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

What I want means nothing without Esme.

Without my child.

And it’s about fucking time I get them back.

28

Artem

ONE WEEK LATER—A SMALL TOWN NEAR TIJUANA, MEXICO

The trail’s going cold.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, as I head into some random shitty diner to get some food.

I’m starving. I’m so obsessed with finding Esme that everything comes second. Everything else feels like a fucking afterthought.

Food. Sleep. Shelter.

I don’t give a damn about any of it.

I just want what I’m hunting for.

My wife. My child. My future.

But I’ve been hunting for Esme for a week now, and my frustration keeps growing relentlessly.

I slump down at the breakfast counter. A middle-aged waitress materializes in front of me.

“Can I get you something, señor?”

“Food.”

“Uh… anything in particular?” she asks sarcastically. “Menu’s right there. You do know how a restaurant works, sí?”

I fix her with a cold glare. “I don’t give a shit. Whatever’s good. And coffee. Strong.”

Then I plop my head down against the back of my hands.

Just then, an older man with grey whiskers takes the stool beside me.

“Hey, Francesca,” he greets the waitress.

“The usual?” she asks him.

“Yes, ma’am. Heart attack on a plate. No better way to start the day, am I right?”

He’s got a whimsical Southern drawl that’s way out of place down here outside of Tijuana, Mexico.

I hear her chuckle, but I’m rolling my eyes. Fuck, he’s the chatty type.

I wouldn’t have stopped here if I had the choice. But I haven’t slept in almost three days and I was starting to hallucinate on the drive from the next town over. I had to pull over somewhere or crash.

Right now, I think I’d choose crashing over a conversation with the jovial gent on the stool to my right.

“You doing all right there, son?” he asks. The man goes so far as to pat me on the back reassuringly. “Not lookin’ so hot, if you’ll permit me to say so.”

I just grunt.

“You a local or you passing through?” he asks. “’Course, that’s a bit of a loaded question, ‘cause this here is a small town and I myself am a local, but you are unfamiliar to me. So I’m guessing you’re just passing through.”

I peel myself upright with a weary sigh. Francesca sets a plate of bacon, tortillas, and scrambled eggs in front of me, then slides a full mug of extremely black coffee along with it.

I take a sip of the coffee first. Fuck, that’s good. The caffeine hits my system and brings me back to life, at least a little bit.

I realize I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Colonel Sanders here isn’t an irritant.

He’s a potential source of information.

I give him a friendly nod. “Just passing through. Looking for someone, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I pull out the picture of Esme I’ve been carrying around in my pocket and show it to him.

“Have you seen this girl?”

He frowns, but he doesn’t look like he doesn’t recognize her. “Hmm. Sure looks a lot like Emily.”

“Emily?” I’m wondering if Esme had the forethought to use an alias.

“This waitress who worked in the diner across the street,” he tells me. “Pretty young thing. Disappeared without a trace after something went down with a customer.”

“Do you remember anything else about her?” I demand. “Anything at all?” My voice is growing louder and other customers are looking over in mild alarm.

“She was pregnant,” he says, all nonchalant.

I shove off the stool immediately. The Southern man flinches away from me as though I’d just tried to take a punch at him.

“Which diner?” I ask. “What’s the name of the fucking diner?”

He recoils in fear. “That one over there,” he says with a point out the window. “La Paloma.”

I throw a fistful of crumpled pesos on the counter and charge out the door without another word.

La Paloma is hopping when I walk in. Almost every table is full. I look around as a young waitress hustles past me carrying a tray that’s far too big for her.

I head to the counter but there’s no one behind it. I do see a little bell next to the cash register though and I ring it hard a few times.

A minute later, a woman exits the kitchen. She’s wearing dark lipstick and a pinched expression that clearly betrays her annoyance.

She stops short when she sees me, her eyes skittering over my tattoos and the look of annoyance on her face turns to one of suspicion.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks.

I produce the picture of Esme. “Did this girl work for you at any point?”

Her eyes glance at the picture and I can tell immediately.

Esme was here.

The woman looks up at me. “No.”

My face falls. “Excuse me?” I demand.

“Never seen that girl before in my life.” She starts to turn away.

I round the corner of the counter and she almost runs right into me. Her eyes go wide with alarm as she registers my height and build.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she says.

“Then answer my fucking questions,” I snarl.

Her eyes skitter past me, and she sighs deeply. “Mira, I don’t know where she is, okay? She disappeared after that… incident with your jefe. She hasn’t come back or contacted me or any of my staff. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

I frown.

Clearly, she thinks I’m someone I’m not.

The question is… who?

“I don’t have a boss,” I tell her. “I’m new in town.”

She looks at me again. “How do you know Emily?” she asks cautiously.

“I’m her husband,” I reply.

“You are?” an incredulous voice bleats from behind me. I turn and find myself staring down at the petite waitress who’d passed me a minute ago with the overloaded tray.

“Yeah.”

“Can I have five minutes, Ruby?” she asks, the woman standing at my shoulder.

The woman sighs. “Fine, but be quick about it. We’re understaffed as it is.”

The waitress gestures for me to follow her, and we move into a corridor with a door to the right that leads to the kitchen. She hurries past the kitchen and further