Page 260 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

He didn’t want the stress to hurt you or the baby.

The explanation makes sense to me. Itfeelstrue. Or at least, like it could be true.

But I can’t help second guessing myself.

Is this just more denial dressed up a different way?

Am I making excuses for a man I don’t really know at all?

Yes, I love him.

But I’ve learned the hard way: love and trust are two very different things.

69

Artem

I get home late that night. I waited until sundown to even go into town. Sitting in the car on the outskirts, watching farmers drive their wares in and out of the little village.

Once dark fell, I ventured in, did what I needed to do with my hood up and my head down, and got out.

After the confrontation with the cartel men, I’ve been on high alert. The fewer people who see me, the better.

Driving home after dark means I have to take the road back up the mountain slowly, too. I kill the headlights and drive carefully, flicking them on to get my bearings before extinguishing them again.

Just in case anyone is watching. Looking for signs of life, a trail that leads them right to our doorstep.

I park the car in front of the lodge and kill the engine. Mountain silence takes over, cold and austere.

I’ve grown used to the silence since we get here. It helps me think.

There’s a lot to fucking think about.

I set the groceries down on the kitchen table and creep into the back bedroom. All the lights are out. I listen at the doorway until I’m sure that I can make out Esme’s soft, even breathing.

She’s asleep. Odd—she always waits up until I’m home.

But something shifted since I killed the men and threw them in the ravine. Something subtle, but I notice it and she does, too.

We’re both pretending that the future we want is possible.

I don’t know.

I don’t fucking know anything anymore.

Because if I’m not a don, what am I?

A husband. A father. A friend.

I wonder if that’s enough.

I hate myself for even asking the question.

“Artem?” comes her meek voice. “Is that you?”

I sigh and slip inside the bedroom. I undress in the dark and crawl into bed with her. Her cold hand finds mine, squeezes.

“I’m here,” I tell her.

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