Page 219 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Sounds good.”

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting at the table looking out over the most amazing mountain I’ve ever seen up close.

“This looks good,” Artem says, gesturing to the pasta.

“Why don’t you taste it first?” I say nervously.

We sit opposite each other and take the forks I’ve placed against the pan. His eyes are on me as he lifts a spiral of pasta into his mouth.

He chews thoughtfully for a moment and smiles.

“You can cook,” he decides.

“You think?”

“My tastebuds aren’t lying.”

I smile. “I used to enjoy cooking when I was younger,” I admit. “I’d steal into the kitchen at night and experiment. Then I’d take whatever I made back up to—”

I stop short, just before Cesar’s name slips out of my mouth. I’m the one who insisted that I should be free to talk about my brother when I want to.

But for some reason, I’m hesitant to do it now.

Artem and I have been getting along so well lately and a part of me doesn’t want to spoil it by bringing up Cesar.

Another part of me is terrified of hearing what else is lurking in Artem’s memory where my brother is concerned.

“Back up where?”

“Uh, my room,” I finish. “I’d take it back up to my room and eat it by the window.”

Artem’s smile comes a second too late. It’s clear he knows I didn’t finish my sentence the way I had initially intended.

I reach for the soda Artem bought for us and take a sip to avoid his eyes.

“It’s so beautiful,” I mumble, looking out at the mountain peaks.

“It really is,” Artem nods. “But you are still the most beautiful thing here.”

I feel a blush rush up my cheeks. But, try as I might, I can’t seem to push it back.

The night sky darkens as we sit and eat. I feel more at peace than I have in a while.

After we finish eating, Artem and I walk to the edge of the slope where a large boulder forms a natural love seat facing the mountain range.

Artem sits down and tucks me under his arm so that we can enjoy the view. There’s nothing but the whistling wind and the sound of crickets in the air, but all I care to hear is Artem’s breathing.

He looks down at me, his dark eyes are cloudy with thought.

“I can see why your brother used to come up here,” Artem says, and I freeze at the mention of Cesar.

But I don’t detect any animosity in Artem’s tone this time.

“It was difficult for him to adjust to life in the business,” I confide. “I think this cabin was somewhere he could come and just be himself.”

He nods. “Did he tell you that? That it was hard adjusting to life in the cartel?”

I glance at him, trying to decipher what that question meant. “Yes,” I answer. “He was a little older than you when Papa started grooming him. He started to change.”

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