Page 5 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“I’m not authorized to let you go unaccompanied…”

“I know that. You don’t need to come with me. I’ll be fast. Safe. No one will see me.”

He’s tugging nervously at his mustache. “Señorita, you know I can’t allow that. I’m under strict instructions from your father. You are not supposed to leave the compound without his permission.”

“Papa will never know, Miguel,” I plead. “Please? Just this once?”

I feel bad about putting him in this position, but I’m desperate to feel the salt air on my face.

Just for a little while… let me pretend I’m free.

“No one will know,” I promise him again.

He sighs, looks down between his feet, then back up to me. I see his eyes softening and I know I’ve won.

“Only an hour?” he asks solemnly.

“Not a minute more,” I tell him. “I swear.”

He nods once, gruffly. I could hug him I’m so happy, but the clock is already ticking. Instead, I give him my most grateful smile and take off in a hurry towards the back of the compound, to a little side door in the garden wall that leads me out to the ocean.

I can smell the salt air as I reach the sand and break into a run. It feels good to move, to sweat, to taste the ocean breeze. It tastes like freedom.

I didn’t know it then, but it was the last freedom I’d have for a long, long time.

2

Esme

I promised Miguel I’d only be gone for an hour. True to my word, I make it back with two minutes to spare.

It’s near midnight and the night is quiet. Once I’m back within the walls however, I notice that the house is still lit up. Artificial light filters in from the first floor onto the lawn, turning the grass purple.

I circle around the house in search of Miguel. I arrive at his post but he’s nowhere to be found.

My heart starts thudding in my chest. Silently, I head into the house and towards to my room as fast as I can. Towards safety.

I’m passing the third-floor drawing room when I hear Papa call my name.

“Esme.”

I freeze. Dread settles over me like a blanket of thorns. I think about ignoring him, but years of experience tells me that’ll only make things worse.

The door to the drawing room is ajar. I push it open a little further and walk in.

The room’s balcony doors are open to the ocean breeze. Papa sits outside, his back to me, his face angled up towards the moon. How had he even heard me passing by?

“Yes, Papa?”

“Esme, my darling,” he repeats. “Come and sit with me for a moment.”

I gnaw my lip. I don’t really have a choice, though. I just have to hope for the best.

I walk out onto the large balcony and sit down in the chair next to his. There’s a disturbing tension in the air.

Something is most definitely not right.

“What is it, Papa?”

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