Page 206 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

He drops his gaze. I see the tense set of his jaw.

“I know you love him,” Artem says at last. “I know he was a good brother to you. But that was not the man I met.”

“You just saw his mask,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You didn’t see him.”

“What?”

I look up at him. His head is tilted to the side with curiosity. “His mask,” I explain. “I have one. You have one. Cesar had one, too. Mine was easy—good daughter. I just had to smile and curtsy and look pretty and never speak my mind. Never push back against the bars of my cage. But Cesar… His was harder to bear.”

“He was the heir,” Artem guesses.

I nod. “He was supposed to be like Papa. He was supposed tobePapa, really. Ruthless. Shrewd. Cold. But that’s not Cesar. That’s not how he is—how he was, I mean. You just saw the mask my father made him wear. There was a different person underneath.”

He listens to me silently, taking in every word I’m saying. His eyes flit over my face as though he’s searching for more clues. His jaw is still tense but the darkness lifts from his eyes a little as I speak.

“That may be true,” Artem answers. “But it changes nothing. Mask or not, it didn’t make his actions any less real.”

Those words leave me feeling cold and I put down my fork and wrap my arms around myself.

When I look back at Artem, I can see more than just the contained anger I have come to expect when we talk about the past.

I can see pain, too.

Cesar, what did you do to him?

And suddenly, I’m scared to hear this story. My brother’s memory has remained pure in my head since his death.

Yes, losing him had been painful.

But the pain was untainted.

I had mourned him freely, without complicating my grief with other unwelcome emotions.

If what Artem is implying is true, Cesar’s death was not as simple as I’d always thought.

I shake my head to dislodge the creeping feelings. “Let’s change the subject,” I say. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He dips his head down in acknowledgement and we finish the rest of our breakfast in companiable silence.

Afterwards, Artem and I head to the counter to pay for our breakfast.

I watch from his side Midge steps up the cash register with a bright smile.

“Had a good breakfast, handsome?” she asks, her eyes raking up and down his tattooed arms.

“It was great,” Artem answers coolly. “But I have to say, my favorite breakfasts are the ones my wife cooks for me.”

Then he reaches back to where I’m standing, drapes his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me into his body, so there can be no doubt of who his wife is.

I suppress a laugh as Midge coldly passes over the change from Artem’s twenty.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon!” I call back to Midge as we head out of the diner. Her scowl just makes my smile brighter.

Artem’s arm stays around my shoulders until we reach the car.

“How’d you like my push?” he asks as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Subtle,” I reply sarcastically. “But much appreciated.”

---