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

to be. The others gathering around glance at me—some with open dislike, others with tempered curiosity. They’re all dressed well in dark, expensive fabrics.

And they have piercing eyes. The kind of eyes used to seeing straight through to someone’s soul.

I want to shrink back, turn around, and hide in the car.

But for some reason, Artem’s presence is the one thing that keeps me standing.

He’s shrouded in darkness, his expression shadowed and steely. I would have thought I’d shrink away from him, too, but instead I find myself wanting to reach out.

To take his hand and give him the comfort I never got when Cesar died.

My hand twitches towards his, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m scared that he’ll pull away from me.

Before I know it, they start lowering the coffin into the grave. No one has spoken any prayers or anything, and I’m pretty damn sure none of these people are priests, so I’m not sure if we arrived too late for the formalities or if the people in this world just don’t give a shit about sending off the dead with respect.

Whatever the case, the coffin descends slowly into the shadowy pit.

I glance at Artem. His expression hasn’t changed since I arrived.

“Are you okay?” I whisper to him.

He doesn’t bother responding to me. His eyes remain fixed on his father’s coffin.

Only once it’s lowered all the way down does he move forward to grab a fistful of dirt from the pile at his feet.

He extends his fist over the gaping hole and releases the red earth over the final resting place of the man who raised him.

It feels like an intensely private moment. Not meant for my eyes.

I look away, embarrassed to be caught watching.

And when I do, I spot a man in the distance.

Unlike everyone else at the funeral, he’s not well dressed.

And unlike everyone else, his eyes aren’t trained on the coffin.

They’re on Artem.

I start to mumble, “Who is—”

That’s when the first gunshot is fired.

37

Artem

What were his last words to me?

What were my last words to him?

I can’t for the life of me pull them from the depths of my memories.

All I remember is that when he had last called me, I’d been distracted and impatient, desperate to get off the phone so that I could obsess about the dark-haired temptress sleeping one door down from me.

My eyes flicker over to Esme, who’s standing next to me, mute but watchful.

I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes. To face this new reality.

Becoming don will change everything for me.

Which means it will change everything for her, too.

Before, Stanislav ran things. Now, I do.

That means the life he had will now be mine. It’s a life I know Esme wants no part of. She’s made that very fucking clear.

The question is… since when did I start caring what Esme wants?

You’re a cold bastard.

She deserves better than that.

Marisha deserved better, too.

I release the dirt. It falls through the air in slow motion and lands on top of my father’s coffin.

Next to me, I see Esme frowning out of the corner of my eye. Her gaze is fixed in the distance.

I start to follow it, to see what she’s looking at. And at the same time, I hear her say, “Who is—?”

The next thing I hear is the blast of a gun.

The bullet whistles past my ear, an inch away from ending my life. It strikes a bodyguard standing a few yards behind me.

He hits the ground without so much as a whimper.

Dead.

I don’t think. I just act.

What did my father always teach me to do in a firefight?

Grab what matters and take cover.

So that’s what I do.

Esme is next to me. She’s cowering low, her knees in the dirt and her hands covering her head.

I grab her arm. She gasps and tries to fight back before realizing it’s me.

“Artem!”

I don’t have time to reply. For the first time in my life, I’m running away from the fight instead of towards it.

Instead, I pull her to her feet and try and shield her with my body as we run from the burial site.

People scatter to the wind like flailing ants.

A fresh cacophony of gunshots is fired.

Esme stumbles, but I keep her up and moving, sprinting towards the black gates at the perimeter of the graveyard.

I sense more attackers coming before I see them. Grabbing Esme, I yank her into my body as I turn, my gun at the ready.

I fire off three shots and two of the men tailing us take hits. I’m pretty sure I’ve killed one, but the other is still alive, screaming with agony as the blood spurts from his abdomen.

Esme shakes against my chest but I don’t have time to make sure she’s all right.

I just need to get her out of here and somewhere safe.

We step onto the cemetery streets just as more men converge behind us. I pull Esme out of the line of another gunshot and fire back with three rounds.

The shooter drops to the floor but there are still two others coming.

“Get behind that car!” I order Esme, pushing her behind a blue Lexus.

Her hand clings to my arm in hesitation, but I look at her urgently.

“I will protect you,” I promise her. “But you’ve got to listen to me.”

She nods and ducks behind the car for cover. I go straight for the pair of men who’ve come for us.

I fire as I run, forcing them to go on the defensive. When I get close enough, I shoot one right between the eyes and plunge my fist right into the second attacker’s face.

He falls back and cracks his skull hard against the asphalt road, blood pooling at the back of his head. His eyes stare up at me, dazed.

I make sure to look him square in the eye when I shoot him in the face.

I spot another shooter behind a tree and take cover behind a silver Prius before I start