Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2) Nicole Fox (no david read aloud TXT) 📖

leave her unprotected. She put her neck on the line for several weeks up until this point. I won’t forget that.”

Maxim nods, stone faced. “I’ll tell Luka.”

“Good,” I say. “That’s it. Let’s get going.”

I jump into the closest SUV, and we head into the heart of the city, towards the Regency. The whole time, my fingers twitch towards my phone.

I desperately want to hear Esme’s voice before I go in there. But I resist the desire.

This isn’t a goodbye.

I will see her again. I will hear her voice again.

I don’t need to hear it now.

Today is just business as usual.

The moment we get within a block of the hotel, I notice that security has been ramped up. Of course, the general public will assume that a politician or some high-profile celebrity is in town.

But I know better. I see the guns in the jackets of the suited men swirling around the entrances. I see the reinforced armoring of the cars.

This is all the city’s richest criminals here to do their dirt.

And I’m getting ready to crash the party.

We parks the cars in the hotel’s parking lot, but I make no move to get out.

“Hold back,” I tell my men. “We need to wait until everyone is inside.”

So we wait, watching as more cars line up outside the hotel. They deposit a group of men and drive off. Some of them park in the lot. Most don’t.

I look up at the towering building, knowing that Budimir is in one of the topmost floors, probably already congratulating himself on his coronation as the newly legitimized don of the Kovalyov Bratva.

Not for long, you son of a bitch.

“Maxim is approaching,” one of my men lets me know.

I roll down my window as Maxim approaches. He’s dressed subtly, but I can see the thick outline of the bullet proof vest he’s wearing underneath.

“What is it?” I ask.

Maxim’s face is grim. “Kovar is here.”

I stare at him in shock for a moment. “Say that name again.”

He grimaces. “Kovar. I recognized him immediately.”

“Budimir invited that motherfucker to the don’s council meeting?” I say, mostly to myself.

Maxim nods.

“Fuck,” I grumble. “The old bastard is more off the rails than I thought.”

Throughout my whole childhood, Kovar was more of a ghost than a person. Like the boogeyman—a myth about a terrible creature lurking in the shadows.

It wasn’t until I got older that I understood he was real.

And he wasn’t a ghost. He was a man. A cruel man. A bloodthirsty man. A man with no code, no morals, no philosophy.

He just lived for spilling blood.

I had never come face to face with him, nor was that ever a realistic possibility. Not since Stanislav and the other dons exiled him from the council table.

Several Years Earlier: “Exiled?” I ask. “Can you do that?”

Stanislav looks at me with careful eyes that give nothing away. But I can tell from the set of his jaw that he’s pissed off.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he tells me. “I am the fucking don. And he is nothing but a sewer rat that needs to be squashed.”

“A sewer rat that made a hundred million last year.”

“By selling children into prostitution,” Stanislav snarls, and I realize suddenly that he’s not pissed with this Kovar scum. He’s pissed with Budimir for forcing this conversation to happen in the first place. “By selling children for parts.”

“We haven’t exactly picked a moral business to deal in, brother,” Budimir says calmly. He seems completely unruffled by Stanislav’s obvious annoyance.

“Selling guns and drugs is one thing,” Stanislav points out. “We don’t deal in children. And we don’t let anyone else deal in children on our turf.”

“He’s prepared to give us a cut.”

Stanislav slams his hand down on the table. The sound seems to reverberate around us. I see the color drain from Budimir’s face.

But it’s not fear I’m sensing from him.

“When did you start turning from opportunity, brother?” Budimir demands furiously.

“It is my prerogative to do as I please,” Stanislav replies. “This is my fucking legacy.”

Budimir seems to retreat within himself. He says nothing.

“What about the other dons?” I fill in. “What will they have to say?”

“They have all agreed to the exile,” Stanislav replies. “None of them want their brand tarnished with this mudak.”

“He will not just slink away and disappear.”

“No,” Stanislav agrees. “He will continue to operate, certainly. But not in my fucking city. Not on my fucking turf. If he comes back to Los Angeles, he knows what’s waiting for him.”

I can see my uncle’s teeth grinding together, but just as swiftly as his anger had come, it’s dissipated. “You are right, brother. Forgive me. We do not need zasranec like that staining our territory.”

Stanislav nods and leans back, satisfied.

I pick up the file that’s sitting on my father’s massive table. When I open it, I see the images of all the children who’d landed in Kovar’s net.

I see ten-year-old girls in red lipstick and silky negligees. I see their wide, shocked eyes staring into the camera with a hopelessness that’s chilling.

I turn the page and see more children. Dead children, stripped and sliced and mutilated so their organs can be resold for a profit.

It’s fucking sickening. Even that word doesn’t do it justice.

“We don’t need his fucking money,” I growl.

Budimir’s eyes turn to mine. Dark, hooded, searching. His expression is hard to read at first.

And then he nods slowly. He smiles.

“Indeed,” he says. “You are your father’s son, Artem. His son, through and through.”

Had that been the moment—the one when Budimir made his choice?

The memory makes my blood run hot.

Fuck Kovar. Fuck Budimir.

They’ll both pay for everything they’ve done.

And unfortunately for them, “exile” is no longer a word in my vocabulary.

I said it on that mountaintop months ago, when my body was broken and my world shattered:

My name is death now. And death is what I have to offer.

“The other dons might not have been warned about this invite,” Maxim suggests. “They won’t like it.”

“It won’t matter,” I reply.