Page 100 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I don’t care anymore.

“Are you ready?” Alice asks.

“No,” I whisper. “But as everyone keeps reminding me, I don’t have a choice.”

Alice reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, love.”

That’s the last thing she says to me.

Then it’s time to go.

26

Esme

I walk out of the room and out to where Crew Cut and Blue Eyes are waiting for me.

They lead me down the corridor, up the stairs, and into a huge space that’s hundreds of feet high.

The ceiling is adorned with mosaic, tilework, and the most beautifully intricate paintings I’ve ever seen. But I allow myself only one glance before my eyes turn to what’s before me.

The pews of the church are packed. I recognize precisely none of the faces that are crowded into the pews. There are a few women here and there, but it’s mostly men—big Russian mobsters in their fine suits who look me up and down with lust.

I glance behind me but my bodyguards have disappeared into thin air. I’m standing there alone, dressed to the nines, about to walk down the aisle to…

Artem.

I see him at the very end of the aisle, standing next to a minister who doesn’t really look like a minister.

I look down instantly. My heart beats furiously. Like it is trying to tell me something.

This is really happening. You can’t escape it.

“Start walking,” someone hisses at me.

I don’t see who and I don’t turn to look behind me.

I just start walking, trying to push back tears.

I will not cry in front of them. In front of any of them.

Everyone stands as I walk past. I’m amazed at the level of dedication to this farce. It’s almost enough to make a girl feel like she’s really getting married.

Youaregetting married, Esme.

Okay, fine, it’s real, but it still isn’t a true marriage.

The walk down the aisle is lonelier and more isolating than I could have imagined, but when I make it to the end, my eyes nonetheless search for the one face that’s familiar to me.

I hate him, but for some reason I need to see him.

The man who stole me and murdered my father is dressed in a smart black suit. He’s nearly clean shaven—only light stubble lines his square jaw.

His dark eyes are hooded, but they drink me in the same way they have since the moment we met.

He looks like a modern-day Adonis. Even if I hate to give him that much credit.

I realize that I’ve stopped moving only when someone pushes me towards the raised dais. Artem leans forward and takes my hand. He pulls me up next to him and then drops my hand almost immediately.

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