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

I collapse gratefully onto the mattress. It feels like a cloud. Tam-Tam is not one to skimp when it comes to her beauty sleep.

I’ve just settled in between the soft cotton sheets when the subtle chime of the doorbell interrupts my peace and quiet.

Tamara must have forgotten her wallet.

Grumbling, I get up and drag myself to the door.

I’m so sure it’s Tamara that I don’t bother checking to make sure. I undo the chain, the deadbolt, and the backup lock, and pull open the door.

But it’s not Tamara.

It’s not Tamara at all.

49

Artem

Esme tries to slam the door on me, but I move fast, blocking the door with my foot.

She yelps in fright as I shove my way inside the apartment.

The door swings shut and clicks behind me. Esme backs away like a cornered animal, her eyes twisted with fury and fear.

It’s unsettling for me to see her look at me this way.

It’s like she’s not seeing me at all, but a monster with two heads that’s hellbent on devouring her whole.

I’d been hoping our alleyway encounter was nothing more than a half-delusional reaction to waking up in an unfamiliar clinic after a traumatic experience.

But I can see now that it wasn’t a reaction at all.

Something has changed since the funeral.

“Esme,” I say as gently as I can manage.

She doesn’t answer.

Every time I move forward, she takes a step back, as though she has to maintain a five-foot distance between us at all times.

I start to say her name again, but she cuts me off. “Don’t,” she hisses.

I hold my hands up. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m done talking to you,” she snarls at me, her eyes flashing like a viper’s. “Everything you’ve ever said to me was a lie.”

I frown. “You’re confused,” I tell her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Don’t do that,” she says, her tone is as steady as mine. “Don’t make me out to be crazy or irrational. Don’t you dare belittle my feelings because it’s more convenient for you to pretend that I’m the problem.”

“I didn’t think there was a fucking problem.”

My voice comes out harsher than I intended. Esme flinches, but she stands her ground.

I take stock of her. I have to admit—she looks a lot better now than she did on the streets a few hours ago. She’s dressed in jeans that are sinfully tight and a white blouse with thin straps that shows off her delicate shoulders and sharp shoulder blades.

Her hair is bouncy and fragrant, and her face has been wiped clean of the sweat, dust, and chaos of the streets.

As pissed as I am right now, I’m also incredibly relieved that she seems to be in one piece.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the feeling is mutual.

“Esme,” I say with frustration, “we can’t stay in the city.”

“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Artem,” she snaps. Her eyes burn softly with hurt. “I want you to leave.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Too fucking bad! Because I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Fuck!” I roar, resisting the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. “Would you mind telling me why the fuck you’re acting like a madwoman right now? I’m the same man that took you to the safehouse after the funeral. So what the fuck changed?”

I see tears turn her eyes into shimmering pools of gold. She blinks and a single teardrop falls free, creating a jagged line down her cheek.

My fingers ache to reach out and wipe that tear away.

Instead, I clamp my hand into a fist.

“You want to know what changed?” she asks softly, taking another step toward me.

We’re standing close together now, her body is only inches from mine. Her breasts rise and fall with the heat of her emotion. It takes all my self-control to keep from grabbing her.

“Because you killed him,” she continues without waiting for me to answer. “You killed my brother.”

The words fall from her lips like wilted petals. Each one heartbreaking.

I draw a slow, shuddering breath.

So she’d overheard. She must’ve been awake when Cillian and I were talking. Of all the ways for her to find out, this is the worst.

At least it explains everything. Most of all, it explains the haunted look in her eyes just before she passed out at the safehouse.

She was looking at me and she wasn’t seeing the man who kept her safe from killers at that funeral.

She was seeing the man who’d ruined everything she ever loved.

I lift my eyes to Esme’s.

I will not shrink from this.

I owe her my honesty. It’s all I have left to give.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I see her hand fly up towards me. I could dodge the slap or snatch it out of mid-air.

But I do neither.

I stand still and accept it. My face jerks to the side when her palm makes contact with the side of my jaw.

It’s a faint sting. Hardly enough to register—physically, at least.

But in some ways, it’s the most agonizing thing I’ve ever felt.

“You bastard,” she spits. “You fucking bastard.”

I say nothing.

Esme is shaking her head. She takes one slow step away from me, though her eyes never leave mine. “You lied to me.”

“I never lied to you.” It’s a cop-out, but I have to say something. I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me. The hate, the burning fucking rage in her eyes. “I just didn’t tell you that part of my past.”

“It was my past too!” she screams. Her tears are gathering faster now. “He was my brother and I loved him.”

Her love for him is the only thing that prevents me from telling her everything.

It’s the only thing protecting her from the truth of what happened all those years ago.

“I can’t change what happened, Esme.”

She stills for a moment, her eyes fluttering to me as tears glisten like frost on her long eyelashes. “Even if you could change what happened… would you?”

Fuck me.

Of all the questions she could have asked, did she have to ask that one.

I