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

more of the same. I accept their congratulations with a nod of my head.

“Don’t look so somber, boy,” Budimir says. “With a bride like that, you should be grinning from ear to ear.”

“He is right to be cautious,” Stanislav interrupts. “She may be your wife now, but she’s still an unknown quantity. If she compromises our mission, then she will be terminated.”

He says it coldly, his eyes flickering over to the limo where Esme is waiting for me.

I feel a surge of anger, but I bite it down.

This was always the plan. No sense in getting riled up about something I can’t change.

So I just nod again. “I’ll watch her.”

“I’m sure you will,” Budimir says salaciously.

I turn away from all of them and move down the stairs towards the limo. Cillian is the only one who comes with me.

“You are one lucky bastard,” he tells me. “She looked like a fucking treat up there on the altar.”

I scowl. “A treat that might kill me, you mean.”

“Some treats are worth choking on, my friend,” Cillian retorts with a wink. “Just… one bite at a time, you know?

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Cillian grabs my hand and pulls me in for a brotherly hug. Then he claps me on the back. “Enjoy your honeymoon. Don’t break the bed.”

“Stay out of trouble while I’m away,” I tell him.

Cillian shrugs. “I’ll do my best. No promises.”

Then I duck inside the limo.

I glance towards Esme as we pull away from the cathedral, but she’s not even looking at me.

She’s sitting on the other end of the seat, as far away from me as she can manage, and staring out of the tinted windows.

I can’t see her face at all. I’m sure that’s not an accident.

I glance out the window myself. If she wanted to be left alone, then I’m happy to give her space. Fussing over her feelings is not my fucking job.

If she has issues, she can handle them herself.

Only when we come to a stop on the wide, open tarmac of the Bratva’s personal airstrip, does she look toward me.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going on our honeymoon. Where else?”

She clenches her jaw. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“Do I look like I give a damn, princess?”

Before she can ask me anything more, I get out of the car, leaving her to maneuver out of the limo in her billowing dress on her own.

I’m halfway across the tarmac by the time she manages to unfold herself from the car. Against my better judgement, I glance back to see how she’s doing.

Wind tugs against the folds of the skirts. Her hair has come loose from its bun, unruly locks whipping around in the harsh breeze.

She looks like my perfect fucking wet dream.

“I’m in a wedding dress,” she snaps at me from where she stands a few yards away.

“You know what? I did notice that. Been meaning to say something.”

“I can’t travel in a wedding dress.”

“There’s a full wardrobe on board for you,” I tell her.

“Oh.”

I turn back and board the waiting plane.

Esme makes it on a few moments later. She looks pissed off—that’s not new, though. Nor totally unexpected.

In comparison to how poised and polished she looked walking down the aisle, she looks wild now. Hair messy. Dress slipping off one shoulder. A high blush in her cheeks and that never-ending fire in her eyes.

I think I actually like this look better.

The stewardess, a leggy blonde with too much makeup, takes Esme to the back of the jet where her wardrobe awaits.

A few minutes, the blonde emerges alone.

“Your wife is changing, sir,” she says, her words coated with honey as she stares at me appreciatively. “I’m Svetlana. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything you might want. I’m here to service your every need.”

She even licks her lips. “Piling it on” doesn’t do this justice—she’s throwing herself at me like a dog in heat.

The old Artem might’ve taken her up on it. Would’ve bent her over the teak dining table in the middle of the plane, hiked that navy pencil skirt over her hips, and fucked her senseless until the cabin reverberated with her moans.

The new Artem doesn’t consider it for the slightest of seconds.

“Thank you,” I say curtly. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

“Please do,” she replies, leaning in a little and offering up her cleavage to me. Her manicured nails graze my forearm. “I just want to make sure you’re completely and totally satisfied during your journey.”

“I said I’ll let you—”

“Ahem!”

We both turn towards Esme. She’s standing a few feet away, her eyes tight with annoyance as she glances between me and the slutty stewardess.

She’s swapped out the wedding dress for a sunflower yellow lounge dress with little cut outs along the bodice. Her dark hair compliments the color perfectly, as do the flecks of molten gold in her hazel eyes.

“Please,” she says, in a snippy tone as she passes between us, “don’t let me interrupt you.”

The stewardess gives me an apologetic smile and heads towards the cockpit. For the rest of the flight, she brushes against me every time she passes. I ignore it each time.

Esme, on the other hand, picks a seat as far from me as possible and stays there. I can only see the back of her dark head, but I can see from the stiff posture of her back that she’s tense.

Possibly even a little jealous.

Like her wild hair, I think like that, too.

She’s hotter when she’s angry.

28

Artem

I manage to sleep for a bit. When I wake up, we’re about to land.

Everything goes smoothly as we touch down. When the hostess informs us that we’ve just arrived in Hawaii, I see Esme’s eyes go wide with surprise.

She hides it as soon as she sees me looking. Doesn’t want me to notice her genuine interest.

Suppressing a smile, I disembark. Esme follows behind. We take a car to the private ferry and ride the boat to Kauai, where our private mansion awaits.

Esme continues with the silent