Page 273 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

He chuckles and kisses me again. “You two had a nice chat while I was out?”

I try and figure out if there’s subtext to his question, but if there is, I can’t seem to pick it out.

“We did,” I nod. “It was nice getting to know Cillian. He’s an easy guy to like.”

“That I can’t argue with,” Artem nods. “He was always the charmer.”

“What does that make you?” I ask.

“The don,” he replies without hesitation.

I turn into him and catch the whites of his eyes in the darkness. They’re laser-focused and determined in a way that scares me a little.

I can feel it between us—all the things we’re not saying out loud. I wonder if he feels the same.

I think about straight out asking Artem about the dead man I’d seen in the ravine, like Cillian had suggested.

But I can’t quite form the question because I’m so terrified of the answer.

So when Artem leans in and kisses me hard, I let him. I reach down and cup his erection, pulling him closer to me and pretending as though I have nothing more to say.

Because I can feel it coming, even though I’m not quite ready to admit it.

I can feel our bubble shattering. Can sense the outside world at our doorstep, and I know choices need to be made soon.

I just don’t want to make them tonight.

So for now, for just these next handful of moments, I sink into Artem and lose myself in him.

For tonight, I pretend everything is going to be just fine.

71

Artem

We make love in the midnight moonlight filtering through the window. Soft and slow and quiet, so we don’t disturb Cillian on the couch.

Esme gives a desperate little cry as she comes.

When it’s my turn, I bury my mouth against her throat and erupt into her.

I would give anything for this woman. For the child growing inside of her.

They mean everything to me.

Once our breathing calms, Esme turns into me and takes a deep breath.

“That was amazing,” she says, tracing my tattoos the way she does every night before we fall asleep.

“At your service, ma’am.”

She giggles a little, her laugh softened with drowsiness. “I like Cillian,” she tells me.

“Yeah?” I reply. “Apparently, the feeling is mutual.”

“What did he tell you?” she asks. For a moment, she looks a little nervous.

“Nothing I didn’t already know.”

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