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

pants and a snow-white coat. Elegant and poised, just as she was yesterday.

She looks around at the rooftop and sighs.

“I don’t think I’ve been here in over a decade,” she admits. “Certainly not up here.”

“Has it changed?” I ask.

“Not even a little bit.”

“It’s… not quite what I expected,” I say with a harsh laugh. “Cillian made it seem like heaven on earth.”

She smiles sadly. “I never did understand why the boy loved this place so much.”

“I think it was more about the experience than the place.”

“Perhaps,” she says with a shrug.

I try and read her expression, but there’s nothing there. I wonder if she learned her poker face from her husband—or if it was actually the other way around.

“You have an answer for me, don’t you?” I ask.

“I do.”

“And I’m not going to like it.”

She nods. She’s not apologetic or regretful. Nor is she spiteful.

Just matter-of-fact. Straightforward. Honest.

“We won’t be helping you, Artem. Not with money or with men. It’s not our place to concern ourselves with the matters of the Bratva.” She fixes me with a level gaze. “This is your fight, not ours.”

I look her in the eye and I know instinctively that nothing I can say will make a difference.

I nod. “Very well.”

I expect her to get up and leave. But she stays seated. Cranes her neck around to survey the view I admired last night.

“I keep thinking of him as a child,” she muses. “All those little memories I’ve suppressed for so long. He was such a beautiful child. Everything was funny to him.”

“That never changed.”

“I’m glad,” she says. “I was always so worried about him… out in L.A., on his own.”

“He wasn’t on his own,” I correct. “He had me. We had each other.”

She smiles, a sad smile that makes her powder blue eyes swim for a moment. “That helps to know,” she says. Her eyes scanning over me like she’s searching for clues. What kind of man was with her son at the end, perhaps. “You’re married.”

I had thought about removing my ring months ago after Esme had left, but I never followed through. Apparently, my hurt pride wasn’t strong enough to withstand the desire to keep a small part of Esme with me, no matter how hollow the gesture was.

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

I look at her, immediately uncomfortable with the conversation. The only person I had ever discussed this kind of shit with was Cillian.

Without him around, I just bury it deep.

“Love has no place in my life,” I answer.

She sighs with exasperation. “Why?” she demands. “Because the Bratva always comes first?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are a weak man.”

I look at her with amusement. “Excuse me?”

“Are you not strong enough to have both? To protect both? To balance both?” she asks. “Why is it always either-or with you men?”

“She wants me to give up the Bratva,” I say with a scowl. “It wasn’t my idea to choose. It was hers.”

“I see,” Sinead says. “And you chose your legacy.”

“It’s not a choice,” I snap. “It’s what I have to do. I have to avenge my father’s death. I have to avenge Cillian’s death.”

“Even if that’s not what he would have wanted you to do?”

“My conscience won’t rest until I get back what was stolen from me,” I say. “It doesn’t matter what Cillian would have wanted. He’s not here to tell me otherwise.”

She taps her fingernails on her thigh. “You know, Artem, I used to tell my husband something when we were newly married and his ambitions were greater than his capabilities,” she says. “‘Get out of your own way.’”

“Am I meant to apply that advice to my own life?”

“All men should,” she replies. Then she unfolds herself to her full height once again and settles her sunglasses back on her face.

She turns to go back to the ladder, but pauses before she gets far. “I wish I had more to offer you,” she says. “But all I have is my thanks.”

“For what?” I ask.

“For taking in Cillian,” she replies. “For being there for him when I didn’t.”

“He didn’t blame you.”

“He should have,” Sinead says bluntly. “I should have fought for him harder than I did. Family is the one thing you never regret fighting for. It’s also the one thing that leaves you with regret when you haven’t done enough.”

I sit there, turning her words around in my head. “Take care, Artem,” she says. “I hope you get what you want.”

Then she disappears over the edge.

Leaving me stewing in indecision.

Questioning every choice that’s brought me here.

25

Esme

The Women’s Shelter—South Of Carlsbad, California

“Jesus, does the little brat ever stop crying?” Tonya complains as she soaks her bread in the bowl of potato soup in front of her.

“He’s only four days old.”

I follow her lead and dip my bread in my own soup. It’s stale, so it soaks up the broth pretty well and softens the roll up considerably. I’m not complaining, though. My belly has been satisfied the last three days and I’m never taking that for granted again.

“Still, can’t you do something about the noise?” she groans.

I look down at Phoenix, who’s strapped to my chest as usual. Gabby’s blanket has been a godsend. It’s stitched so long that I can wrap it around my body to secure him in place.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “I’ve changed him and I’ve fed him. He’s just sleepy.”

“So why isn’t he sleeping then?”

“Jesus,” I sigh. “It’s not that damn simple. Clearly, you’ve never been around a baby before.”

Tonya’s eyes go dark for a moment, but then she pushes the anger back and shrugs it off.

“Yeah well, I never got to keep my baby,” she says callously.

“What?” I gasp, looking at her with shock.

I can see the way her slight shoulders tense immediately, but she’s trying hard to act as though it doesn’t affect her.

She runs her hand over her shaved head self-consciously and twists her spoon around in her bowl. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Had a baby a while back. Girl. Didn’t keep