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

long as you’re here, I will be, too,” he replies soberly. I can tell from his tone that he isn’t going to budge on that.

“Fine,” I nod. “Find a phone. Make sure it’s untraceable. Send me a place and time for tomorrow and I’ll be there.”

To my surprise, Cillian steps forward and embraces me. “Take care of yourself, Artem,” he whispers in my ear. “I mean that.”

“You do the same,” I tell him. “You’re ugly enough without a bullet hole in the face.”

We both laugh as we separate. It’s the kind of parting I never thought he and I would share.

The kind where you don’t know if it may be your last.

We exchange one final nod. Then I spin on my heel and push through the front doors.

I take stock of my surroundings. There’s a park just a short ways down the block lined with trees. When I step around the side of the building, I see a dirt path leading from the fire escape Esme climbed down. It leads off into the shrubbery.

That’s as good a place to start as any.

I break out into a jog—just as I hear the jangle of the front doors opening again. I hurl myself behind a bush and peek back over my shoulder.

Borya and Evgeni are standing out front, chests heaving from exertion. Both hold pistols in their hands.

Looking for me, no doubt.

My blood boils at their betrayal. They were part of the older contingent of Bratva men. Had served my father for decades.

And yet, they’d turned before my father was even cold in the ground.

They’ll pay for that.

As I watch, they clamber into an SUV and peel away with a screech of tires.

Carefully, I slink back away from the sidewalk under cover of the trees. I find the dirt path again and turn the corner, only to come face to face with—

“Olezka.”

The guard’s eyes go wide the moment he sees me.

He reacts instantly. His hands flies to the gun at his hip, but I move faster. I launch my body into his in a full-on football tackle.

He stumbles backwards and rams into a thick tree trunk, abandoning his reach for the gun.

Then I grab him by the neck and snap his head back against the tree like a rag doll.

There’s a nasty crunch. When his head lolls forward, I can see blood smeared on the bark.

He struggles, so I land a punch right on his jaw. His eyes swim out of focus for a moment before they’re back, still determined and ready to fight.

But this motherfucker couldn’t beat me on his best day.

And today is most certainly not that day.

I punch him again, then I grab his shirt collar in both hands and headbutt him hard in the nose.

Another crack.

Another groan.

Another spurt of blood.

His head is drooping forward uselessly on his thick neck, but he’s still awake. I pin his throat to the tree with my forearm.

“You motherfucker,” I hiss. “Where’s Esme?”

I lean in, putting pressure on his neck long enough for him to start spluttering desperately, before I release just enough for him to be able to reply.

“I will not speak,” he rasps.

Bad decision.

I pull out my blade and run his stomach through. He pales when I pull the dagger out and force him to look at his blood gleaming against the shiny steel.

“One more time,” I hiss. “Or there will be much more of this on the ground soon. Where is she?”

“Urgh… I don’t fucking know,” he burbles. “We were instructed to fan out and look for her.”

“Were you working with Budimir this whole fucking time?” I ask.

I’d trusted this fucker to protect Esme while I’d been gone. Of course he’d walked away the moment I had left.

“I had to choose a side.”

“Well, you chose the fucking losing side, asshole,” I snarl. “Budimir’s gonna be pissed when he realizes you had my wife unconscious on a bed and you still managed to lose her.”

“The bitch woke up and—”

I don’t let him finish his sentence. One quick slice of my blade across his throat finishes the son of a bitch for good.

He slumps to the ground.

But I’m not done with dear old Olezka.

I slit open the shirt he’s wearing. Using his chest as a canvas, I carve out a little message for my uncle.

I work fast and messy. Olezka won’t care anymore.

When I’m done, I stand up and look down at what I’ve written. The blood clots under the light filtering down through the trees, but it’s clear as fucking day.

Tvoi dni sochteny.

Your days are numbered.

“That’s a fucking promise, Uncle,” I whisper to the corpse that chose him over me.

I wipe my blade on the leg of Olezka’s pants and sheath it. Then I turn and keep running.

I don’t know why I think I can find Esme before Budimir does, but instinct is telling me to keep walking, keep searching.

She’s out there. She’s close.

I’m glad she ran. It’s the only thing that saved her from Budimir’s men.

But a sudden thought gives me pause.

Esme doesn’t know about Budimir.

She doesn’t know that he’s after me—and by extension, after her.

But she escaped anyway.

Which begs the question… who is she escaping from?

46

Esme

A few people glance at my bare feet as I walk past them, but I ignore the stares and keep going.

It isn’t until I’ve walked out of the park, down a few alleys, and fifteen minutes into the heart of L.A. that I realize I don’t actually know where I’m going.

After all, who do I have left to run to?

Ghosts.

I have only ghosts.

I try and shake the morbid thought from my head. But it refuses to budge. My stomach roils with hunger and my body aches as it withdraws from the drugs that have been pumped into my system since I collapsed in the Bratva safehouse.

I know I need to get off the streets as fast as possible, but my head keeps running in circles, making me even more tired, even more confused.

I end up sinking onto a bench by the side of