Page 122 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I have to pause, swallow, and steady my suddenly trembling hands before I keep going.

“And then he hurt someone I cared about. He hurt them really, really badly. That was worse than the slap, I think.”

The anger is back in Artem’s eyes. He’s like still water, except I know that no matter how tranquil he appears to be on the surface, there’s something lurking beneath the calm.

“I wish I’d known,” he says, in a low, dangerous voice.

“Why?” I ask. “What could you possibly do? You already killed him.”

For the first time, he meets my gaze and holds it, direct and piercing as ever. “I would have made sure his death was slow and painful.”

I wish that answer didn’t make my heart hurt in a completely different way.

“Why does it always have to end with death?” I whisper.

He frowns and tilts his head to the side. Like he didn’t expect me to say that.

“You hate it, don’t you?” he asks.

“Of course I hate it,” I snap. “It’s all just death and pain and loss. Violence followed by more violence. How can you experience anything real, anything pure, anything beautiful, if you’re surrounded by so much ugliness all the time?”

His brow furrows deeper as he considers my words. It hits me that this is the first time we’re really talking to each other. This is the first real conversation we’ve had that’s not combative or manipulative.

“Beauty can exist,” he says at last.

“How?”

“Didn’t you say you loved your brother?” he asks.

“I still do,” I tell him. “Love doesn’t stop when you lose the person.”

I see sadness flood across his eyes. I wonder who he has lost. It’s clear there’s a void inside him, a pain he’s trying to cover.

But I can see it now. Clear as day.

There’s a broken heart inside this beast.

“That love you feel for your brother,” he says softly. “That’s the beauty that exists in our world.”

“It’s notmyworld,” I correct quickly. “I want no part of it.”

“I used to feel that way, too.”

“Really?”

“You look surprised,” he observes.

“I am,” I nod. “I just… you… um…”

He smiles this time. “Yes?”

I sigh. “I guess it just seems to me like you were made for this life. My brother wasn’t. He had to try very hard to be the man my father wanted him to be. But it didn’t come naturally to him.”

“And you think it comes naturally to me?”

“Well… yes.”

His answer is a smile. I can’t quite read it.

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