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

I don’t give a fuck. My eyes are locked on Esme.

“Let’s get one thing very clear,” I hiss right in her face. “I can do anything I want to you. The sooner you get over that fact, the easier this will be for both of us.”

I hold her a moment longer, close enough to feel her breath plume on my face. My anger is simmering, boiling.

Then, suddenly exhausted, I let her go.

She collapses back in her chair, eyes wide.

I raise my hand. “Guards!”

Esme’s head snaps to the side the moment I call for them. Two of my men storm out onto the balcony and go right for her.

Before they can grab her, Esme pushes her chair back violently and backs away from both of them.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you pigs.”

They look at me.

I nod.

And without another word, they scoop her up, one grabbing her arms and the other her legs.

She screams and thrashes. Her hair flays wildly and that silver dress sparkles in the moonlight with every twist of her body.

“You bastard!” she yells as they carry her away.

I just sit where I am, breathing heavily.

Esme is strong, but I’m stronger.

And I will break her. That’s a fucking promise.

19

Esme

When I wake up the next day, I’m still wearing the silver dress from the night before.

Apparently, I was too busy crying myself to sleep to remember to take it off.

I’d like to go back to sleep, as a matter of fact. But the sun coming through the massive wall of windows has other ideas.

As does Artem’s house staff.

The door bursts without so much as a knock. I immediately scramble back against the headboard and cover myself with the comforter—not that that provides much in the way of protection.

I’m expecting Artem again.

But it’s not him.

It’s one of the sour-faced guards who manhandled me back into this room last night after Artem abruptly decided our romantic rooftop dinner had reached its conclusion.

“What do you want?” I hiss at him.

He looks at me with a blank expression on his face. Something tells me he’s not exactly a rocket scientist.

“You are to get ready,” he tells me in a subtle Russian accent. “Your car arrives in one hour.”

I frown. “Where am I going?”

The guard’s answer is to turn his back on me and leave just as unceremoniously as he entered.

“Where’s Artem?” I yell to his retreating back.

No answer to that, either.

The door clicks shut.

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Talkative,” I grumble when I’m alone again.

I thought I locked the door the previous night, but either the lock is fake or everyone and their freaking mother gets a key to my room.

Feeling deflated and angry all at the same time, I walk into my en-suite bathroom and fill the tub with steaming water.

Then I strip out of the dress and clamber in. I wince as the water bathes my aching muscles. Those guards were not exactly gentle last night.

The tub is set right next to another massive window that looks over L.A. As I sit and soak, it feels like I’m floating in the sky, gazing down at the rest of the world.

I might even be able enjoy the moment—if thoughts of last night would just stop plaguing me.

Artem had answered the big question: If you’re not going to kill me, what do you want?

The answer was somehow stranger and more horrifying than I could’ve ever imagined.

Marriage.

He wants me as his wife. Willing or unwilling, fake or not, he doesn’t give a shit.

He just thinks I’m his golden ticket.

Which means I’ve gone from living in the clutches of one bad man who wants to marry me off for empire-building purposes, right to another.

The only difference is that this new bad man wants to marry me off to himself.

I shudder. How am I supposed to wrap my head around this crap?

I’m so confused that it makes my brain hurt. I’m trying to battle with the voices in my head, but even they don’t seem to agree.

Mostly because of this: a part of me is attracted to Artem.

It’s crazy to think that. I don’t dare voice the thought aloud.

But I can’t deny it. It’s true. That arrogant tilt to his lips, the wicked strength in his body, and those dark eyes that consume me with every glance…

It’s… a lot. That’s all I can really say about it.

So it’s safe to say that part of me is curious about the man beneath those harsh, beautiful features. About what makes him tick. What kind of soul there is—or if there’s a soul in there at all.

Curious, yeah. That’s a good word. Maybe even… hopeful?

But another part of me is desperate to get away from him.

He’s not going to be different.

He’s not going to love or respect you.

He’s going to use and discard you. And your child will grow up the same way you did—caged and lonely.

My hands flutter over my stomach.

The baby is his—there is no doubt of that.

But revealing that secret to Artem would bind me to him so completely that I’d never be able to escape.

I try and sort through the jumble of uncertainty in my head, but even after my skin has turned pruny, I can’t seem to find clarity.

These dilemmas will take more than one bath to resolve.

Giving up, I get out of the tub, wrap a towel around my body and another around my hair, and head back into the bedroom.

I stop short when I realize a new outfit has been placed on my bed. A black cashmere blouse with an elegant V neckline and an ivory midi skirt that complements it perfectly. At the foot of the bed awaits a pair of Louis Vuitton heels.

Just like with last night’s clothes, everything is in my size.

That’s a little unnerving. To be fair, all of this is a little unnerving.

But what choice do I have?

I put on the clothes because I have nothing else to wear and turn to check my reflection in the mirror that’s been set into one of the doors of the