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

I have not seen in a long time. That fire, that fury—that is what has allowed him to reign supreme in the Los Angeles underworld for so long.

“Do you take me for a fool, boy?”

Boy. He called me boy. It is a slap in the face—he knows it, I know it, Budimir knows it. Hell, the driver in the front seat and the hot dog guy on the street corner probably know it too.

My anger swells up in my chest, but I bite it back and keep my mouth shut.

His gaze is still rooted on me. “Well?” he asks. “I don’t ask questions for the sake of hearing myself speak. Answer. Do you take me for a fool?”

I squeeze my fists at my side as tight as I can. “I take you for the don,” I grit icily.

“Good,” he nods. “As it should be.”

We clamber out of the Range Rover and into the side door of The Siren.

It’s packed to the rafters already. Lights arc across the ceiling. Bodies grind together on the dancefloor. Rising above it all is the thunder of the music.

But we don’t go out to the main dancefloor. One of the Bratva men on security detail leads us down a dark hall and up to another imposing iron door.

On the other side is where the meeting will take place. No doubt the other Family heads are already here. Father does not tolerate tardiness.

Just before the bodyguard opens the door for us, Father holds up a hand to signal for him to wait.

He turns to me and rests a wrinkled old hand on my wrist.

I frown in confusion. “What?” I ask.

He’s got that look on his face, the one I’ve learned not to like.

“You’re not coming in,” he says finally.

I blink. “What?”

Budimir lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, nephew.”

I shrug them both off and turn back to my father. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You’re not coming in, son,” my father repeats. “Not today. You’re not ready.”

I’m too stunned and furious to speak. He looks into my eyes and nods once.

Then he turns once more and walks through the steel door.

Leaving me alone in the hallway, with rage boiling in my veins.

4

Esme Mondrian Hotel—Los Angeles, California

“Hey girrrl! The fun has arrived!”

I force a smile as my cousin Tamara bounces into my hotel suite at the Mondrian Hotel in Los Angeles.

Everything about Tamara screams “socialite party girl.” She’s wearing a black leather mini skirt and an oversized white linen blouse that hangs carelessly off one shoulder. It’s very Cali, very fashion-forward.

Classic Tam-Tam.

She pauses suddenly once she registers my glum face.

“Seriously?” she asks, pouting a little. “Is that the welcome you give your favorite cousin?”

“What makes you think you’re my favorite cousin?” I tease.

She wrinkles her nose and flicks her long, straightened black hair off her shoulder. “First of all, duh. And secondly, um, yeah, this is most definitely not the welcome you give your favorite cousin. I’m gonna go back outside and we can try this a second time, kay? Kay.”

I snort a laugh and shake my head at my ditzy cousin. Tamara is definitely a good time and I love when we get to hang out, but I’m just not in a very social mood today.

Not after what happened just before we left Mexico.

I’d planned on spending this whole trip cooped up in the hotel room. Still, a part of me is glad not to be alone.

I stand and give Tamara the hug she’s been waiting for. To my surprise, even when I try to pull away, she holds on to me, prolonging the hug a little.

“You okay, chica?” she asks as she releases me.

I frown. It isn’t like Tamara to get all serious right off the bat.

“I’m fine,” I reply with a shrug, even though I feel anything but fine.

Tamara’s voice drops low. “Has he been awful lately?”

She doesn’t have to say my father’s name for me to know who she’s talking about.

But I hesitate anyways. “Why do you ask?”

“Because of this.” She traces the bruise along my jaw tenderly with her fingers. Her eyes are wide with sympathy.

“Oh.” I’d forgot all about the slap. “It’s not a big deal.”

I can feel Tamara’s eyes on me for a moment before she opens the large, trendy leather bag she’s carrying. Her blonde highlights glint under the sunlight as she rummages through her bag.

When she comes up for air, she’s got a makeup kit in hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask, confused.

“I’m gonna fix your face.”

“My face is fine,” I argue. “You can barely see the bruise anymore.”

“I beg to differ. Trust me, you don’t want that thing exposed when we’re hitting the clubs later.”

I laugh bitterly. “I hate to burst your bubble, but we won’t be hitting anything tonight except for an early bedtime.”

Tamara rolls her eyes and starts pulling out a range of different concealers and some blush.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Tamara…”

“Hush up, girl, unless you wanna get stabbed in the eye with mascara,” she says absent-mindedly.

She forces me to sit down on the white sofa facing the window and gets to work on my face.

I concede defeat and let her do what she wants to. It’s easier than arguing.

My thoughts float aimlessly as I stare out at the LA skyline.

I can imagine Papa’s voice in my ear. Sit in your cage and be quiet, little bird. Sit and smile. It doesn’t matter if you’re happy or not. Just keep smiling.

“Earth to Esme! Where’s your head at, girl?”

I blink and focus on Tamara. “Doesn’t matter,” I mumble. “How about we head to the spa now? I’d really love to get out of this room.”

She doesn’t argue. We get our bags and head down to the spa with two of my new guards in tow.

I notice Tamara checking out Ansel. He’s the taller of the two guards and he’s got a pair of tattoos on his face, which contribute to how dangerous he looks. I’m willing to bet anything that’s