Page 270 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Cillian shrugs. “Just amazed, really,” he says. “There was a time not long ago when Artem couldn’t go a day with some liquid courage. I guess that’s thanks to you.”

I feel my cheeks blush with color again. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do,” Cillian asserts confidently. Then he takes a deep breath. “I had hoped for a little liquid courage of my own to tell you this story. But I guess I’ll have to do it stone-cold sober.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to tell me about your past?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“The one that’s full of drama, heartache and betrayal?” I clarify.

“It would seem so.”

“Wow,” I say. “Not that I’m not flattered, and interested. But why?”

“Because, if I expect you to trust me, I have to trust you,” he says.

I smile, feeling more and more at ease with Cillian with each passing minute.

Then, after taking another deep breath, Cillian launches into the story of his life in Ireland and growing up in a small-time mafia family.

He tells me about Saoirse, about the boy that hit on her, and everything that followed.

And I listen silently, allowing him to tell his story at his own pace.

When he’s finished, he runs his fingers through his overgrown blonde hair and glances out the window at the mountains in the distance.

“So that’s it,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “That’s my little tragedy, the one that led me to the Bratva in the first place.”

“Cillian,” I whisper, emotion clogging up my throat. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago, Esme.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

He smiles. I can see the hurt in his eyes for a moment.

“Your father didn’t even try to negotiate on your behalf?” I ask.

“My father was—is—an ambitious man,” Cillian replies. “The politician whose son I injured, he was powerful. My father had to choose between political advancement or his screw-up son. I guess it was an easy decision for him.”

“And Saoirse?” I ask, feeling guilty for even asking.

“She moved on with her life,” Cillian tells me. “And I moved on, too. As best I could.”

“Oh, my God,” I breathe. “Cillian… you still have feelings for her.”

He smiles sadly. “Maybe,” he acknowledges. “But it’s probably because I haven’t met the right girl yet. Artem’s lucky that way.”

I look at him with a start. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Esme,” Cillian says. “I haven’t seen Artem this happy in a long fucking time. And trust me, I’ve seen him at his happiest. At least, I thought so, before now.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.

“You don’t have to say a thing,” he says with a shrug. “I’m just pointing out a few personal observations.”

I fall silent, letting that sink in for a moment. I can feel my fear rise to my throat.

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