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

firepower outward. We don’t want Budimir’s allies and reinforcements trapping us on the inside.”

“That might happen regardless,” Adrik points out.

“We’ll see,” I reply, confidence bolstering my tone and brooking no argument.

My eyes twitch to the small makeshift bar in the corner of the room. Once upon a time, I would have craved the whiskey. The reassurance of it.

Now, all I see there is weakness in a bottle.

My wife.

My son.

That’s where my strength lies now.

“We’ll need an extraction team,” Luka says. “For…”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I will extract my wife and son myself. Budimir is going to rue the day he ever thought of taking what was mine.”

We spend the next hour making our plans.

I try to not upend the table I’m sitting at. The rage never subsides. I feel like I’m a raw bundle of nerves waiting to explode.

And then my phone rings.

“Fuck,” I growl. “Everyone. Out. Now!”

I pick up just as the last few guys clear out and leave me to an empty room.

“Hello?” I answer carefully.

“Artem?”

Svetlana’s voice is shaky and slightly nervous. She’s speaking low, urgent, her normal hint of flirtation completely gone.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“I’m in the compound,” she tells me. “In one of the rooms on the top floor. Don’t worry—I’m safe.”

“Have you seen Budimir yet?”

“No,” Svetlana replies. “I was brought here from the hotel and told to stay in this room. But the place is chaos. Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“They have your wife, Artem,” she whispers. “And I heard a baby cry, too.”

My heart drums so hard that it fucking hurts. The rage galvanizes into purpose.

But there’s hope there, too.

Esme is still alive.

Phoenix is still alive.

And as long as they both still draw breath, I have a fucking purpose.

I have a reason to continue fighting.

“I’ll do what I can, Artem,” she says.

And before I can say another word, the line goes dead.

42

Artem

I stride out of the room, and look towards the assembled men.

“Come on,” I tell them. We’re moving out.”

No one says a word. They take one look at my face and start rallying to follow my orders.

Kian approaches me as everyone gears up, his eyes flitting between my men and his.

“How confident are you of taking this compound?” he asks me.

“A hundred percent,” I answer.

He raises his eyebrows. “Any chance that math is wrong, mate?” he says with a grim chuckle.

I clap my hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done more than enough, Kian. You’re not under obligation to come with us. I won’t lie—I’d gladly take your assistance. But you don’t have to be here.”

The Irishman meets my gaze calmly. “Our don sent us here to follow you, Artem. And that is what we’ll do. Until you’ve killed that motherfucker who killed Cillian.”

I pause, looking at his face with new awareness. He has stark blue eyes and sandy brown hair. The cut of his face is similar to Ronan’s but it’s not an obvious characteristic.

“Kian,” I repeat. “Kian… O’Sullivan?”

He nods grimly. “Cillian’s younger brother,” he replies. “I was only a boy when he was… when he left.”

That means he must be in his early twenties now, but he looks older.

“Your father sent his heir down here for a mission that has a good chance of ending badly?” I ask.

Kian snorts. “He didn’t want me coming. I insisted.”

I clap my hand against his shoulder again. “Well, I appreciate you coming,” I tell him. “I know Cillian would have, too.”

Kian nods. I can tell he’s ready to get going.

So am I.

“Move out!” I yell.

My men and I head out towards the line of cars that are driving up now to collect the various teams.

The drive to the compound is laced with an underlying tension, but there’s also a certain muted fervor. I look around at my men, knowing that I have their loyalty and they have mine.

It’s the strongest weapon we have against Budimir.

When we approach the compound, I see a lone guard on the lookout post. He looks sweaty and unprepared and I realize that Svetlana’s intel was sound.

I’ve thrown a spanner in the works and Budimir is scrambling to get his shit together.

I don’t intend to give him much time to rally his men.

This is the perfect time to strike.

“Drive through the gate,” I order Adrik.

Adrik smiles and relays the command into his walkie-talkie. I see a second armored jeep drive up next to us.

A second later, both vehicles accelerate simultaneously and we race towards the black gate that closes off Stanislav’s compound.

The man at the post starts shooting useless rounds that bounce off of the reinforced windshield.

“Brace!” I command my men.

The combined force of both jeeps crash into the black gate. It thunders apart.

And we’re in.

A handful of Budimir’s men wait out on the lawn, guns in hand. They scatter as we plow forward, attempting to take cover.

My men roll down their windows and start firing.

We mow them down ruthlessly.

But I can see more troops amassing in the distance, near the garage where all my father’s prized vehicles were once housed.

We screech to a halt in the main front courtyard.

The moment we’re at the steps that lead up to the massive mansion, I signal to my men to get down.

I’m the first one out of the jeep.

I scale the steps three at a time until I’m the front door. Just before I reach them, the doors fly open and I’m faced with four armed soldiers.

Four against one—truly unfair odds.

For them.

I feint to the side and shoot twice. I hit both my targets and they drop to the floor instantly with new holes in their foreheads.

I stab the third in the throat and shove him into the fourth, then fire another pair of rounds into each of them.

The whole thing takes less than ten seconds.

I lead the charge into the mansion. My men fill in behind me, their weapons drawn and their faces alert.

“Fan out,” I signal to them.

I know that more men will soon be coming