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

my words have opened up the questions that remain unanswered.

How long will this last?

How long can it last?

At the end of the day, he stole me and made me his. I should hate Artem Kovalyov with every fiber of my being.

And yet, I don’t want this conversation to end.

The secret I’m holding in my belly sits there in the space between us. I wonder how he would react if I just told him right now. Would it hurt him or please him?

I don’t know which option I’d prefer, to be honest.

But the moment I think of telling him, my throat constricts with fear and I know that I’m not going to.

I can’t.

Not now.

Not yet.

“I’m not a monster, Esme,” he says. “I know it may not seem that way to you right now, but you’ll see in time.”

“‘In time,’” I repeat. “You really expect us to go on like this? Stay married, play the part of a loving, married couple, even though we’re anything but?”

“Other people have done it,” he says with a shrug.

“You don’t strike me as the type of man who’d force himself on a woman. I know real fucking well what that kind of man is like, and you’re not it.”

He chuckles. “I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said about me.”

I laugh bitterly. Then, before I lose my nerve, I say softly, “I never did thank you.”

He sets down the bottle without taking a swig.

“For what?” he asks.

“For saving me from being raped,” I reply.

It’s the closest we’ve ever come to discussing it—what happened between us at The Siren. Maybe on some level, we’ve both been avoiding it this whole time.

Like we just agreed to leave that past behind us.

As if the people who consumed each other with passion in that nightclub bathroom and the people here on this beach aren’t one and the same.

Artem nods, accepting my thanks without a word.

“Did you really not know who I was?”

“I didn’t,” Artem replies. “That’s the truth.”

I nod, but his eyes still bore into me.

“Do you believe me?”

It’s not a question I expect from him, but I understand in that moment that it does matter to Artem that I believe him.

Perhaps it even matters that I trust him.

I hesitate. “Actually… I do.”

He nods like he appreciates that.

My eyes fall to the whiskey bottle next to him. “How much have you had to drink today?” I ask.

“Not as much as usual.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What’s the usual?”

“Why do you care?” he asks, but his tone is not combative. It’s like he genuinely wants to know.

“You’re the one who keeps insisting we’re married,” I counter. “I’m playing my part. Nagging wife.”

He almost smiles at the joke. “I like whiskey.” But his shrug is too practiced, too casual. He’s used this lie before.

“No one likes whiskey that much.” I pause, then charge forward. “You wanna know what I think?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me regardless.”

I ignore that and continue. “I think you’re self-medicating.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Moreno?”

“You were different when we first met. Or maybe I was just blinded by your strength, the natural power you have,” I say. “But now I can see past it.”

He tenses a little and his forehead creases. I know he doesn’t like that, but I keep pushing forward anyway.

“You are strong. You are powerful,” I say. “But you use it as a shield to hide the pain you feel.”

“You don’t know that,” he says sharply. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” I nod. “Sometimes, when you think no one’s watching you… you look the way I feel.”

He glances at me and I know immediately that I’m right.

“Who did you lose, Artem?” I ask gently.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’m not going there.”

“Why?” I demand. “What are you afraid of?”

“Because I established a rule, remember?” he growls. “No talking about our pasts.”

“Seriously?” I say. “That’s a ridiculous rule, especially given the situation we’re in.”

“It stands.”

I cross my arms and stare Artem right in the eye. “Then we have a problem,” I tell him.

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that.”

“Because I refuse to accept that rule.”

The sunlight hits his face at just the right angle, illuminating one dark eye and turning it into shining obsidian. He looks magnificent, ferocious—and haunted.

In a way, it breaks my heart. But he’s just so damn infuriating that I can’t show him that sympathy just yet. We’re so close to… to something. A breakthrough, maybe. So I just stare at him angrily, arms crossed over my chest.

This whole morning has been strangely revelatory.

I’ve realized that I can talk to Artem.

When we’re not fighting, it’s easy and natural between us. I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. Why else would he be finally showing signs of opening up to me?

Still, talking about his past seems damn near impossible. He doesn’t share that part of him. Not even with me.

Until—maybe—now.

Or maybe not.

I sense him closing up under my scrutiny. His expression turns stony, though I swear I see the flicker of emotions raging deep inside him.

“Too fucking bad,” he tells me.

I narrow my eyes and shake my head. “You were the one who forced me to marry you,” I say. “I deserve to know who you are.”

“You might not like what you hear.”

“Maybe I won’t,” I agree. “That’s a distinct possibility. But I might understand more than you think.”

“How could you possibly?” he asks. “When you have so much disdain for my world?”

“Because like you said, it’s my world, too. I was born in it. I grew up in it,” I say. “Because, despite wanting something different, your world is the only one I’ve ever known. I may have been a bystander, but my brother wasn’t. I knew what he went through to feel like he could be don one day.”

His face twitches strangely the moment I mention my brother. I don’t know what to make of that.

Like he’s hiding something from me.

Something I don’t know.

“Who did you lose, Artem?” I ask again.

The answer rises to