Page 8 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

He smiles. I wonder if there was ever a time when I had loved the man standing in front of me.

All I can see now is a monster.

“Good.”

I glance towards Miguel but I dare not move any closer to him. I only hope he knows how sorry I am.

I flee the room as fast as I can and run to my bedroom. Then I throw myself down on my bed and cry until sleep takes me.

* * *

“Señorita Esme?”

A voice calls me out of my dreams the next morning. I open my eyes, but I can barely see. They’re still puffy and red from crying until I fell asleep.

A stocky man with a thick, dark mustache is standing over me, gently shaking my shoulder. Could it be…?

“Miguel?” I say sleepily, hopefully.

Maybe last night was just a horrible nightmare.

Maybe it never happened at all.

Then I blink and my vision clears.

It’s not Miguel.

Instead, I’m looking up at a stone-faced man I’ve never seen before. He has a shaved head and several serrated scars along his jaw. His eyes are cold as marble.

The hope vanishes as quickly as it came.

“Who are you?” I ask in alarm.

“Your new guard, señorita,” he replies. “Your father sent me to wake you. You need to get up and pack your things.”

I scramble upright in alarm. “Pack my things? Why?”

The man’s expression doesn’t change. “Your father has a meeting in Los Angeles. You will be accompanying him.”

My frown deepens and my heart beats faster. “What’s in Los Angeles?”

But the man is turning away from me. He doesn’t answer. He already has one of my bags out and opened up on the luggage stand. A Louis Vuitton duffle I’ve used only once—the time Cesar and I flew to Paris, when we took the picture I was looking at last night. Just the sight of it makes my heart throb painfully.

My brother swore he would protect me from Papa.

But he lied.

He died and left me here alone.

No one can protect me now.

Artem

A Penthouse In Los Angeles, California

Grebanyye koshmary.

Fucking nightmares.

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