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

Budimir’s voice pierces through even the gunfire, but my men don’t stop shooting. I know they won’t until I give the command.

“Get your men to stand down,” Budimir yells loudly, realizing the same thing. “Or your wife will die.”

The rage is thick in my veins, but I give the order immediately. “Hold!”

The moment the shooting stops, the silence feels resounding. Ominous.

I step out from behind the pillar and watch as Budimir descends the staircase, behind at least ten of his armored soldiers.

It doesn’t exactly project an image of strength, but I know Budimir well enough to know that he would never risk his own safety for a symbolic gesture.

I move to the center of the room.

Budimir halts in front of me, several feet away. My men slowly converge around me, but their guns are still cocked and ready.

“If any of your men open fire,” Budimir says darkly, “I will slit your son’s throat and rip your wife open from throat to pussy. You understand me?”

I don’t reply. I just stare at the motherfucker, until Budimir bares his teeth.

“You fool,” he snarls, shaking his head. “Why didn’t you just stay dead?”

“How could I?” I ask. “After you stole my father’s legacy and his life?”

“Now you care about Stanislav?” Budimir asks. “You were never interested in his legacy, Artem. You were never interested in anything but yourself.”

“That’s true of the man I used to be,” I acknowledge. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past. I’m looking to correct that now.”

“By taking back what you think is yours?” Budimir asks.

I know what the bastard is doing. He’s stalling for time, trying to draw out the inevitable with this pointless fucking conversation.

And I’m forced to go along with it because he has the upper hand right now.

He has my wife.

He has my son.

“The Bratva is mine,” I growl at him. “And yes, I will take it back. When I do, you will be the first to die.”

“It’s between you and me now, nephew,” he says. “You really think my men will follow you?”

“Some will,” I reply confidently. “Some won’t. Everyone has a choice.”

“You do, too,” Budimir offers. “And it’s a simple one. Walk away or stay and fight.”

I grin. “You really expect me to believe that if I choose to walk away now, you’ll just let me go?”

He shrugs. “I won’t let you go. You already know that,” he says. “But I might be convinced to spare your wife. Your son.”

I stiffen imperceptibly. “How fucking stupid do you think I am?” I demand. “The moment I’m dead, you’ll kill my son.”

“On the contrary,” Budimir says. “I will give him the Bratva.”

I frown. “What?”

“I have no children of my own,” he tells me. “Nor will I. Someone has to take the Bratva one day, and even I can’t live forever.”

I clench and re-clench my gun. I don’t like where this is going.

“I will raise your son, and when the time comes, I will hand over the reins to him. So you see, Artem—I am not an unreasonable man. Nor am I a petty man. Your son will one day be the next don,” Budimir concludes. “If you choose correctly.”

I find myself pausing, taking a moment to weight the pros and cons of his offer.

I believe that he’s serious. Budimir doesn’t have children, and he needs a successor. There’s a certain fucked-up logic to it all.

“Well, Artem?” Budimir says. I can see the smirk playing on his lips.

He knows that I have to consider the option. Maybe he even believes I will take him up on it.

I glance around at my men, but their faces are impassive, unreadable.

If I’m dead, they will be forced to pledge their fealty to Budimir.

“Are you really considering this?”

Kian is the one who spoke. I look towards him as he steps forward, his gun raised in anger.

I hold up my hand, and he stops, but he’s not pleased about it. I see the same stubbornness in his face that I saw in Cillian’s for so many years. It hardens my resolve.

I know what I came here to do.

“You bought yourself mercenaries, Artem?” Budimir asks, mild surprise coloring his tone. “I never would have believed it.”

“Fuck you,” Kian spits. “We’re not fucking mercenaries.”

Budimir’s expression sours. “Hmm, I suppose not,” he replies. “No one would willingly choose Ireland for fighting men.”

“You murdered my brother.”

“I’ve murdered a lot of men,” Budimir replies without a shred of remorse.

Then he stops for a moment. His eyes search Kian’s face.

“Wait. Can this be… Cillian’s brother?” Budimir turns to me. “Well, well… You really did go groveling to the Irish,” he infers, clearly amused. “Nothing is beneath you, it seems.”

I snap my jaw shut, realizing in this moment that I can’t possibly take Budimir’s offer, no matter how good of an offer it might be.

My son’s life is worth everything to me.

But what Budimir is offering Phoenix is not survival. It’s a living hell.

My uncle is nothing more than a bully and a monster. He will mold my son in his image and keep Esme and Phoenix apart.

It is not the life Esme wants for herself or for our child.

It’s not the life I intend for us to have.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply. “For my family.”

Budimir’s eyes narrow at me but he holds his tongue just as one of his men appears at the balcony. He steps aside to let two armed guards walk forward. And between them…

“Esme.”

Her eyes find mine and it’s as if she’s heard my whisper. She looks scared. But there’s also a certain conviction in her posture, in her gold eyes that helps calm me.

My queen is okay.

But where’s Phoenix?

That’s the first thought that pops into my head after I’ve reassured myself that Esme looks fine. Physically, at least.

I meet her eyes again, but she looks away this time, as though she’s scared to give something away.

“Bring her down,” Budimir commands. “I’m sure Artem wants a better last look at his wife.”

Esme strides down the staircase with