Page 144 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“We have many enemies. The question is, is it an old enemy or a new one?”

There is a beat of silence. I can imagine Artem’s stoic face, his dark eyes scouring the unseen possibilities, vowing to get revenge.

It’s not in his nature to let things pass. And even I have to agree—this brazen assault demands some kind of response.

But the implications terrify me.

I would’ve thought I’d be used to this. I’d glimpsed some of what Papa had done to enemies over the years. What he’d done to his own men, even.

The memory of Miguel bound and beaten on that chair swims behind my eyes. I’ll never forget the horror, the pain in his eyes.

Papa had never been afraid to hurt people when it suited him.

But it didn’t bother me the way this does. This feels… realer, somehow. Maybe it’s because I know how much tenderness Artem is capable of.

He has a soul, somewhere deep down inside.

The men who attacked won’t care about that. They’ll kill him in cold blood if they can.

They’ll kill me, too.

I’m Artem’s wife. That makes me a target.

And it does the same to the baby in my womb.

I plug back into the conversation when I hear Cillian speak.

“How is she?”

“She’s okay, I think,” Artem replies. “Better now. She’s got fight in her.”

“Yeah, it certainly seems so,” Cillian agrees. “We can move her to another safehouse. This one isn’t secure enough.”

“She’s sleeping now. I don’t want to disturb her. She’s been through enough.” Artem sounds exhausted.

“Mhmm.”

“What?” Artem’s tone is impatient, but Cillian chuckles.

“Nothing. Just making observations.”

“If you have something to say, fucker, say it to my face.”

I smile. I haven’t really seen him interact with anyone this way. There’s a familiarity, a brotherly bond that’s evident between the two of them even though I can’t see either one.

“I’m just saying, you seem very protective of her,” Cillian points out.

“She’s my wife.”

The words make my heart flutter like a lovestruck fifteen-year old. They’re possessive, and they ring with sincerity.

With truth. With feeling.

The men shuffle around. For a few seconds, I can’t hear a thing.

“What?” Artem asks suddenly. “What’s that look on your face?”

“I was just wondering whether or not you’ve told her yet.”

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