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

us off outside of Tam’s building, a huge, pink building with a lattice of roses up the front. We race upstairs, still cackling like maniacs, and into her chic two-bedroom apartment.

The moment Tamara closes the door behind us, I breathe a sigh of relief and throw my bag down on the glass coffee table.

“I can’t believe it,” I laugh. “We did it!”

“Well, I did it,” Tamara reminds me with a friendly nudge in the ribs. “You just tagged along.”

“Fair enough,” I smile. “You can have all the credit.”

She grins. “Aren’t you glad you decided to listen to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t get a big head about it.”

But we both know I’m lying. I would’ve never done something this reckless on my own. And truth be told, I’m not stupid enough to think I’ve gotten away with anything just yet.

No doubt there’ll be hell to pay if my father finds out.

But that’s a problem for future Esme. If there are any consequences, I’ll deal with them later.

My life is closing in on me even faster than I’ve always feared. I want to live a little—while I still can.

“Come on. Let me doll you up. You can borrow something from my wardrobe for tonight,” Tamara says, leading me into her bedroom.

I raise my eyebrows as I walk in. Tamara’s room is complete and utter chaos. Clothes piled everywhere, makeup littering the top of her vanity, half-eaten snacks lying on the bedside table.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. The maid’s coming tomorrow,” she sasses as she flings open her wardrobe and starts riffling through it.

I stand in the doorway, scared to go any further for fear of triggering a hidden landmine or something, as she throws clothing items over her shoulder without looking.

“Ah ha!” She re-emerges, holding something up triumphantly. “Here. This little number will suit you perfectly.”

I stare in disbelief at the dress she’s picked out for me. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

Tamara frowns. “What? Too much?”

I laugh. The dress is made of what looks like sheer chainmail. The neckline seems explicitly designed to reveal my boobs to the world and a thigh slit that rises up to show everything else.

“It would have to be invisible to be any more revealing,” I drawl.

Tamara laughs. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Can you even wear underwear with it?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious.

“The point is to show off your underwear,” Tamara tells me with a wink.

I shake my head. “Pass. I think I’ll choose something myself for tonight.”

Tamara sighs dramatically, but she moves over to make room for me.

We spend the next couple of hours playing dress up and laughing. At some point, Tamara pours us each a huge glass of red wine—full enough that mine sloshes over the rim a bit when she hands it to me—and we start drinking.

In the end, the dress I choose is a simple, black mini, but the cut is really sexy. It has thin straps and a bustier that emphasizes my cleavage while still keeping the look classy. The hemline is short, ending just a couple of inches below my butt, but the structure is figure-hugging and flattering, highlighting my curves and making me look sophisticated and a little more mature.

I slip on a pair of strappy silver stilettos and let Tammy go to work on me with some lipstick, eyeliner, and rouge.

“Nothing too dramatic,” she reassures me. “Just enough to make your natural features pop a little more.”

So she says. I’m not in an arguing mood. I’m mostly happy to sip on my wine and let Tam take control of the night. She knows better than I do how to live it up.

We go back and forth about what to do with my hair. Ultimately, I just pull it free from its messy top knot and leave it hanging down my shoulders.

Tam laughs. “Like a fierce lioness! Rawr!”

But then she smiles and gives me a mushy kiss on the cheek and I know that it’s a good look for me.

I stare at myself in the mirror, almost in disbelief. Papa never allowed me to dress too sexy. Claimed it would make me look like a “whore.”

But as I cast a critical eye over my look, I feel strong and confident.

Fuck what Papa thinks.

“Damn, girl!” Tamara exclaims as she turns me around to take one final look. “You look hot as hell.”

I smile. “Thanks. So do you.”

She really does. She’s wearing a red halter with a low neckline and a black leather skirt that’s even shorter than mine.

“Please,” Tamara snorts dismissively, “no one’s gonna be looking at me with you in the room.”

The sun set at some point while we were drinking and laughing. The L.A. day has turned into a warm and bustling L.A. night.

I’m feeling really good as we head to one of Tamara’s favorite haunts in the city: an upscale club called The Siren.

As we pay for our ride and hop out of the taxi, I can see how popular it is by the huge line extending out of its doors.

“Oh, jeez. How are we gonna get in?” I ask nervously.

“Um, have you seen yourself?” she chuckles. “Have you seen me? It’s no problema. Come on, baby cousin, let me show you how it’s done.”

Tamara ignores the line of people completely as she heads for the bouncer at the entrance to the club.

Some of the women queued up there shoot us angry glances.

The men, on the other hand, yell compliments that oscillate between flattering and creepy.

I ignore them all and follow Tamara. I expect her to take the lead, but the moment we get to the bouncer, Tamara grabs my hand and pushes me forward in front of her.

The bouncer, a tall, handsome guy in a black leather jacket, takes one slow look up and down at each of us, then flashes a dazzling smile.

I shiver. Is everyone in Los Angeles this good looking?

“You girls have fun in there.” He unhooks the velvet rope and ushers us in through the VIP entrance.

I laugh as