Page 71 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“He used to talk like that, too.”

I frown. “Who?”

She lifts her eyes and shakes her head. The sadness and pain I saw vanishes at once. Fire returns to her face.

“No one,” she says. “Never mind. Out of curiosity, exactly which band of criminal assholes do you belong to?”

I steeple my fingers. “You tell me.”

She screws up her eyebrows in concentration. “Definitely Russian,” she replies carefully, “based on the accents I heard from you and some of your men. I’m just not sure which Russian mafia family… There are a few in L.A., right?”

“Therewerea few in LA,” I correct her, with some satisfaction. “But not anymore.”

She thinks for a moment, then snaps her fingers. “The Kovalyov Bratva.”

“Bravo.” I applaud mockingly for her.

She puts her fork down as though she’s just lost her appetite. I notice her body kind of tense, like she is curling into herself.

“You’ve heard of us, then?” I ask.

“I know the name. Not the details. I’ve spent my whole life avoiding the details, actually.”

The puzzle pieces are starting to fit together. “You don’t like this life.”

“Ihateit,” she says passionately, her eyes flaring up, turning her hazel irises gold. “How can you like a life where you have no freedom, no voice, noworth?”

I see the desperation in her face. She just wants to be seen. Acknowledged. Valued.

Being with me is going to break her heart.

“Being a woman in this world doesn’t make you worthless.”

She throws her hands up. “Sure, if you’re a woman with no morals who loves the violence and the men who commit it. Those are the women who embrace this life, who become a part of it. That’s not what I want. That’s not who I am.”

“Sometimes, you don’t have a choice. You do what you must.”

“No, sometimes the people around you don’tgiveyou a choice,” she snaps.

Esme seems to sober up a second later. She takes a deep, shuddering breath. I can see that she’s trying hard to keep her emotions in check.

“Why am I here, Artem?”

Is that the first time she’s said my name?

It fuels a reaction so strong that I find myself leaning forward and gritting my teeth together.

Why the fuck do I like it so much? Why the fuck does hearing my name on her lips make me hard as a rock?

I strain against my pants and remind myself that she needs to be told about what’s coming for her. For both of us.

“You’re going to be my wife,” I say. A flint of ice slips into my tone. “You may as well just accept that now.”

She freezes. Goosebumps let loose on her arms.

I want to reach out and touch her. To run my fingers over her skin.

But it’s an impulse I push away immediately.

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