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

Was it when our paths had first crossed at The Siren four months before then?

Was it the day I was born into this horrible world?

I see the concern in Tamara’s eyes, pure and honest. That’s what unravels me.

I open my mouth to explain, but only a sob comes out.

And then I’m crying—full, hacking sobs that double me over and drain the breath from my lungs.

Tamara’s face crumples as she moves towards me and wraps her arms around me.

“Hey,” she says soothingly. “Hey, chica, it’s okay.”

My whole body convulses while I cling to her. “No, it’s not… It’s never going to be okay again.”

I lean against the only family I have left, desperate for the warmth and comfort of someone familiar. She sinks to the floor with me and holds me until my sobs subside.

Only then does she pulls away, though she keeps both hands on my shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I hiccup.

Tamara’s eyes are conflicted as she looks me over. It’s like she’s trying to figure out how to not break me.

It makes me realize that I hadn’t been thinking clearly when I’d decided to come to her apartment.

I’ve endangered Tamara now by coming here.

The blade edge of clarity cuts through my fog and my stomach twists in knots.

“I should leave,” I start to stammer. I try to struggle to my feet.

“What are you talking about?” Tamara asks, with a frown.

“I need to leave, Tamara. There are men looking for me. Bad men.” I’m stumbling over my words as I move back towards the door.

Tamara grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. “Esme, you have no shoes on.”

I look down at my bare feet, covered in layers of dirt and grime and oozing cuts that I haven’t had the luxury of noticing until now.

“It’s not safe for me here.”

“You can’t leave!”

Startled, I look at her with raised eyebrows and she gives me a quick smile.

“Don’t take this the wrong way honey,” Tamara says. “But you look like hell.”

A burst of laughter escapes from my lips. Tamara’s smile irons out a little. “Come on… let’s get you a nice, hot shower. Afterwards, when you’re ready, we can talk.”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice. I don’t have much willpower left to argue.

I let myself be led to the bathroom, where Tamara helps me out of my clothes and into the tub. She puts on some music and places a fresh towel on the railing next to the tub.

“I’ll go see what I have in the fridge for you,” she says as she backs out of the bathroom.

I sit in the tub and soak for fifteen glorious minutes until I’ve washed off the anxiety and sweat of the last several hours.

Bit by bit, my muscles unclench. And when I empty the tub and watch the dirt of the last few days whisk away down the drain, it feels like I’m letting some of the fear go with it.

It takes the edge away, but it’s nowhere near a cure-all.

I may be clean now, but I’m far from safe.

Reluctantly, I get out of the tub and towel myself off. When I walk back into Tamara’s bedroom, I find a fresh pair of jeans and a white silk blouse laid out on the bed for me.

I dress and comb out my hair, vaguely aware of Tamara’s voice coming from the kitchen. She’s on the phone, but her tone is hushed, so I have no idea who she’s talking to.

She hangs up, picks up a small tray, and walks around the kitchen island towards the room. I duck back inside and wait for her on the bed.

“Hey, you,” she says, as she enters. “Feel better?”

“Marginally,” I acknowledge just as her phone pings again.

She ignores it and sits on the bed next to me. “There wasn’t much, but this should hold you over until I can order some real food.”

The tray is filled with crackers, cheese, and grapes. There’s also two full glasses, one with orange juice and another with water.

I grab the water first and down it within seconds. Then I reach for the crackers and cheese as my stomach churns desperately.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Tamara laughs distractedly as her phone pings twice more. She pulls it out and checks the screen, but she doesn’t respond. She just sets the phone aside and looks back at me.

“So…”

Before she finish her sentence, her phone pings for a fourth time and she sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Do you need to get that?” I ask, wondering why she’s being cagey with her phone.

Tamara is usually an open book, which is why it’s obvious when she tries to hide things.

“No,” Tamara says with a wave of her hand. “I’ll get to it later. Just another boy who’s obsessed with me. Nothing new.”

I smile. That is definitely nothing new.

“Seriously, if you need to take it, I can wait,” I assure her.

“No, no,” she says. “This is more important. Now, are you ready to talk, chica?”

I swallow crackers and cheese and take a sip of the orange juice.

“You’re not going to believe me if I do.”

She grins wickedly. “Try me.”

48

Esme

I tell Tamara everything. From the assault and subsequent hookup in The Siren bathroom when she was passed out in the stall to the attack on my family compound.

The only thing I leave out is the fact that I’m pregnant.

For some reason, I cling to that information, guarding it like a precious stone. I know I can trust Tamara, so I’m not sure why I hesitate, but I have so much else to tell that I don’t dwell on it.

By the time I’m done, I feel like I’ve been talking for as long as I can remember.

“Artem brought me back to L.A.,” I continue. “And then… well, he married me.”

“He what?” Tamara asks. Her eyes go wide, but not just with surprise. There’s another emotion in there, too—something I can’t put my finger on.

“It was a marriage of… convenience, so to speak,” I explain, trying to pretend like