Page 225 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,kiska.”

“Oo, I love it when you talk dirty Russian to me.” She snuggles into the crook of my arm and drops a fluttering kiss on my neck. “But don’t do it now or we’ll just start this whole thing all over again. Anyway, what’s the plan today?”

“I’ve got to check in with Cillian,” I tell her. “It’s been a few days since our last call and I need to stay updated. I haven’t been this disconnected from the Bratva since… well, since ever.”

Her expression takes on that careful, weary quality that I don’t like seeing. I take her hand and thread her fingers through mine.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles.

“Don’t lie.”

She sighs. “Is it really so bad?” she asks. “To be disconnected from it all?”

“No,” I reply carefully. “But I am the don, Esme, no matter what my uncle may be saying. I’m responsible for all the men that follow me. I need to know what’s happening.”

She drops her gaze. I know it’s because she doesn’t want me to see what’s in her eyes. “Would it really be so awful if we were to just… stay up here?”

“Really?” I press. “You want to live in this cabin until we’re old and grey?”

“Why not?” she counters, her chin jutting out a little. “It’s peaceful and quiet and we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to kill us.”

“I’ll kill every single man who even thinks of hurting you,” I tell her firmly.

She nods. “I know that. I just wish you didn’t need to.”

Before I can say anything else, she disentangles herself from my arms and gets off the bed and onto her feet.

I watch as she walks naked to the chair that we usually throw our clothes on. She grabs my t-shirt and slips it over her head. It swallows her blossoming body, leaving only her legs on full display.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“What doyouwant for breakfast?” I toss back at her.

“At this point,” Esme muses, rubbing her belly, “it’s really about what this little guy wants for breakfast. And I think he’s craving bacon and cheese and croissants with garlic butter.”

I chuckle. “Oh, just that? You don’t want crepes and a seafood tower, too, princess?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I toss a pillow at her. She shrieks and scrambles out of the room, laughing.

I get up with a yawn and follow her into the kitchen.

The place looks a lot different now than the state we found it in. It’s clean, for one thing, but we also have cabinets stocked with different food products, and a small mini-fridge in the corner to store our meats, along with a few locally-grown fruits and vegetables.

Esme opens the fridge and pulls out the milk and our last carton of eggs.

“Omelet?” she asks.

“I’d do devious things to you for one of those.”

She wrinkles her nose in mock disgust. “You’d do devious things to me for no reason at all.”

“Touché.”

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