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

by Nicole Fox

  I say it partly because it’s true.

  And partly because I know what it will do to him when I say something like that.

  With a hungry glint in his eye, Artem grabs hold of me suddenly and twists me around so that I’m lying on my back and he’s on top of me.

  It’s so quick and sudden that it takes my breath away. But I love feeling tiny in his arms. I love him throwing me around and the flex of his muscles under my fingertips.

  He hikes my legs up high around his waist and starts pummeling into me with greater and greater force. And of course I start moaning again, louder than before, and I have even less control over them than I ever do.

  Artem’s hand clamps down over my mouth.

  I squirm against him and try to seize my moans in my throat.

  But that only makes the orgasm come faster.

  I tighten my walls around his cock, basically choking him as I come, my screams muffled against his hand.

  But he doesn’t stop fucking me. He keeps going, speeding up the tempo of his thrusts until I’m clawing at his back and sucking on his fingers.

  I can feel him bruising me, but I don’t fucking care.

  I want his cock, and I want it hard.

  I throw my head back as my back arches with a second orgasm in as many minutes.

  I open my eyes. Artem’s face comes into view. It’s the only thing I see, the only image that fills my world. Him and our son—that’s all that matters. That is my world.

  His jaw is clenched with exertion, his irises dark with desire, and little beads of sweat dot his forehead.

  I can see his own orgasm coming in his eyes, so I don’t turn my gaze. I want to watch it.

  I keep the eye contact and grip him hard with my legs as he fucks me to within an inch of my life.

  Give me more, I’m saying with my body. Give me all of you and I’ll give you all of me.

  My second orgasm is more violent, more all-consuming than the first, and for a moment, it feels as though my heart is going to beat right out of my chest.

  I’m riding high on all the new sensations coursing through my body that I barely even notice Artem coming inside me seconds later.

  He stays on top of me propped up on his elbows. He kisses my neck and my breasts, rubbing his face in between them.

  I run my hands over his hair and wait patiently for my heartbeat to calm down a little.

  “Wow,” I breathe when it’s all said and done. I search for words to describe what just happened between us and come up empty. “I mean… wow.”

  He turns to me and smiles, before slowly shifting off me.

  “How’s the little man?” he asks.

  I pull myself up enough to look into Phoenix’s bassinet. He’s still sleeping contentedly, his little lips moving gently in a suckling motion that’s so precious it gives me no choice other than to lean down and kiss his nose.

  “Sleeping like the angel he is,” I reply.

  “I’m glad his mama’s screaming didn’t wake him up,” Artem teases.

  I hit his arm and settle into the crook of his embrace. “That was your fault, not mine.”

  He laughs. “Well, I’m happy to take the blame for that one.”

  We lie like that for another half an hour before Phoenix wakes up and demands milk. I feed him as Artem swims in the ocean. He’s glistening and beautiful, a mirage flashing between the waves.

  This is what I always wanted.

  This is what I need.

  Ocean. Artem. Phoenix.

  My pulse quickens as I watch Artem run out of the ocean. Ice-blue drops of water glint off his muscular body like diamonds.

  When he joins me back on our large beach blanket, I pull out the picnic lunch I’d made for our day at the beach and we pig out on ham and cheese sandwiches, salt and vinegar potato chips, sweet cherry tarts.

  Artem drinks beer. I drink lemonade. Everything feels kind of magical.

  Careful now, Esme. Nothing lasts forever.

  I swat away the unwelcome thought, but it lingers at the back of my head stubbornly. I’m aware that Artem and I still need to have a discussion about our future.

  But I’m putting it off.

  I can sense he is, too.

  We both just want to cling to the illusion of perfection that we’re currently engulfed in.

  Is that so wrong?

  After we finish eating, we pack up. Artem slings our bag over his shoulder and takes Phoenix from my arms.

  “I’ll carry the little one back,” he tells me.

  Phoenix stays awake the whole way back into town. Even when we cross the boardwalk and get into the car, he coos happily in Artem’s arms, running his tiny fingers through the curls of Artem’s beard.

  I end up driving back because I don’t want to intrude on their bonding moment.

  Though that’s also dangerous, because I can’t stop looking over at them and having my heart melt and ooze out through my eyeballs.

  We get back to the apartment just after the sun has set. Phoenix yawns hugely against Artem’s chest and starts the heavy blink that means bedtime is imminent.

  Once he’s changed and bathed, I feed him again and settle him back into his bassinet for the night. He’s asleep from the moment I set him down.

  Artem and I end up in the shower together so that we can wash the sand off our bodies.

  Of course, that inevitably ends with shower sex.

  But this time, it’s slow and tender. It soothes the ache between my legs and when we fall into bed, naked and immensely satisfied, I go to sleep every bit as fast as my son did.

  I sleep soundly for a while. But my body clock has me blinking awake when it’s still dark outside.

  I glance over at the bassinet. Phoenix is still where I placed him earlier.

  But Artem is not by my side like I expect him to be.

  It’s funny—the bed is so small, and yet it still feels empty without him.

  “Artem?”

  No answer. He must be in the bathroom or something.

  I turn to Phoenix. My breasts are heavy, so I feed him. Then I put him back in his bassinet. Still no sign of my husband.

  “Artem?” I call out again.

  No answer.

  I pad out of the bedroom and into the tiny excuse for a living room.

  Artem is sitting on the low sofa in the darkness. Gazing at the far wall as if there’s something there.

  But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. His gaze is miles away from here.

  He looks at me then, but he still feels so far away.

  It scares me all over again. It tells me what I’ve known deep in my heart since right after he showed up at my door: that the bubble is about to break.

  I temper my emotion and sit beside him.

  The fairy tale is about to end.

  You wanted to know how long this would last, didn’t you?

  Well… here’s your answer.

  “Tell me whatever you need to,” I begin.

  He sighs deeply. It’s a sound I’ve never heard from him before. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” I snap. “Just tell me what you have to.”

  He nods, but it’s still several more seconds before he finally breaks the silence.

  “Esme, you and Phoenix, you mean the world to me,” he says.

  I squeeze the armrest and brace myself for what’s coming.

  “But I never should have made you believe I was leaving the Bratva behind.”

  The hairs on my arm rise.

  But nothing else changes.

  And I know why instantly.

  Because I’ve been expecting this all long.

  Deep down, I’ve always known where Artem’s choice lay.

  “The last several weeks, I’ve been consolidating power,” Artem continues. “I’ve been preparing to take on my uncle and fight for what’s mine.”

  I nod slowly, as though I understand. Part of me doesn’t. Part of me does.

 
; “I thought I could let you go,” he confesses. “I thought I could give you the freedom you crave so much. But… I’m a selfish fucker. I want you in my life, Esme. You and Phoenix. We’re a family and we need to stick together.”

  I look down at my trembling hands, trying to process everything he is telling me.

  “Hate me if you must. Get angry with me if you have to,” he says. “But come back to Los Angeles with me.”

  I look up at his intense eyes, pooled in shadow. Despite their darkness, they’re so clear. They make me feel like I can fall into them.

  “What if I say no?” I ask.

  His body tenses instantly.

  “I… I don’t know if I can accept that,” he admits. It’s a vulnerable answer. An honest one.

  “Meaning what?” I ask. “You’ll force me back? Lock me in a room? Visit me at night to demand I perform my wifely duties?”

  A ripple of hurt flashes across his eyes but his jaw doesn’t unclench. He’s still determined. Still hopeful.

  “I will never force myself on you,” he says icily. “I just want you to understand why I can’t walk away from the Bratva, Esme.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Tell me.”

  “You may think it’s just about getting revenge. Avenging Cillian and Stanislav. And it is about that, I won’t deny it. But it’s more.”

  He grips my hand and continues.

  “The Bratva is my family. I owe it to the men who are trapped there under Budimir to free them. I owe it to the men who died for my father to come back and fight on their behalf. I owe a lot of things to a lot of people.”

  He hasn’t blinked or wavered once. His voice is strong and unyielding.

  It’s the voice of a don.

  “I’ve realized what I want now, Esme,” he tells me. “Maybe if I’d been born to a different family, things might have been different. But this is the only life I know. I can’t be anything else but what I am. This is it for me, Esme. This is my life. And I want you in it. I want to leave Phoenix with something and this is all I have to offer. My legacy. My father’s legacy. The Bratva.”

  I stare at him.

  My heart is pained, but I know what my decision is without having to think about it.

  I’ve known it for a while.

  But it had only cemented itself in my consciousness earlier today when we were at the beach.

  All I really need is my husband and my son.

  “This is not the life I want,” I tell him straight. “But…”

  I look up and Artem is waiting patiently for my answer. He looks calm, but I know he must be nervous about my answer.

  “But if it’s the only way I can keep you in my life, and in Phoenix’s… I suppose I’ll have to accept it.”

  There’s three seconds of silence and then Artem smiles.

  “You’ll come back to L.A. with me?”

  I nod.

  A part of me always knew this was an inevitability. I’d known it from the moment Artem showed up at my doorstep.

  For so long, I’ve been terrified of reliving the nightmare I lived in the Moreno compound under my father’s oppressive presence.

  But I’m a stronger woman now.

  And Artem is not Papa. He is a stronger man. A better man.

  And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will protect me with his dying breath.

  In the end, all I had to do was ask myself one simple question:

  Do I love him?

  And every time I ask myself that, no matter the circumstances, the answer stays the same. Every single fucking time.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  35

  Artem

  A Few Days Later—Los Angeles, California

  Esme is singing.

  It’s a soft sound and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. Music just comes out of her when she’s happy, as easy as breathing.

  I stand silently in the new apartment for a moment and listen. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

  It’s been a few days since I found her again. Since we found each other again, really.

  Having her and our son under one roof has been a blessing I don’t deserve. But I cherish every second like it’s priceless. Like I’ll never have it again.

  The apartment is modest, settled in a good neighborhood that’s not overly flashy. I want Esme to be safe as well as comfortable, and that means flying under the radar for a little while.

  When all this is over, I will buy her a proper home. I will give her the lifestyle she deserves.

  But until then, I need to play it safe and not draw unwanted attention to ourselves.

  Of course, Esme was thrilled with the place. It’s a spacious two-bedroom filled with natural light. Bright, clean, simple. Maxim made sure the kitchen and nursery were stocked prior to our arrival.

  Esme’s singsong murmurs move from the kitchen to the second bedroom to check on Phoenix.

  I’m about to go join her—to touch her bare hip and lean over her shoulder while she sings, to breathe in her scent, to feel her warmth against me; all those things I love—when my phone rings.

  I pick it up despite the unidentifiable contact number.

  “Yes?”

  “Hey, sladkiy.”

  “Svetlana,” I say. “Do you have any news for me?”

  “I do indeed,” she says, enthusiasm shining through in her tone. “The dons’ council meeting is set for Wednesday. Over dinner and drinks, of course, rich old men being the fat pigs that they are. Eight o’clock is the designated time. At the Regency.”

  “Excellent,” I say with a triumphant clench of the fist. “Do you have a guest list for me?”

  “Not exactly,” Svetlana replies. “But I have a few names. Maggadino. Ambrosino. Guzik. Juarez.”

  The name “Maggadino” makes my chest ache. One of the last conversations I ever had with my father was about that Italian asshole. I paid it little mind that day. Too angry to realize that my time with Stanislav was hurtling towards its end.

  I don’t have time for those feelings right now, though.

  I have a war to win.

  Svetlana continues, “I happen to know that none of them have yet recognized Budimir as don yet. Your uncle thinks this meeting will be a step in the right direction.”

  That makes me scowl. The thought of Budimir taking what’s rightfully mine is downright fucking nauseating.

  Fucker doesn’t know what he’s in for.

  “Did you manage to wrangle an invite to join him at the meeting?”

  It’s a long shot. Even my horny uncle probably wouldn’t be dumb enough to bring a piece of ass to a business affair. But worth asking nonetheless.

  “Unfortunately not,” Svetlana says wistfully.

  I can tell that she’s disappointed by the exclusion. Apparently, not even her many talents can get Budimir to bend that far.

  “He’s booked out the suite for the night, though,” she adds. “He wants me to wait there until after the council meeting is over.”

  “He’s anticipating that this meeting will be successful,” I realize. “Wants you there to celebrate.”

  “Or to punish, if things go badly,” Svetlana suggests darkly.

  I grimace. That’s certainly not out of the question. But it won’t happen on my watch.

  “I’ll have men stationed around the Regency,” I assure her. “I’ve assigned one to you specifically. In case things go south.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” I say. “Like I said, you’re a part of the team. And I protect my men… and women.”

  “Thanks, darling,” she murmurs.

  I hang up and turn to see Esme standing at the threshold of Phoenix’s room. She’s watching me carefully, clearly having heard some of my conversation.

  “Who was that?” Esme asks.

  “Her name’s Svetlana,” I reply. “She’s working undercover for me.”

  Esme’s eyebrows rise. “U
ndercover?” she repeats. “Where?”

  “I’ve positioned her… within Budimir’s inner circle.”

  I keep it vague. No reason to stain her with the more unsavory aspects of what I’m doing to reclaim the Bratva.

  Not because I don’t trust Esme, but because I want to spare her from the darker side of the world.

  But she steps forward, her eyes trained on me, her expression curious, even interested.

  “I know how mafia entourages work,” she tells me. “They comprise of the underbosses, security detail and… women, most of them prostitutes.”

  I nod. “Svetlana is more than just a prostitute. She’s Bratva now.”

  Esme’s eyes go wide for a moment. “She must be incredibly brave.”

  She’s damn right about that. Svetlana is putting herself directly in the line of fire for my sake. “Her father spent his whole life in the mafia,” I tell her.

  “So did mine,” she reminds me. “But I couldn’t do what she’s doing. It takes a special kind of woman to do a job like that.”

  “True,” I reply. “But there are so many different ways for a woman to be special.”

  I take her hand and bring it to my lips. She smiles knowingly at me.

  “Do you think my ego is so fragile that I’d begrudge another woman a compliment?” she asks with a wink.

  “Um… there’s only one right answer here, right?”

  She laughs and slaps my hand away just as Adrik enters the living room.

  “Hey, boss,” he says as nods to me. “Ms. Kovalyov.”

  Instantly, Esme’s lips screw up with distaste. “Seriously, Adrik,” she admonishes, “I’ve asked you to drop the ‘Miss’ a hundred times.”

  He smiles. “Habit.”

  “Well, drop it,” she snaps.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” she repeats in horror. “I changed my mind. I think I preferred ‘Miss.’”

  Adrik chuckles under his breath, but his smile drops as he turns to me. “I got the location.”

  “Perfect,” I say. “Let’s get going.”

  “Wait,” Esme says. “Where exactly are you going?”

  Adrik and I exchange a glance. “Kukolka…” I start to say.

  But she raises a hand and cuts me off.