Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2) by Nicole Fox (e book free reading .txt) 📕

his voice this time. “He’s not going to survive losing you. And he’ll never forgive me for leaving you, either.”

I feel desperate tears slip down my cheeks. My voice falters.

I turn away from Cillian as a new round of gunshots pelts the silence. I lunge for the cupboard under the sink and pull out one of the guns that Artem has stashed when he thought I wasn’t looking.

It feels heavy and ungainly in my hand. I hate it instantly.

But I’m determined to use it if I need to.

I rush to the door, ready to go out.

Only for Cillian to block my path.

He shakes his head sadly. Those mirthful blue eyes are brimming with sorrow.

“Esme, you know I can’t let you walk out of here.”

“Too bad you won’t be able to stop me.”

For some reason, I didn’t really believe Cillian would go this far.

But as I tried to walk around him, he blocks me again.

“I can’t just leave him out there,” I say desperately, my eyes looking past Cillian into the darkness of the mountains.

“You’re right.”

Relief floods through me. I see the panic and fear in Cillian’s eyes, too.

We’re both aware that the gunfire has ceased.

Now there’s nothing but silence—dark, taunting silence that could mean absolutely anything.

“Let’s go,” I say fiercely. “I’m ready.”

To my surprise, he shakes his head again. “No. You’re staying. I’ll go.”

“Cillian, I—"

He moves so fast I don’t even have time to react. He rips the gun suddenly from my hands and pushes me down onto one of the chairs on the table.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand once I’ve processed what the hell just happened.

“Making sure you can’t leave.”

Acting quickly, he grabs the sheet I gave him earlier that night and uses it to tie me to the chair.

I try to struggle, try to thrash, but my movements are sluggish with shock and his knots are swift and secure.

By the time he’s done, I can barely budge.

“Are you fucking serious, Cillian?” I hiss at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice drenched in apology. “I’m sorry, Esme. But I’m not taking you with me.”

“Fuck!” I scream.

I tug as hard as I can.

The knots don’t move at all.

Cillian takes the gun, as well as one of his own, and heads out the door. He glances back at me from the threshold, his blue eyes catching the moonlight for a moment.

Then he disappears into the darkness.

3

Esme

I scream Cillian’s name again and again until my throat is hoarse and my voice is gone.

But I know that he’s not coming back to untie me.

I can’t hear a thing. The weight in my chest just keeps getting heavier and heavier until I feel that familiar shooting pain lancing through my stomach.

The last time I felt it was weeks ago.

Right after Stanislav’s funeral.

When I’d first discovered that Artem was responsible for Cesar’s death.

My baby kicks hard. I know that my rising heart beat and intense panic can’t be good for him.

“It’s okay, little bird,” I say, falling back to my brother’s old nickname for me. “It’s okay. We’re going to be all right.”

I’m on the verge of saying that his Papa is gonna be all right, too, but I stop short at the last moment.

I don’t know if that’s true.

For the moment, I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again.

The thought races through me like poison. “Oh, God,” I gasp as claustrophobia grips my throat and tightens its cold fingers around my heart. “I can’t breathe… I can’t…”

But there is no one to help me.

Another shooting pain courses through me, worse than the first.

My stomach feels suddenly twice as large and twice as heavy and I try to breathe and I try to calm down, both for myself and for the child inside me, but my thoughts are chaotic and uncontrollable and they’re rising up in me like a dark swirling tide and I can’t get my heart to ease and the blood is pounding so hard in my temples and the night outside is so horrifyingly silent and why won’t anyone come to help me and where is Artem and where is Cillian and who is out there in the darkness and what do they want and where did they come from and oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, if something doesn’t happen soon then I feel like I’m going to—

“Breathe, Esme,” I whisper out loud.

MANY YEARS EARLIER

“Breathe, Esme.”

“Cesar?”

My eyes fly open to find my brother kneeling in front of me, his gaze fixed on me with concern.

I don’t know how he managed to get so close to me without me noticing.

But then again, my head had been buried in my hands while I cried.

“What’s wrong, little bird?” Cesar asks.

“Papa hit me.”

Cesar’s eyes flare with anger. “He did what?”

I nod as another tear slips down my cheek. “He asked me to play piano for his friends and I said I didn’t want to. I don’t like his friends. They look at me weird.”

“So he slapped you?”

“He said that he was my father and I was to do whatever he asked of me.”

I place my hand against the cheek Papa slapped. It still stings, but I don’t know if the pain is real or imagined. Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

Cesar sits down beside me on the grass and takes my hand. “I remember the first time Papa hit me.”

I look at him in shock. “Papa’s hit you?”

Cesar nods. “I was younger than you are now,” he tells me. “Probably about seven.”

“What happened?” I ask. I’m still sobbing but not as hard anymore. My breath comes a little easier as I lean into my brother’s warmth.

“I can’t remember,” Cesar replies. “I know that sounds strange, but I honestly can’t remember. I was doing something he didn’t want me doing. Or maybe I said something he didn’t like. Either way, he punched me in the face. My nose started bleeding, I thought it was broken.”

“Was it?”

“No,” Cesar shakes his head. “But his ring left a mark.”

I gasp, noticing the