Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2) Nicole Fox (no david read aloud TXT) 📖

My Caesarean stitches have started to throb in the last few hours. I grit my teeth against it, hoping the pain will fade once I’ve gotten some rest.

The sidewalk is filled with trash and dirt. Cars whizz by on the road every now and then, kicking up old burger wrappers and cigarette butts.

Eventually, the town proper springs up around me. Though that’s not saying much. It’s mostly fast food joints and strip malls with graffitied windows.

I have to stop a jogger to ask for directions to the shelter. She’s a blonde woman with an amazing physique, and the way she looks at me tells me how different I must look than the Esme Moreno I used to be.

Pure pity in her eyes.

I try not to let it bother me. I’d pity me, too.

“Women’s shelter?” she says, her eyes falling to the sleeping baby slung to my chest. “It’s about a block from here. Keep walking straight, make a sharp right, and you’ll find it. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you so much.”

I watch her jog away. As she goes, I feel a tug of longing, a sense of loss for the life I used to have.

I was nothing more than a trapped bird in a gilded cage in those days, of course. But there were moments now when I actually missed it.

No more gilded cage seems like an improvement. Like progress.

But how can it be, when all I have left now is gilded tears?

Maybe it’s better to be trapped and happy, rather than free and miserable.

The last stretch to the shelter really wears on me. One block that feels like miles.

But when I see its rusting sign and cheap paint job, I feel nothing but pure relief.

At least, until I walk inside. I was willing to put up with a hell of a lot up to this point.

But this… this is bad.

The building looks like it’s falling apart slowly. A decaying carcass rotting slowly in the SoCal sun.

A crumbling staircase hugs one side, its banisters faded and the paintjob chipped in so many places that I can see the dark rotting wood underneath.

The floors look like they’ve been clawed at and the ceiling is heavy with water leakage.

I notice a few women at the far end of the broad corridor that reaches back into the guts of the building. But when they see me looking, they avert their eyes.

No one is working behind the desk up front. I walk over anyway and stand there helplessly.

Minutes tick past. I hear muffled thumps and muted conversation every now and then from way in the back, but no one shows their face.

My ankles are burning from standing. I look around for a chair, but there’s none around except for the lone chair behind the desk I’m standing at.

Desperate to get off my feet, I drag the chair from around the desk and sit down, feeling my feet sigh with relief.

I close my eyes and exhale. Then I look down at Phoenix, sucking on his pacifier, which has turned out to be a godsend.

I pray that leaving hasn’t screwed up his life more than if we’d stayed put.

I know I’ve made mistakes.

I just don’t want them to hurt my son.

“Who are you?”

I look up with a start and see an older woman with round, rimmed glasses staring down at me.

This must be her seat I’m sitting in.

She was wearing brown corduroy pants and a white shirt that almost comes down to her knees. Her hair is curly and piled high on top of her head, and even from behind her glasses, her eyes are dark and piercing.

I try to stand but I can’t push myself off the chair just yet. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so tired.”

She cocks her head to the side and looks at me sympathetically. “You need a place to stay.”

It’s not a question but I nod anyway. “I have nowhere else to go.”

It physically hurts to say those words out loud. I actually wince from the effort of forcing them out. I knew how angry Artem would be if he knew where I have brought his son.

“Your daughter?” she asks.

“Son,” I reply. “His name is Phoenix.”

She nods. “We don’t have any women with children at the moment,” she cautions. “I have to warn you that some of them might not be so… welcoming.”

I frown, wondering just how nervous I should be about that warning. Phoenix has turned into my chest so I can only see the apple of his cheek. He looks so precious, so innocent.

“Okay. Will I be able to stay?” I ask.

“We do have a bed you can have,” she says. “But all areas are common. You won’t get much in the way of privacy.”

That is definitely not what I want to hear, but I’m aware that I’m not exactly rich with bargaining power here.

“That’s not a problem.”

“We don’t have cribs either,” she informs me.

“That’s okay,” I reply. “I have a bassinet.”

“You do?” the woman asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s cloth.”

She nods. “How nice is it?”

I don’t like the sound of that at all. “Um… what?”

“How nice is it?” she repeats. “Is it expensive?”

Again, the question unsettles me. I suddenly wonder if coming here was the right choice. But again, what options do I have left?

“It’s not too expensive,” I say carefully. “But it’s new.”

“Well, let’s hope no one decides they want it.”

“I… what do you mean?” I ask.

The woman looks at me with a pitying expression. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?” she asks bluntly.

I hesitate. Apparently, that’s all the answer she needs, because she just nods and continues.

“You’re lucky that none of the women in there have babies,” she informs me. “So the likelihood of them stealing your son’s items is minimal. But if it’s nice stuff they can sell… Well, just watch out for your things.”

I flinch a little, but nod. “Okay.”

“Come on,” she says. “Follow me. My name is Maisie, by the way.”

I glance at her as we go, thinking that Maisie is