is… are they prepared?” I point at the top of the compound wall, where a pair of burly men clad head-to-toe in black tactical gear are patrolling.

Like everyone else defending this fortress, they’re ex-Mexican special forces, and they’ve got a lot of motivation to do their job right.

If they do it well, they get paid like kings.

If they do it poorly, them and everyone they love will end up headless in an unmarked grave.

The cartel dons don’t fuck around.

“You know what?” Cillian muses sarcastically, stroking the godawful beard he refuses to shave. “They do look pretty determined to keep enemies out. Let’s just call the whole thing off and go grab a margarita.”

“It’s not getting in that I’m worried about,” I remind him. “It’s getting back out.”

He knows damn well what’s got me keyed up tonight.

A straight-up takedown of the compound would be a cinch. I could pick those bastards off the wall from here myself with a night-vision sniper and