Page 151 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“I have a call to make,” I tell him. “I’ll be back in soon.”

Then I head out of the room. It’s crowded outside with all the guards I’ve stationed to protect Esme.

Cillian’s off in the corner talking to someone on the phone. Probably coordinating with our men outside the facility to lockdown a meeting spot.

I pick up my phone and call Budimir, who picks up on the fourth ring.

“Artem, my boy.”

“Sorry I didn’t return your call sooner,” I tell him. “I was—”

“With your wife,” Budimir finishes for me. “Yes, Cillian told me. How is she?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

Budimir makes a sound that’s meant to be sympathetic, but it sounds more like he’s trying to cough up a hairball. Sympathy is not among his finer qualities.

“Those bastards really took us by surprise,” he scowls. “But we won’t be caught off guard the second time.”

“There’s not going to be a second time,” I vow through gritted teeth. “The next time there’s an attack, we’re going to be the ones to launch it.”

“Spoken like a true don,” Budimir says approvingly. “Your father would have been proud.”

I bristle against the words. We’re already talking about him in the past tense. It feels somehow like a betrayal.

“No, he wouldn’t have,” I counter. “He would have criticized every single decision I’m making.”

There’s a low chuckle that confirms the truth of my words. “That was his way of making you better.”

“Fat lot of good that did him,” I snap back.

“I’ve been searching for clues, Artem,” Budimir continues. “Trying to find out who was behind this attack.”

“And? Any leads?”

“A few. All unsubstantiated for the moment, but I’m following them through.”

“You’ll let me know the moment you know anything.”

“Of course,” Budimir assures. “You are the don now.”

The title feels strange coming from my uncle’s lips. I hang up and take a deep breath before walking back into Esme’s room.

Dr. Sussman is writing down something on a notepad, which he then passes to the blonde nurse.

“Well?” I ask, more gruffly than I intended.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Dr. Sussman says with a small smile. “Your wife will recover. She’s young, healthy and strong. I think perhaps she’s been under a lot of stress lately. That, combined with the stress of pregnancy…”

The stress of what?

“…might have exacerbated her anxiety. But you have nothing to fear: the baby is perfectly healthy as well.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

I stare blankly at the doctor, trying to reconcile what he’s just said with my reality.

I shake my head, trying to convince myself that I’ve misheard him.

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