Page 31 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

They’ve been muscling in on Kovalyov territory for the past few months. It’s time for me to step in and put them back in their place.

“Artem Kovalyov,” acknowledges the beefy Polish with the tear drop tattoo beneath his eye.

The mention of my name has the Albanians turning pale.

I see their hands twitch towards their weapons, but no one makes a move to draw their guns.

Wise choice. Maybe they’re not as stupid as I assumed.

“You’re aware that you’re on Kovalyov territory?” I ask lightly.

“It’s a private deal, Russian.”

I cock my head to the side as I scan their faces. “Do I look dumb to you?” I ask.

When no one answers, I step forward again.

All four men stiffen at once.

“I asked you a question.”

“Seems like they think you’re stupid,” Cillian offers casually.

“No,” the second Polish says quickly. “That’s not what we think.”

“Whatdoyou think then?” I ask. “Because it sure feels like you think I’m stupid.”

The men exchange silent glances, then the beefy Polish snatches the suitcase from his partner and hands it to me.

“The Kovalyov reigns supreme in these parts,” he says apologetically. “We won’t conduct our affairs… even personal ones on your turf again.”

I nod.Good boy,I think silently. Cillian takes the suitcase.

“How much is in there?” I ask.

“Five hundred grand worth of heroin.”

I nod. All things considered, this is going well. None of these idiots seem to be raring for a showdown.

Which is good, since that would end with their insides splattered all over their outsides.

But part of me wishes they would try something. I’m itching for a fight. For the adrenaline, the rush.

Mostly because it’s been four fucking months since I’ve been inside a woman.

Not ideal. But every time I go to break the dry spell, I seeherface again.

I see her doe eyes, milky hazel and flecked with green.

I see her trembling lips, full and pouty.

I hear her wild, gasping moans…

And I know I can’t fuck another woman when all I want isher.

What I really need, though, is a purge. A cleanse of my system. L.A. hipsters might reach for some garbage green juice to accomplish that goal.

But I’m the future don of the Kovalyov Bratva.

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