Page 140 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

She nods slowly, the panic in her eyes receding a little. I take her hand again and we run from the cemetery quickly, leaving a litter of bodies in our wake.

When we hit the street nearby, I discard my blood-stained suit jacket behind a hedge and hail a taxi.

I can’t afford to go back to find my men right now. Nor am I willing to wait for a Bratva car to come pick us up.

I have to take care of Esme first.

We only have to wait a minute before a cab stops for us. I get Esme inside first.

I don’t know who did this. But when the time is right, I plan on finding out.

And when I do, they’re going to rue the fucking day they decided to cross the Bratva.

38

Artem

I give the taxi driver an address close to the nearest Bratva safehouse and we head off.

Esme looks visibly shaken, hands trembling, though she’s trying hard to hide it.

I reach out instinctively and take her fingers in mine. She looks at me gratefully, but her face still carries the remnants of fear.

Neither one of us talk while we’re in the cab. We get out on the corner of a nearly abandoned residential area. It’s a three-block walk to the safehouse, but I’m still worried about Esme. She looks ashen-faced and her body keeps trembling sporadically.

“It’s a short walk,” I tell her. “I can carry you.”

She shakes her head firmly. “No. I’m fine. I’ll walk.”

The safehouse is settled on the edge of the suburban street. It’s a small, two-bedroom house with a backyard and minimal furnishings. Completely innocuous.

I punch in the code to unlock the key box and retrieve the key from inside it. Then I open the front door and let Esme in.

It’s quiet and musty inside from months of disuse. I leave the lights off.

I take Esme’s hand and lead her upstairs to the bigger of the two bedrooms. She stares at the walls, the lights, the furniture, as if she’s never seen any of it before.

She only reacts when I gently remove the jacket she’s wearing.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Checking for wounds.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“I’m going to check anyway.”

And to my amazement, she lets me. I slowly unzip the black dress she’s wearing and peel it down her hips.

My touch is gentle, careful. All the adrenaline from the fight has concentrated on this moment. Like the slightest wrong move will ruin everything.

Esme seems like she’s scared to breathe too loud. She doesn’t move or speak or even blink. Just lets me undress her a little bit at a time.

When she’s standing before me in her black lace bra and panties, I circle her slowly. Her skin is as soft and caramel as it’s ever been. Every inch still sweet. Still beautiful. They didn’t get to her. They tried to kill me, and that’s expected, that’s fine, that’s just the nature of being the don.

But God help them if they so much as scratch my wife.

“You’re fine,” I rasp quietly once I’ve finished my examination.

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