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

smiles sardonically. “I already know that,” she says. “But everyone has a last name.”

“Yeah, of course, silly me. It’s, uh, Emily… Kovalyov.”

“Kovalyov,” she repeats. “Can you spell that for me?”

Idiot. Fucking idiot. Why did you have to use his last name!

I nod, hands trembling, and spell it out for her.

“Great,” she nods. “And some type of identification. A driver’s license, passport, or social security number?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t have anything.”

“Nothing at all?” she asks with raised eyebrows.

I shake my head and stare pointedly at the ground between my feet.

Maisie just sighs. “All right then. Lunch has already been laid out. You look like you could use some nourishment.”

I scurry away as fast as I can.

Once I’ve disposed of Phoenix’s diaper, I go to the dining room, which is basically a large rectangular room set up like a poorly conceived cafeteria.

There are narrow tables arranged across the room, with two long benches flanking each table. There’s already a long line for food and I join the line.

It takes nearly ten minutes to get up to the front where the food is being served by volunteers. They’re all men and women with kindly faces who still manage to avoid everyone’s eyes.

Lunch comes down to two options: a vegetable stew and a chicken pasta. I get a ladle full of both, a cup of water, and a plastic fork, and head to an empty table to eat.

The educated part of my brain is aware that the food is not good. It’s lacking in flavor and body.

But it’s hot and it fills my belly and that’s enough for me to believe that’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.

It’s also the only real meal I’ve had in two days, so that probably factors in, too. Either that or Gordon Ramsey is now working at this grimy women’s shelter south of Carlsbad.

I clean my entire plate in a minute flat. With a full stomach, I can start to visualize a plan for the future.

Staying here can only be a temporary solution. I will not allow my son to grow up in a place like this.

I take a deep breath.

I want to live near the ocean. I want Phoenix to grow up near the beach.

I know the ocean is only an hour or so away. I could take a bus, but I’d rather drive. I feel a pang of regret as I think about the car I had abandoned a few days after I’d left Devil’s Peak.

I’d only been thinking about covering up my footprints, and I knew that Artem had the license plate number.

What I should have done was find a shady dealership somewhere and sell the car. They would have stripped it for parts and I might have gotten a few hundred bucks from the sale.

Instead I’d walked away with nothing, and I’d regretted the decision ever since.

I think about the ways I might go about getting another car. The choice I’m left with twists in my stomach like a knife.

There’s only one way to get yourself a car at this point.

I left that life behind for a reason.

It doesn’t happen all at once. This is about survival.

It would be theft. That’s a crime.

Life is not black or white. It’s grey. It always has been.

Artem said something similar to me what felt like eons ago. I try to sort through the internal dialogue waging in my head, but it just makes me hurt all over.

I need sleep. One night of sleep and I’ll decide tomorrow.

Phoenix turns a little, trying to stretch his little hands. I leave the dining area and head back to my assigned bunk. When I approach the bed, I noticed that one of my duffel straps is peeking out from underneath the bed.

I frown and pull it out. It definitely looks like it’s been tampered with. I pull the zip open and look through the contents.

Most of Phoenix’s stuff is still there, and so is my supply of diapers, but a few of my clothes are missing. I had a beige sweater I loved that’s now gone, and a long-sleeved black shirt that is definitely not here anymore.

“Fuck.”

“Left your shit unchecked huh?” Tonya’s voice comes from just behind me. “Rookie mistake.”

“They stole my clothes,” I say in disbelief.

“You had some fancy shit in there. That black sweater was nice.”

I turn and glare at her. “You took my clothes?”

She glares right back at me. “I’m no fucking thief,” she bites back. “A few of the other bitches stormed through here and went through your shit when you left with the brat.”

“Why didn’t you stop them?” I demand.

She raises her eyebrows at me. “You fucking serious?” she asks. “Those bitches would have skinned me alive. And you’re no one to me. It’s every woman for herself in here.”

I shudder, realizing how entitled I must sound to her. “Sorry,” I murmur. “You’re right.”

“At least they left all the baby’s shit,” Tonya tells me. “That was pretty kind.”

“Right. Yeah. Kind.”

“Did you have money in there?” Tonya asks.

“No.”

“Good, so you’re not that fucking stupid.”

I’d taken to carrying my money around in my bra since I’d left the hospital. It was one of the smartest moves I’d made in a while.

But it’s not enough.

I’ve got to be smarter now that I’m on my own.

I’ve got to be tougher, too.

For myself.

For Phoenix.

For the future I gave up everything for.

23

Artem

Dublin, Ireland

Ronan’s darkened blue eyes flicker over the men that surround him.

“Kill him,” he says again with finality.

I don’t budge. Don’t so much as take my eyes off the cold bastard.

“Before you kill me,” I say calmly. “Do you at least want to hear how your son died?”

He stops. Freezes, really.

And yet, his face remains unchanged. It’s as though I’ve given him the weather report.

But I know better than to assume he feels nothing.

Men like him have curated their image to perfection. If I can’t tell what’s he’s feeling, it’s because he doesn’t want me to know what he’s feeling.

But I’m not