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

blonde behind the receptionist’s desk had given me an address.

That address belonged to a small, subsidized apartment complex not too far away.

I park my car on the street, just in case Esme is watching through the window.

Even from a distance, it looks shabby at best. It turns my stomach to know that my wife and son are living here.

Apartment three-fourteen. That’s what the girl told me.

There are no elevators, so I take the stairs up to the third floor and I walk down until I hit the right place. The whole place smells like disinfectant, cigarette smoke, and the salt of the ocean.

There is a window set right next to the door, but the curtains are drawn so I can’t see inside. I cover the peephole with one hand.

Then I take a deep breath and knock twice. I knock softly, calmly, even though every nerve ending in my body is screaming to kick the door in and drag her out of here at once.

No response.

I wait, but I can’t hear a thing from inside.

Is she here?

The woman at the day care told me that Esme’s hours were nine to six, which means she would have left at least two hours ago.

I knock again, this time a little louder than before.

The wait is killing me. I feel like I’m going to choke through the silence.

Just when I’m contemplating knocking down the door and forcing my way in, I hear soft footsteps. I keep my palm pressed firmly against the peephole.

“Who is it?”

I feel my body go still with recognition at that soft lilt.

Esme.

I’d finally found her.

“Who is it?” she calls again. I can hear the reluctance to answer in her tone.

I don’t answer but I knock again. I hear the bolt being undone and a second later, the door opens a crack, chain rattling.

Two large hazel-gold eyes look right at me.

Then she gasps.

She slams the door shut at once. I freeze for a moment at the sheer fucking audacity. As if a door will keep me away from my wife and son.

But then I hear the chain clank. The doorknob turns once more.

And then the door swings inward.

Esme just stands there, staring at me as though she’s confronting a ghost.

“Artem?” she says at last. Her voice trembles like she’s not sure whether to cry or scream.

“Can I come in?” I ask. It’s taking all of my willpower to stay cool.

She drops her hand and moves back, letting me in without a word.

I’m not fooling myself into thinking that she wants me in her space, though. I’ve taken advantage of her shock to get this far.

I have a feeling that shock is about to fade very, very quickly.

“You found me,” she whispers.

“It took me some time, too.”

I scan around the apartment—if you could even call it that.

It’s comically tiny. The kitchen and living room are basically one space, but there are two doors in the left-hand wall.

One is open—the bathroom.

The second door is closed. Which makes it a bedroom.

And if the living area is empty…

The bedroom is where my son lies.

“He’s sleeping,” she says quickly, noticing where my gaze is focused. “I just got him to go down.”

I turn to her, my gaze is sharp, angry… accusing.

“Phoenix,” I murmur.

I have the satisfaction of seeing her flinch back with shock.

“How did you know?” she asks.

“You left quite the trail behind you.”

“Who did you speak to?”

“Who didn’t I speak to?” I counter. “There was Sara, Geoffrey, Maisie, Tonya… Did I leave anyone out?”

Her eyes glaze over at my tone. She pivots away from me and hugs her arms across her chest.

I wince at her obvious fear.

I had planned on holding back, taking it easy on her.

These past few months can’t have been easy. I can see the truth of that in her excessively thin frame, her hollowed-in cheek bones and the dark circles under her eyes.

She’s still as beautiful as ever. Nothing can destroy that.

But her beauty is more haunting than glowing now.

“You can’t even look at me,” I spit.

At that, she turns on me, angry as hell.

I see the spark in her eyes, that old fire that used to infuriate and attract me in equal measure.

“What do you want from me?” she demands. “I did what I had to do!”

She’s upset and clearly rattled to see me, but I can see the underlying emotion hiding just underneath indignation.

She wants me to understand.

She wants me to absolve her of her guilt.

She glances towards the closed bedroom door before her eyes flicker back to me.

“You could have stayed,” I say quietly.

“You told me we could be a family,” she throws back at me. “You promised me a different life. You told me you would leave the Bratva behind.”

“Esme—”

I move forward, my hand reaching out to her.

But she flinches back, a sob escaping her lips. She looks so… worn out, almost defeated.

“Is this life better?” I ask.

Her eyes flash. “Fuck you.”

I’m angry, too, but my anger is quickly fading as I face those startling hazel eyes of hers.

What does our son looks like? Is he more Moreno or Kovalyov?

I won’t care either way. I’m just curious, desperate for more.

Of him.

Of her.

Of us.

“Esme…” I try again, moving closer.

Another step back and she’s going to hit the wall behind her. There’s nowhere else for her to go. This shoe box of an apartment doesn’t leave her very many opportunities for escape.

She shakes her head. “No, Artem,” she says. “It’s not that easy. What do you want?”

“I want you,” I answer. “I want my son.”

She keeps shaking her head, but she looks as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

I can see the need in her eyes. She’s missed me.

“Did you really think I’d just let you go?” I ask quietly.

“I thought you did,” she says, and her voice hikes up with emotion.

Hurt. That’s what I’m hearing.

For a while there, she really believed I’d given up on her.

Shame fills me as I realize, that for a few grief-stricken months… I had.

“I thought it was what was best for