Page 70 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

She wrinkles her nose. “Fine. But will you promise to be honest with me?”

“I’ll try.”

She nods. One lock of dark hair falls over her face and she brushes it back absentmindedly. “What is it about this life that’s so great?”

Of all the questions I expected from her, that wasn’t it.

I stare at her for a moment, gathering my thoughts.

What’s her angle here? What’s her play? What’s the subtext?

But her expression remains quietly curious.

Maybe there is no underlying question. She genuinely wants to know.

I consider it for a moment. In the end, I decide to answer truthfully.

“Power.”

“Power,” she repeats. “Over what?”

“Over anything I want,” I answer. “Over everything. That’s what makes it power.”

“So you just like being in charge?”

I hesitate. They are simple questions, so why am I struggling with the answers?

“I never had a choice.”

Her eyes go wide for a moment. She looks like she’s about to smile but then she turns her head to the side and her dark hair falls over her face like a curtain.

I dislike not being able to see her, but I wait patiently until she turns to me again.

“We all have choices,” she retorts.

I shake my head. “Not me.”

Something in her face shifts. Softens.

“Yeah,” she says in a near-whisper, “me neither.”

Another moment of silence passes. Esme’s gaze is soft, unfocused. When she speaks again, she does so without looking at me.

“If you did have a choice, what kind of life would you pick?”

Before I can answer, the waiters appear again and remove our empty bowls.

I’ve only taken a few bites of my soup but I wave for him to take it away, with my eyes staying trained on Esme.

The second course is crab ravioli dressed in a brown butter sauce. It smells amazing, but Esme looks at me pointedly. She’s still waiting for my answer.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she asks, “or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I was born to this life. Groomed for it,” I tell her. “It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s all I ever will know.”

Her face looks strangely sad. Pained, almost. I almost don’t catch her next words.

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