Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) by Nicole Fox (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📕

I don’t know why I’ve allowed myself to be roped into this conversation, but I’ll go ahead and blame my hormones.

“It upset you that she was hitting on me?” Artem asks.

I take a huge mouthful of pancake and pretend I can’t talk for several seconds. Artem takes a sip of his coffee and leans back, waiting patiently.

When I finally swallow, he smiles. “Finished?”

I sigh. “I didn’t care that she was hitting on you,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

Artem laughs. “It’s amazing you managed to keep your pregnancy from me for so long,” he remarks. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It was rude,” I snap, jabbing my fork at him to underscore my point. “I was in the fucking plane, only a few feet away. I climbed aboard in a fucking wedding dress. I mean, she had no idea that we weren’t exactly the most traditional couple. We could have been madly in love for all she knew.”

“Well, she is in the hospitality industry,” Artem points out. He gives me a little wink that just pisses me off more.

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “It’s not like I took her up on the offer.”

“No. You didn’t exactly push her away, though,” I reply.

“Would you prefer I had?”

“Yes,” I say simply.

“Alright, then,” Artem says. “Next time, I’ll push.”

“Push hard,” I tell him. “Like, off the plane, preferably.”

He smiles. “Anything for you, my wife.”

I turn my attention back to the remnants of my pancake to hide the shiver of sensation that those words cause in me every time.

The fuller get, the better I feel.

“I don’t have my vitamins on me anymore,” I remember suddenly.

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “We’ll stop somewhere on the way and pick up a few things. You’ll need more clothes, too.”

I nod. “That would be great. Not that Cillian didn’t do well picking out these clothes for me. I never got to thank him properly.”

“I’m sure he’s not holding a grudge about a couple items of Walmart’s finest apparel.”

“I’m not talking about that,” I scowl. “I’m talking about the fact that he saved our lives yesterday.”

“Did he? Oh, right,” Artem recalls with a grin. “Don’t worry. I thanked him for the both of us.”

“Did you give him a hug, too?” I ask, keeping my face serious.

His mouth twitches. “Maybe.”

“A kiss on the lips?” I tease.

“Watch yourself, Moreno.” He shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee.

“You and he are close, huh?” I ask. It’s crazy how much of Artem’s life is still a total mystery to me.

He nods. “He’s the closest thing to a brother I have in this world,” he tells me. “I trust him completely.”

“He’s clearly not Russian, though.”

Artem laughs. “What gave him away?”

“The fact that he sounds like Bono doing a Lucky Charms commercial.”

At that, Artem nearly spits out his coffee. It’s not lost on me how much I like his laughter. How rare it is, how warm, how genuine.

“I guess I was just wondering how the two of you became friends in the first place,” I continue once he’s calmed down.

“I got into a fight with five fuckers who thought they could take me,” Artem explains. “I would have won too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was ever-so-slightly drunk. Anyway, Cillian stepped in and helped me out. From then on, he’s always had my back. I’ve always had his.”

“It must be nice,” I say, feeling a twinge of loss. “To have a friend like that. All I ever had was Tamara.”

Artem’s looks at me with a careful expression, and I can tell he’s wondering what to say to me.

But I don’t really need him to say much. I realize that I just need the catharsis of speaking out loud.

“She was my only real female friend, you know,” I continue. “I was home-schooled and Papa didn’t exactly encourage me to get out and meet new people. Tamara visited a lot. She was the only one that was pre-approved and that was because she was also my cousin.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It wasn’t so much when I was younger,” I say. “I had Cesar.”

I lift my eyes to Artem’s. He looks relaxed, but I can see the whites of his knuckles, the way his eyes grow still and tense as he looks at me.

“You still haven’t told me… how it happened,” I whisper, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

“I will tell you,” Artem says seriously. “But not today.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“That’s a cop out,” I accuse.

“Perhaps.”

“Artem…”

He sighs and I can feel that we’ve come to yet another stalemate.

“Is the story so bad?” I ask.

“It’s complicated, Esme,” he tells me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about your brother.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s true,” he replies. His eyes go dark and opaque in a way that I haven’t seen for a long time.

It reminds me of the time not so long ago when he was just a stranger—cold and secretive.

Which begs the question… what is he now?

“You hate him, don’t you?” I say softly.

He hesitates. I know that it’s only for my benefit.

“I can see it in your eyes, Artem.”

He drops his gaze. I see the tense set of his jaw.

“I know you love him,” Artem says at last. “I know he was a good brother to you. But that was not the man I met.”

“You just saw his mask,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You didn’t see him.”

“What?”

I look up at him. His head is tilted to the side with curiosity. “His mask,” I explain. “I have one. You have one. Cesar had one, too. Mine was easy—good daughter. I just had to smile and curtsy and look pretty and never speak my mind. Never push back against the bars of my cage. But Cesar… His was harder to bear.”

“He was the heir,” Artem guesses.

I nod. “He was supposed to be like Papa. He was supposed to be Papa, really. Ruthless. Shrewd. Cold. But that’s not Cesar. That’s not how he