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

Did I know then that he was going to be an important part of my life?

Sometimes, it feels like I did know.

I remember that strange sensation in your gut that stirs anytime you meet someone who leaves a lasting impression.

It was more than just the fact that he was beautiful, handsome, dangerous.

It was the way he looked at me, claiming me with his eyes in a way that made me want to give him everything I had.

I came back to L.A. for him.

For Artem.

Because I love him.

And that’s when it hits me. I always assumed freedom and independence was what I craved most in the world.

But I was wrong.

I wanted family.

I wanted a real family, after all those years of living in a broken one.

I came back to L.A. because Artem is my family. Phoenix, Artem and I were a real family. Nothing like the broken shell Cesar and I had been born into.

I have the chance to break the cycle that made me and I took it, knowing all the risks.

There is no turning back now.

“Esme!”

Tamara’s anguished scream forces me upright.

She has her hand on my arm, and she’s squeezing so hard that I can already feel her fingerprints bruise my skin.

Phoenix is still crying in my arms. We’re both speckled with tiny cuts from the explosion of the window.

But we got off easy.

The seats closer to the window took the brunt of the damage. At least a dozen people are slumped over, sliced to ribbons and very much dead.

The men stepping into the café through the glass window they’d just blown apart don’t seem the least bit bothered, though.

I clutch my son close to my chest as the soldiers approach, trying desperately to calm him.

“Shut the kid up,” someone barks at me.

“He’s not a kid,” I growl back, surprisingly even myself with my tone. “He’s a baby!”

“I know one way to shut him up,” someone else suggests acidly.

I feel my body go cold. “Don’t you dare come near my son,” I snarl.

I look around, trying to catch sight of Gennadi or Alik. They were sitting in the table right next to us… weren’t they?

“I suppose you’re wondering where your bodyguards are?” one masked man asks, stepping forward.

He’s decked out in full blown riot gear, and I can only see his eyes through the black mask that obscures his features.

An uncomfortable itching feeling stirs in my head and I wonder why it’s making me feel so… uneasy. More uneasy than I currently was at least.

Why does his voice feel familiar to me?

Like I’ve heard it before… a lifetime ago?

“Boys,” the man calls out mockingly. “Where are the bodyguards?”

The men behind him part to reveal two bodies, stacked one on top of the other. Lifeless limbs thrown carelessly as though they were cargo and nothing more.

The tears that prick at my eyes are immediate. I hadn’t known either man long, but they’d been protecting me. They didn’t deserve to die this way.

“There’s no one left to protect you,” the man informs me.

I look around the café. There are still people who are alive, but they’re cowering under the tables silently, hoping to escape notice.

I see a few of the waitstaff huddled behind the counter of the restaurant’s bar. Surely someone will call the cops. If the police get here, maybe we have a chance.

“No one’s coming,” the man says, as though he’s reading my mind. “We have friends in law enforcement that are happy to look the other way for a little while.”

“Bullshit,” I snap.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—the cops will get here eventually,” he agrees. “But they’ll be too late to stop me taking you… and throwing your brat off a fucking bridge.”

I won’t let him see my fear. I won’t let him see my fear. I won’t let him see my fear.

I repeat the mantra in my head until it’s true. Until I have control of my body, my emotions.

My days of cowering in corners while violent men do their worst to me? Those days are over.

I’m a don’s wife now.

“Last time I saw you, that little shit was in your belly,” he remarks.

I stare at him, trying to recognize the eyes, but I’m coming up blank.

“Who are you?” I demand.

“Wow! I’m hurt,” he gasps sarcastically. “I would have thought you’d remember trying to knock my lights out in that shithole of a diner.”

“Sara,” I breathe.

“Was that her name?” he asks. “Yeah, she was a sweet piece of ass. Not that I got to taste it.”

He shifts, and I see a tiny glimpse of the ink on his throat.

The man with the eagle tattoo.

I shake my head uncomprehendingly. “Why are you here?” I ask. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, I know exactly what I want,” he tells me. His tone makes his ideas in that department disgustingly clear. “But unfortunately, my needs will have to wait until after Budimir is done with you.”

I knew it.

I had known it all along, and yet the revelation still cuts me like the sharp edge of a dagger.

“You work for him?”

He nods slowly. “He recruited me and my men months back,” he tells me. “Of course, your man tried to do the same not long ago. But we’d already chosen our side.”

“Then you chose wrong,” I tell him with a strength I don’t feel.

Tamara’s fingers tighten around my arm and only then do I realize that she’s still holding on to me.

“Did I now?” he asks, sounding mildly amused.

“We have to go,” another masked man says urgently, as he comes up behind Eagle Tattoo.

He ignores his partner completely and keeps his eyes set on me.

“Your man is dead,” he says plainly. “And if he’s not, he soon will be. Budimir controls all the gangs on the Western coast.”

“You don’t know my man,” I hiss. “Artem Kovalyov will take back what’s his. And when he does, he’s going to crush every fool who moved against him.”

“Is that right?” he chuckles.

“That’s a fucking promise.”

I can see the deadly smile he’s giving