Page 254 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

He says it gently, like he has the last few days every time I’ve asked what he’s thinking about.

But this time, I’m not willing to let it go.

“Artem,” I insist, “I may not have known you for very long, but I am still your wife. I want you to be able to tell me if there’s something getting you down.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes intentionally expressionless.

“You were thinking about the Bratva.” I fill in, taking an educated guess.

He sighs. The etch of worry still clings to his features stubbornly. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

I push myself up on one elbow so that I’m looking down at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

His eyes go careful instantly.

I hate that. I don’t like feeling like he’s keeping things from me.

He nods, but I’m not convinced.

“And you’ll promise to answer me honestly?”

He nods slowly, but his eyes are still careful. Still guarded.

I decide to press on anyway. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss… it?”

“The life,” I say simply, before I elaborate. “Being in the thick of it, going on missions, commanding men… Being the don.”

He considers my question for a long time. “I still don’t really feel like Don,” he replies. “I was don for a split-second before my uncle staged his coup.”

“But the rest of it?” I press.

He lets loose a long exhale. “It’s all I know,” he answers eventually. “I don’t know any other life than the one I was born to.”

I nod. I can understand that. I’ve even prepared myself for the answer.

But it still makes me quiver a little.

It still makes my heart sink with disappointment just a bit.

Then I feel his eyes on me, boring down. I don’t meet his gaze. If I do, he’ll see the disappointment. The hurt.

Maybe he’ll see it either way.

“That makes you sad?” he surmises correctly. I hate that he can read me so well, on top of everything else. He’s a total enigma, a black box, whereas I’m an open book, heart on my sleeve at all times.

I take a deep breath and start to stammer through what I really want to say.

“I… I just… do you think you can be happy… if you were to leave the Bratva behind?”

I know I’m showing my hand, but I can’t help myself. My emotions are running high, the baby inside me is growing, and with each passing day I keep thinking about the life I want to give this child.

“I don’t know, Esme,” Artem says. “I never thought I’d ever want to give it up. I never thought I’d have to.”

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