Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2)

by Nicole Fox

  “You play beautifully,” he tells me.

  “Thank you,” I say with a blush. “It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

  “You can’t tell,” he assures me, before gesturing to the piano. “But if you ever need to practice, feel free.”

  “Be careful: I might take you up on that offer.”

  We both chuckle. Katie scurries right back out with a pink backpack looped over her shoulders. I say goodbye to the two of them and start the walk back to the apartment.

  32

  Esme

  I feel good. Unburdened. Hopeful.

  For a little bit.

  Just like with the tea, though, the peace of the piano leaves me as soon as the moment ends. All my old anxieties rush back in.

  And the closer I get to home, the more I realize I don’t know what Artem’s return means for us.

  I’m fairly certain he isn’t planning on staying in this town forever. And I’m starting to realize that I won’t be able to bear being parted from him again.

  The first time was different. I was reeling from the shock and trauma of bloodshed and violence.

  I had just killed another man—in self-defense, obviously but it had still shaken me.

  I was terrified of bringing my child into a world marred by such tragedy, and I was thinking a lot about Cesar, too.

  He had hated being the son of a don. I could see that now. He had slowly wilted under the unforgiving pressure of what he was supposed to be.

  Papa expected so much from him at such a young age. It turned Cesar, from the kind, sensitive man he was, into someone colder, harder… more ruthless.

  And in the process, it broke him.

  I didn’t quite know how much was an act and how much was really him.

  I still don’t.

  And honestly, I’m not sure I want to.

  But like Artem has told me countless times before, life is not black or white. It’s grey.

  There are no heroes. There are no villains.

  There are just people who make choices.

  When I slip back into the apartment, I hear Phoenix’s familiar gurgling sounds and I know he’s up. My breasts are feeling a little heavy and I know I’ll have to feed him soon.

  But I slow as I approach the bedroom door. I hang back and peek inside.

  Artem is sitting up on the bed, his back resting against the wall. He has Phoenix hoisted up against his legs that form a backrest of sorts.

  Phoenix reaches to graze Artem’s nose. Artem laughs and lets him pull at it to his heart’s content. Something inside me twists into a thick knot and I move into the room.

  “There you are, beautiful,” Artem says, turning his dark, sexy eyes on me.

  It hasn’t been that long a span of time that we’ve been apart.

  But his body has changed considerably.

  I didn’t think it could be improved upon, but somehow, he has found away. He is all hard muscle now, not an ounce of fat. Honestly, there are moments he looks like he is carved out of marble.

  His abs are defined, creating sharp ridges in his abdomen, adding a new row to his six pack. There are a few new scars on his body, one I identify as the stab wound that had almost killed him, and the other as the bullet wound near his shoulder.

  His jaw has a healthy layer of stubble, longer than what I’m used to, but it still suits him. He looks sexy in a feral, animalistic way that makes my clit throb.

  And his eyes… his goddamn eyes. Those haven’t changed a bit.

  They are just like I remember them. Intense, strong, powerful and staring at me with a possessiveness that I am just now realizing I have been craving since the moment I saw him last.

  “Come here,” he tells me.

  I go to him without hesitation. Truthfully, I think I’d do anything he says as long as he looks at me like that when he says it.

  I plunk down on the bed next to him. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. His smell breezes over me, musky and masculine. I missed that, too.

  Phoenix smiles and reaches a hand out for me. I wind my fingers through his and lean in to kiss his cheek.

  “My sweet boy,” I say softly to him.

  “Where’d you go?” Artem asks.

  “For a walk,” I tell him. “I needed to… think.”

  He nods at that, but I can’t really read his expression.

  “Sara told me to give you a message,” he says suddenly.

  I turn to him. “Yeah?”

  “She told me to tell you that she thinks about you every day.”

  I smile, feeling my eyes cloud a little. As horrific as the last few months have been, the people I’ve met along the way has made it bearable. Sara is a gem in an ugly world.

  “How did she seem to you?”

  “It looked like she was doing her best to cope.”

  I nod. I get that. I get that so much.

  “You saved her from being raped,” Artem says gently, as though waiting for me to confirm it.

  I glance at him, and he’s looking me with a soft expression.

  But he also looks… proud?

  “I couldn’t let him do that to her,” I say. “Not after… I know what it’s like to have a man you don’t want touching you, touching you.”

  Artem stiffens. He remembers that. The night we met, a lifetime ago, in that dark club bathroom…

  “It’s a violation no human being should ever have to suffer,” I go on. “I was heavily pregnant. I was so scared. But I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “Of course not,” Artem says. “That’s not who you are.”

  “I think I killed him.”

  “You didn’t,” Artem replies.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Artem nods. “I asked. You injured him. Badly. But you didn’t kill him.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

  “If you had killed him, he would have deserved it,” he points out.

  “True. More than most.”

  He leans in and kisses my lips gently. “It seems you leave quite an impression wherever you go.”

  I smirk. “Is that a crack?”

  “It’s a compliment,” he says innocently.

  “At least I got to say goodbye to Sara,” I sigh. “I left Tonya without a word.”

  “Yeah…”

  I frown at Artem’s reaction and study his expression. “You mentioned you met her, too, right?”

  He nods. “You may have hurt her feelings, leaving the way you did.”

  “Fuck,” I sigh. “I knew I would. But I was just so panicked when I made the decision to go, and I didn’t think I could deal with another goodbye. I had to leave that place.”

  “I’m not blaming you,” he reassures me. “My only question is why didn’t you leave sooner. That place was depressing as fuck.”

  I nod, remembering just how awful it felt. To be surrounded by so much grief and heartache was… overwhelming, to say the least.

  “I’d just given birth to Phoenix, my body needed time to recover, and I couldn’t afford to rent out a place of my own, especially considering I had no money coming in. The shelter was my best option to recuperate.”

  I look at Artem, and realize how much he still doesn’t know.

  But his eyes are looking at me and they’re soft and gentle and they’re saying, Tell me.

  So I tell him.

  I tell him about Sara and Ruby and the third trimester of my pregnancy.

  I tell him about cramps and sporadic doctor’s appointments whenever I could find the money for them.

  I tell him about the time I woke up believing I’d lost the baby because I had bled into my underwear.

  I tell him about going to the bus station late at night, only to have Geoffrey drive me to the hospital as I went into labor and subsequently lost consciousness.

  I tell him about waking up to meet my son, only to flee the hospital hours later.

  I tell him about my time at the she
lter and the unexpected friendship I’d found with Tonya.

  I tell him about Nancy and the moment when I realized I wasn’t about to endanger my son’s life by staying at the shelter any longer.

  I tell him about accepting an under the counter job at the day care, because it meant I would get to earn money as well as be with Phoenix.

  I tell him about sleepless nights and busy mornings.

  I tell him about leaking breasts and bouts of incessant crying.

  I tell him about walking by the ocean in the evenings with Phoenix.

  I talk so much that, by the time I’ve run out of things to tell him, I’m parched and my throat is dry and I feel emotionally drained.

  I hadn’t even realized how much I needed to tell my story.

  Artem, to his credit, doesn’t say a word the entire time. He just listens to me, holding my hand or stoking my back while I let it all spill out of me.

  And when I finally fall silently, he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

  “Esme,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

  I frown. “You’re sorry…?”

  He nods. “For everything that you had to go through,” he explains. “I should have been there with you the entire time. I should have given you the life you deserve. You should never have had to take a job that’s beneath you or sleep in a shelter or…”

  “I’m the one who chose to leave,” I point out. “I never apologized for that.”

  Artem falls silent at that, his expression flickering with conflict, and I realize something.

  He’s angry at me for leaving.

  I take his hand. He meets my gaze. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows I can see that these months haven’t been easy for him, either.

  “You should have said goodbye,” he grits finally. It looks like it hurts him to admit that he was wounded by that.

  “If I had, I would never have left.”

  “Exactly.”

  We look at each other for a long, tense moment. So many unspoken things flying back and forth between us.

  Love and hate and hardship and the desperate fire that’s kept us coming back for more and more and more of each other from the start.

  It’s overwhelming. I can’t look away but I can’t keep staring into his eyes and feeling like my soul is completely bared.

  So I whisper, “Artem…”

  He silences me with his lips.

  I gasp against his mouth. I feel Phoenix’s little fingers cling to my hair but I let that go as I kiss my husband.

  His tongue slides between my lips, hot and insistent. I let him come in. Claim my mouth. Taste me tasting him.

  Until I’m forced to break the kiss because of the growing discomfort in my chest. I wince as Phoenix tugs on my hair harder.

  “Sorry,” I apologize. “I need to feed him.”

  Artem smiles. “Go ahead, kukolka.”

  “We still have a lot to talk about,” I remind him.

  “I know. But for right now… let’s just be together.”

  And really, there’s no way I can resist that.

  33

  Artem

  Fuck.

  Four missed calls from Maxim and two from Adrik.

  “You okay?” Esme asks as she comes out of the bedroom, holding Phoenix.

  “Of course,” I say. “I just noticed that you don’t have any food.”

  Esme bites her lower lip. “Yeah, well… I kinda live day-to-day.”

  “Don’t worry,” I reply. “I’ll go out now and get a couple of things.”

  “Okay,” Esme says without argument. “I’ll see you in the evening then?”

  “Evening?” I repeat, turning to her.

  “I have to go in to work today,” she tells me like it’s unavoidable.

  My eyes narrow. I step forward. “You’re not going to work today. Or any day.”

  Esme raises her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “Esme, that job is beneath you. It’s not what you want to do,” I tell her. “And you don’t have to anymore.”

  “But—”

  “Tell me you like going in to work every day, and I won’t say another word,” I challenge.

  She hesitates. I can see her contemplating a proud lie.

  Then she sighs. “Fine. I don’t like the job.”

  “Then don’t do it,” I tell her. “You’re not on your own anymore. I’m here.”

  I see the light spark in her eyes. Hope kindling.

  Again, I feel the guilt resurface. We still haven’t discussed our plans for the future.

  Esme still has no idea that I’m poised to take over control of the Bratva.

  I have to tell her—I know that. But I’m selfish enough to cling to the moments before then.

  One more morning. One more day. One more hour.

  Then I’ll tell her.

  Then I’ll explain.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  I’m not even sure what that questions means.

  Am I sure about what?

  Her?

  Us?

  “I’m sure,” I answer firmly.

  “Okay,” she says with a smile. “But I think I’ll go in anyway and explain it to them.”

  “If that’s what you want.” I pull out my wallet and pull out a couple of hundred-dollar bills. “In case you see anything you want on your walk.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says, eyeing the money almost suspiciously.

  “I haven’t been around for a while. Just take it. To make me feel better if nothing else.”

  She laughs and accepts the money. I snag her wrist and pull her close to me so I can kiss her hard, my lips pressing up hungrily against hers.

  If we’d been alone, we’d probably be fucking on the floor right now.

  But we have a son now.

  Things are different.

  And I’m all right with that.

  Esme leaves a few minutes later. The minute she’s out of the apartment, I grab my phone and call Maxim back. He picks up almost immediately.

  “Boss.”

  “What do you have for me?” I ask, jumping straight into it.

  “Anton Yahontov,” Maxim says immediately. “He’s a brigadier working for Budimir. Too low ranking for us to consider a real threat, but he’s only a few miles away from you right now.”

  I freeze. “What?”

  “I thought he was tailing you for a while,” Maxim replies. “But not the case. He has a home in town.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “It might be worth paying him a visit.”

  “And why’s that?” I ask.

  “Because my sources tell me he’s been in a few meetings with Budimir’s goons,” Maxim tells me. “He may not have sensitive information for us, but he might have something.”

  I clench my fist. Finally, a fucking break in this brewing guerilla war. “Then I’ll stop by and say hello,” I reply darkly.

  “Got it, boss,” Maxim replies. “And congrats on finding her, by the way.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” I demand.

  He chuckles low. “It’s in your voice. You don’t sound half dead anymore.”

  Cheeky motherfucker.

  “Keep me posted,” I growl, fighting to keep a smirk off my face.

  “Will do, boss,” Maxim answers. “I’ll drop you his location.”

  The line goes dead and a couple of seconds later, my phone pings with a location alert.

  I leave the apartment, jump in my car, and drive straight to the house.

  It’s nestled in the deep suburbs of the town, but I’m not worried. I can be in and out with no one being the wiser.

  The house is run down, obviously neglected, but it’s clear that someone’s inside. There’s a car parked in the driveway and the blinds have been drawn.

  I stake the place out for an hour but it seems he’s the only one inside.

  Considerate of him to make this so easy for me.

  Once
I’m confident we’re not going to be interrupted, I turn off my engine and decide to get this over with quickly. As I hide away my gun, I feel a stab of uncertainty.

  When Esme finds out, she’s going to be devastated.

  But embracing this life is the only way to protect her and Phoenix.

  Once Budimir knows I’m alive, he’ll come for me.

  I have to get him first.

  I already know he hasn’t stopped searching for Esme. Maxim uncovered one of his plots to find her. But he’s got his men searching in the wrong place.

  He thinks she’s gone back to Mexico. He’s assumed—incorrectly, of course—that she’s found refuge with one of her father’s former allies.

  It’s a good thing he doesn’t know Esme like I do.

  I set my jaw with determination and get out of the car.

  I’ve always known who I was. This has nothing to do with my father. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Cillian.

  This is about me.

  I am what my father made me.

  And there is no life for me outside of the Bratva.

  I make my way around the narrow fence that leads to the back of the house. The garden is small and unkempt. Weeds have overrun the grassy area and the brick walkway has been uprooted.

  I step over and move to one of the windows. I scan the area, thankful that the other houses give me coverage. There’s only one window facing me, but the blinds have been drawn.

  It’s not a guarantee I won’t be noticed, but I’m far enough away that my features should be obscured.

  Then I hear movement. I duck sideways behind the door.

  I glance through the window, and see the man I assume is Anton Yahontov. He’s of medium build and height, nothing particularly notable. I can see large, ugly tattoos peeking out from his sleeveless muscle tee.

  I roll my eyes, then return to the front of the house. I keep my gun in hand and knock casually.

  A few seconds later, I hear him coming. Like an idiot, he doesn’t ask who’s at the door before he opens it.

  But he sure as fuck knows who I am when he sees me.

  He goes deathly pale, his unnaturally red cheeks going even redder beneath his grisly beard.

  “Make one move and I’ll blow your intestines right out,” I growl, keeping the gun pointed directly at him.