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

your life,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. “That creates a bond between two people. You’re just not willing to admit it. You know, denial will only get you so far, boy.”

“Who’re you calling a boy?” I ask, glaring at her.

That word brings up bad memories. Memories of my father, the night at The Siren when everything in my life changed forever.

“A man would face the things he’s afraid of. You won’t. Por lo tanto, that means you are a boy.”

“I’m not fucking afraid of anything. Not anymore.”

“That’s because you’ve pushed away everything you care about.” She taps her forehead like she sees something I’m still too slow to get.

I don’t appreciate the gesture.

“I didn’t push anything away,” I argue. “Esme left of her own free will. Goddammit, why are we even having this conversation?”

“Esme left because she felt like she had no choice,” Aracelia retorts. “She was afraid for the baby. Have you even thought about the baby?”

“I think about the baby every single fucking second of every single fucking day,” I rasp. It hurts to say. But it’s true.

Even if this is the first time I’ve ever admitted that out loud.

“And?”

“And…” I hesitate. “Maybe Esme was right to leave. The baby deserves better.”

“Better than what?” Aracelia demands. “A father who loves him?”

“My world is no place for a baby.”

Aracelia sits back and sighs. The mutt licks her hands and she fondles him behind the ear absentmindedly. Her own bowl of pozole remains untouched.

If this old bitch really has poisoned me, I’m gonna be fucking pissed.

“Let me perform a séance for you,” she says abruptly.

“What? Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t believe in that kooky shit.”

“You don’t believe in it?” she asks pointedly. “Or you’re afraid of what it might bring forth?”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

“If you don’t believe in it, then what’s the big deal?” Aracelia asks. “It won’t cost you a thing.”

I glare at her. “I don’t have the patience for that shit. I’m this close to kicking you the fuck out of here.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Then let me tell you what I’d read off your aura so far.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re a broken man who’s searching for purpose in all the wrong places. You’re lost and getting revenge is not going to fix you.”

I pause for a moment. “You don’t know anything about this.”

“I know that someone close has betrayed you,” Aracelia continues. “Someone you used to trust.”

“That’s very vague,” I tell her, acting as though her awareness of the situation isn’t completely unsettling.

She ignores me. “You feel as though you’ve let your father down,” Aracelia continues. “A father you lost very recently. You had a difficult relationship with him, am I right?”

“Most people have difficult relationships with their father.”

“But you still crave his approval and you know he wouldn’t have approved of you walking away from your duties,” she says. “Which is why you chose to push Esme away in favor of… this life.” She gestures broadly to encompass the lodge, the mountain, the solitude.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Is there a point to this?” I ask impatiently.

“The point is that you don’t have to choose, Artem.”

“Esme expected me to.”

“So your solution is to abandon her and your child?”

I bring my fists down on the table so fast and so hard that the whole room seems to rattle with my rage. Even Aracelia flinches.

It’s the first time I’ve gotten a fearful reaction from the woman.

It’s oddly satisfactory.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I roar at her. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Aracelia looks up at me with wide eyes as I stand up from the table.

“It’s time you leave. Now.”

The mutt whimpers in the corner. Aracelia remains frozen in place for a moment as if contemplating something.

And then she rises.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll go.”

She heads for the door while the mutt watches as though his best friend is walking out on him, but he makes no move to follow her.

At the threshold, Aracelia turns around and glances at me.

“You can scare everyone away, Artem,” she tells me. “But at the end of the day, you’ll be alone. And trust me: no one—no one—can live alone forever. Certainly no one can fight alone.”

With that bullshit parting speech, she walks out, keeping her back straight and proud.

I close my eyes and sink down into my seat once more when she’s gone.

Fuck.

I hate to admit it, but the woman got to me. Her words keep rolling around in my head, getting harder and harder to ignore.

No one can live alone.

No one can fight alone.

I think about the resources I have available to fight Budimir. My forces are limited at best, and as determined as I am, I know I can’t take Budimir and his forces like that.

I have been up in these mountains for months now. It was only ever meant to be a temporary respite, and yet it has burgeoned into a far longer stint than I ever predicted.

Yes, I had to wait for my wounds to heal, but I’ve been healed for at least two months now.

I’ve been training my body hard, trying to train my mind as well.

But at what point had it gone from preparation to procrastination?

I can’t hide out in these mountains anymore.

I have to act. I have to move.

I have to take control of the Bratva once more.

And in order to do that, I need to destroy them first.

But Aracelia was right about one thing: I cannot do that alone.

I leave my bowl of pozole to cool as I grab a handgun and storm out of the cabin. The mutt follows close behind me.

For once, I don’t mind the company.

I make a beeline straight for Cillian’s memorial. The path is familiar now and well-marked by my daily visits.

I sink to my knees in the dirt and stare at the pyramid of flat white stones, with that pitiful cross of sticks on top.

The mutt starts exploring the area, sniffing around and wagging his tail with contentment.

It’s a nice evening, but I’ve lost the ability to appreciate beauty anymore.

“Brother,” I say, looking