Page 231 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

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On my way back, I stop in town and pick up fresh groceries, including a few bars of chocolate for Esme.

Then I go next door to the used bookstore that Esme stops by every time she comes down here with me.

I look through the shelves and pick out a crime thriller. The woman behind the counter squints at me through her round glasses.

“Back again,” she comments.

I nod, unwilling to engage in more needless conversation.

“Cómo es Esme?”

I flinch, not happy about the fact that this stranger knows my wife’s name.

“She’s fine,” I mutter. Guillermo’s intrusive questions have left me in a foul mood.

The woman’s eyes go wide when she sees my dark expression. She keeps her mouth shut after that.

She rings up my purchase and hands it over to me without a word. Once I’m inside, I pick up the new burner phones and dial in Cillian’s number.

He picks up almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“Cillian,” I say.

I hear an audible sigh of relief. “You good, brother?”

“How areyou?” I ask, ignoring his question. I can hear the stress in his tone.

Cillian has stayed close to L.A. so that he can keep an eye on Budimir and his dealings. Apparently, there has been a lot of movement lately, though little information has been leaked.

It isn’t the most encouraging start. I’m hoping Cillian will have something new for me this time.

“I’m fine,” Cillian says dismissively. “I did manage to get some new intel.”

“Spit.”

“Budimir’s causing waves,” Cillian says. “He’s broken the treaty with the Diegos.”

I hiss. “They’ve been our fucking allies for two decades.”

“Is it any surprise that loyalty means fuck-all to Budimir?”

I grit my teeth together, my hands itching to wrap themselves around Budimir’s thick, veined neck.

“That’s not all, either,” Cillian continues. “He’s reached out to some… other people.”

“Fuck,” I growl. I have a bad feeling about what is coming next.

“He’s trying to get into some bad shit,” Cillian tells me. “Moving prostitutes. Slaves. Human trafficking, that kind of thing. The shit Stanislav swore we’d never do.”

A dull ache throbs in the pit of my stomach.

“He’s been gunning for that for years now,” I say. “I should have fucking seen this coming.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

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