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

“Keep moving,” I tell them. “She’s here somewhere.”

Soon, we reach a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. I point up, and we keep on flowing to the next level.

The sounds afar have quieted down. No doubt most of the security is dead now.

But that just means we’re running out of time. Backup will be here soon—local boys or subsidiary cartels looking to curry favor with the man in charge.

Cut off the head of the snake, get what you came for, and get out—those were my father’s final orders as I boarded the plane for Mexico.

And just before I left, he’d added: But, son… don’t forget: a dead snake’s venom can still kill you.

I step past Igor and take the lead once we’re on the second floor.

We’re walking down a broad corridor lined with pretentious oil paintings when I hear movement coming from one of the rooms down the hall.

I turn to Cillian.

“Take your team to the third floor,” I order him. “We’ve got this.”

Cillian nods and takes the rest of his men with him as he heads further upstairs. I continue to move down the hall with the rest of my men.

One door after the next reveals nothing but empty rooms. All devoid of life.

I stop outside the only door that’s locked. The handle merely rattles, and when I kick it, it doesn’t budge.

Reinforced.

That usually means there’s something valuable on the other side.

I raise my gun and start firing right through the wood. It chips apart, splintering until it’s nothing but broken shards swinging loosely on its hinges.

The moment I step into the locked room, the two guards hiding in there open fire.

I dive behind a large white sofa that’s in tatters now and fire back.

I’m not the only one. My men have entered the room behind me.

Within seconds, both guards are dead and the gunfire all but stops.

Armed guards hiding behind a reinforced door confirm my theory that there was something valuable hidden in here.

The question is… what is that something?

“You gonna come out and face me like a fucking man?” I growl. “Or will I have to flush you out like a rat?”

A few seconds of silence.

The shuffling of feet.

Then, a man emerges from behind a large antique cabinet.

Even in the face of certain death, the son of a bitch holds himself pridefully. There isn’t a trace of fear in his carefully arranged expression as he faces me.

I do notice he’s holding a gun in his right hand, but it hangs at his side, seemingly forgotten.

He knows damn well that he’ll be dead long before he has the time to aim it at my face.

“I should have killed you a long time ago,” Joaquin Moreno tells me, his eyes slicing into me like serrated daggers.

“You should have.”

“What do you want?”

“I want what you took from me.”

“You know I can’t give you that,” he replies.

The response is almost polite. Damn near apologetic.

But too casual by a long shot.

It wasn’t a small thing he stripped away. He took everything from me.

Time to return the favor.

“Then you knew I’d be coming.”

Joaquin’s eyes trail up a little, but his expression still doesn’t betray concern. “Get it over with, then. Your daddy will want you home soon, I’m sure.”

I snarl in anger. But before I can ask him another thing, he raises the gun.

He’s fast, but I’m faster. I shoot him in the chest and he falls back against his white carpet, staining the fabric with thick blood the color of wine.

I grit my teeth and walk up to Moreno’s dead body. He wanted a quick death and I just gave it to him.

But I should’ve made him suffer.

His eyes stare glassily towards the ceiling, a sneer permanently etched onto his face.

“Fucking bastard,” I mutter. I spit on his corpse, then turn back towards the hallway to finish the job.

The house is almost completely silent now. I’m two steps outside the room containing Joaquin’s dead body when Cillian’s voice emerges from the staircase landing.

“Artem!”

I look over at him. “Did you find it yet?”

He waves me over without another word. I go after him, gun dangling at my side.

Cillian leads me to the last room at the end of the third-story hallway. It’s ornate and red with a gold doorknob.

Very expensive.

Very feminine.

“This is it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s the only one we haven’t checked.”

I turn to the door, take a deep breath, and give it my best kick.

It explodes inwards. Figures that Joaquin would take the safest room for himself.

I step through the broken shards of the door frame and enter the large, opulent bedroom. I take quick note of the contents—big four-poster bed draped with a white mosquito net like a bridal veil. Mahogany desk, tasteful armchair. A bulletin board brimming with postcards.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside, though.

I catch a whiff of a perfumed scent. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

The door to the bathroom is ajar. In the sliver of mirror I can see from here, I notice a flash of movement.

I cross the carpeted floor silently and smoothly, then nudge open the door.

One step inside. My bloody, muddy boots mar the beautiful white tile. This room is so pure, so white, so flawless.

And here I come. The Grim fucking Reaper.

Here to ruin it all.

The anger from killing Joaquin is still roiling in my veins. I feel good, alive, empowered.

Until I see her.

Half-naked and shivering at the foot of the sink. She’s folded in on herself like she thinks she can disappear if she tries hard enough.

Dark hair pours in waves over her tanned skin.

And then she turns her face up to look at me with eyes full of tears and I realize something…

I don’t know what the fuck I’ve just gotten myself into.

14

Esme

My first reaction is to laugh.

Because when I see the face of the man who’s come to kill me, it confirms what I suspected since the moment the explosions began.

That this is