Page 196 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

The words are ominous.

“We’ve been through shit storms before,” I remind him. “We made it through those and we’ll make it through this.”

“We weren’t fighting against Budimir Kovalyov,” Cillian points out.

“He hasn’t earned his reputation,” I say, my tone going flat with loathing. “But I’m about to earn mine. After I’m through with my uncle, no one will ever dare cross the Bratva again.”

He smiles. “If anyone can take on the old fucker, you can.”

“Wecan.”

We lapse into a deep silence, each pulled in to our own thoughts. Even the sweat on our beers has cooled now.

I glance back towards the bedroom, where I can see Esme through the half-parted blinds.

She’s still lost in sleep, her back to me.

“So… Esme’s pregnant huh?” Cillian asks, breaking the silence.

I was wondering when he would broach the subject. It’s not like we’d had much of a chance to discuss it up until now.

I nod.

“You found out from the clinic?”

“Fucking felt like I was punched in the stomach,” I reply with a glance at him. “She’s four months along.”

Cillian turns to me with a startled expression. “What the—”

“The baby’s mine,” I say before he can ask.

“Um, brother, I know your math has never been very good but—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say, suppressing a laugh. “I never told you about the first time Esme and I met.”

“The first time?” Cillian says, frowning. “What the fuck are you talking about? Did you get it in with her while the rest of us were shooting guards in that fucking cartel compound?”

I shake my head. “It was months earlier… in The Siren.”

“The Siren?” Cillian repeats, just before his eyes go wide with realization. “That’s why you were so obsessed with that place after the Polish gang incident!”

“I wasn’t fucking ‘obsessed.’”

Cillian smacks his knee with his hand and laughs. “Well, fuck me,” he exclaims, shaking his head. “What are the fucking chances?”

I nod, still amazed by the coincidence.

“So she would have been pregnant when we stormed the compound?”

“She was.”

“Fuck,” Cillian says, drawing out the word. “And she didn’t tell you?”

“Not a fucking word.”

There’s three seconds of silence. I look at him strangely.

“What? You’ve got that fucking look in your eye. I hate that look.”

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