Page 232 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“But I should have,” I argue. “That’s the point. I have to stop him.”

“Artem—”

“This has gone too fucking far,” I say, my blood feels like it’s going to boil over. “He needs to be stopped now, not eventually.”

“And we will stop him,” Cillian assures me. “But now’s not the right time. We don’t have the resources and we need more information.”

“The more we wait, the harder it’ll be to derail his plans.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Cillian says. “You are the rightful don. There’s power in your name.”

“Power is where the men decide it is,” I remind him. “And many of them chose Budimir.”

“Artem, I know you want to act,” Cillian says, in his measured tone. “But Budimir is desperate to get his hands on you. That means something. It means he’s scared of you. Which is why it’s more imperative than ever for you to stay out of his clutches.”

“I don’t plan on getting caught,” I snarl.

“You are not invincible, brother,” Cillian rebuts quietly.

His words shiver through me, stirring up a strong sense of déjà vu. I see Marisha’s blue eyes looking up at me pleadingly.

One of these days, Artem, you’re going to wake up and realize you’re mortal, same as everyone else.

“I have to protect Esme,” I say, trying to push back my rage. “I have to protect my child. Sitting back and waiting for him to come is just asking for the fight to be brought to my doorstep.”

“Then lie low a little while longer,” Cillian fires back. “We need to wait ‘til the time’s right.”

“Fuck,” I growl, unable to find a counter argument.

“I’ll keep you posted. Stay safe, brother. Look after your family.”

“I will,” I reply. “Look after yourself.”

The line goes dead.

I stare out at the quiet town even more pissed off than before.

I don’t belong here. I should be with Cillian, making moves, tracking Budimir’s plans.Fighting.Not cowering like a fucking bitch.

But even as I think it, the thought of leaving Esme turns my stomach.

Esme needs me more.

I turn on my engine and drive.

Back to the cabin.

Back to my wife.

63

Esme

I’m supposed to be dusting out the sofa cushions on the porch, but I’ve pretty much abandoned that job completely. Instead, my eyes are firmly fixed on Artem.

He’s standing shirtless near one of the larger trees just before the slope that leads to the viewing point. His body glistens with beads of sweat that cover his entire body and highlight the toned perfection of his chest, the hard ridges of his abs.

I leave the cushions on the porch and move closer. Waves of desire flash through my body and concentrate right between my legs.

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