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

could lie. Smooth all this over. If she just knew the story…

But I won’t.

I can’t.

“No,” I admit. “I wouldn’t.”

Her face caves in. I take a step towards her, my hand outstretched, but she flinches away from me like I’m the devil.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she snarls through her tears. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Esme,” I tell her, hoping her anger and pain won’t drown out my words. “You don’t know the reasons why I did what I did back then.”

“I don’t care,” she cries. “I don’t care about your reasons!”

“You might one day.”

That makes her stop in her tracks, her expression teetering between bewilderment and fear. It takes a lot to keep my eyes from dropping down towards her stomach.

For some reason, I’m reluctant to bring it up. Reluctant to pull the veil back and hear why she concealed the pregnancy from me.

What if I’m not the father?

“You’re just trying to confuse me,” Esme accuses, cutting through my thoughts. “You’re just trying to justify what you did.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m not justifying anything. I killed your brother and I’ll freely admit that. I’m not the hero in this story, nor will I ever be. But that doesn’t make me the villain, either.”

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Isn’t murdering another human being without reason or compunction the very definition of being a villain.”

“Life is not a fucking fairytale, Esme,” I growl. “Everything isn’t always black or white. In fact, nothing is. Your brother wasn’t a fucking saint—”

“Don’t you ever talk about my brother!”

Her body seems to fold in on itself, as though she’s trying to protect herself from my words. As though each word I say is a new and deadly weapon hurtling towards her.

“I will explain it all to you one day,” I promise her. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” she bites.

“Truth is a matter of perspective, too,” I concede, with a shrug. “So I can only offer you my truth. That’s all I have.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“I’ll you when the time is right.”

Her eyes flash at my words and dart around the room as though she’s looking for a way to escape.

“Fuck you,” she hurls at me.

I shake my head. “Stop acting like a little girl.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Artem,” she says, her lips curling derisively around my name.

I growl low, furious and frustrated in equal measure. I understand she’s processing a lot right now, but I don’t have the luxury of being patient.

“You don’t have a choice,” I tell her. “There’s a hit out on my head. Yours, too, most likely. My uncle has taken over the Bratva, which means we have only a limited amount of time before his men find us.”

Panic darkens her features for a moment, and she looks at me with something close to concern. She drops her head.

But when she looks back up again, the concern is gone, replaced by an emotion she wants me to see.

Scorn.

“I told you before,” Esme says, her tone soft. “There is no ‘us.’”

“You’re wrong about that,” I say in a low voice. “The moment I claimed you as my own on that altar, you became mine. It became ‘us.’”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”

“We have to get out of this city, Esme,” I interrupt. “I swore on that altar to keep you safe. Let me do that.”

“I plan on getting out of this city,” she says. “But not with you.”

“You won’t get far without me.”

“Why?” she snaps. “Because I’m helpless without you? I’ve got news for you, motherfucker. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“You’re delusional if you believe that,” I say. “The only way you’re going to live is if you come with me.”

“Why would I go anywhere with someone I don’t trust?” she asks. “Why would I go anywhere with someone I hate?”

I look her dead in the eye and laugh. Her anger turns confused for a moment before it snaps back again.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“You don’t hate me.”

Her eyes go wide with rage. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” I tell her. “The person you really hate right now is yourself.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps, screwing her nose up with indignation as she tries to writhe out of the trap that I’m laying for her.

“You know it, too,” I reply, backing her into a corner. “Which is why you’re not looking me in the eye right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” she says, taking the bait and meeting my gaze to prove how wrong I am. “And why the hell would I hate myself?”

I wonder if she expects me to falter, to hesitate. To hit her with another lie.

But I know I have the upper hand here.

Because this time, I’m the one bearing the truth.

“Because,” I say, as my hand darts out and grabs her by the throat, pinning her back against the wall, “you know I killed your brother. But you want me anyway.”

Shock flares up in her hazel-gold irises. I see only an iota of denial before it’s overpowered by self-awareness.

And that is all the confirmation I need before I slam my lips down on hers.

Her body freezes in shock, taken aback by the sudden assault. A gasp escapes from between her lips, sharp and sudden.

I crush her against the wall with the entire length of my body. She’s tense from head to toe. I can feel her hesitation, her desperation to resist—but her inability to commit to denying me.

She pulls her lips from mine for a moment. Her breathing is heavy, laced with lust, but she still tries.

“Stop… Please, stop.”

I know why she’s asking. She doesn’t actually want me to stop. She wants to me help her lie to herself. To keep up this charade that she really does hate me. That she really doesn’t want me.

But that would rely on me being willing to let her live those lies.

And I’m not fucking