Page 65 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

His eyes are cutting. “They were working for a cartel don. None of them were innocent. You can bet they all had a few skeletons in their closet.”

“And that means they deserved to die?”

“Sometimes, it’s not personal.”

“Right. They were just the loose ends you needed to tie up,” I mock in disgust.

“That’s a lot of judgement coming from the daughter of a man who did horrendous things,” he shoots back.

I try not to, but I can’t stop the flinch from escaping me. “I can’t help who my father was,” I reply softly. “I’m not delusional though, I know he was a monster, too. That’s how I can tell you’re the same.”

I glare at him, but he meets my gaze with absolutely zero remorse.

He stands suddenly. I flinch back, even though he’s several feet away from me.

He rounds the bed, almost close enough to reach out and touch. But he doesn’t stop near me. He keeps going past where I’m seated on the mattress and walks to the window.

He leans against it and crosses his arms over his chest. A beautiful silhouette of a man against the Los Angeles skyline.

I can almost feel that rock-hard chest press against me, my breathing coming in fast, his lips on my neck, his hands dancing up my thigh—

Stop it, Esme. There’s no point reliving it. That was all just a lie. A deception. A mistake.

But I can’t stop the question from sneaking out of my lips like a thief in the night. “Was I a target all this time?”

“What?” he asks. His tone is genuinely puzzled.

“Four months ago,” I say. “In The Siren. Was I just a mark?”

He doesn’t look at me. He’s not the most expressive of men, but even from here, I can see something warring in his face. Emotions I can’t name or describe.

“You were… a mistake,” he says at last.

Can he be saying what I think he’s saying? That he really didn’t know who I was?

I frown, wondering if I should believe him or not. It seems too convenient to have been just a coincidence.

“A mistake. Yeah. It was. That night should never have happened,” I say.

I have to fight to suppress the urge to touch my stomach. Where Artem’s baby is growing, living.

“That we can agree on,” he nods.

It shouldn’t hurt me to hear him say that. After all, I was the one who said it first.

But my chest constricts a little anyway when he agrees with me.

All I can do is hope that he doesn’t see the hurt on my face.

“I know I’m just an object in this world,” I say softly. I don’t dare look at him. I keep my eyes on my hands in my lap. “I know I don’t mean a thing to you, that I’m just a tool in a big game. And once you’ve got what you want from me, you’ll discard me. I’ll be nothing more than the day’s collateral damage. But I won’t be used. I won’t. I just won’t.”

I half-expect him to laugh at my silly little speech. To mock me, tell me I don’t have a choice in the matter.

But he doesn’t.

He just stares out the window and takes in my words. The silence makes me aware of other things. His scent. His breathing.

Then he turns and locks eyes with me. He takes two long strides and then he’s right there, standing in front of me and looking down at my face.

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