Artem
Fuck.
Four missed calls from Maxim and two from Adrik.
“You okay?” Esme asks as she comes out of the bedroom, holding Phoenix.
“Of course,” I say. “I just noticed that you don’t have any food.”
Esme bites her lower lip. “Yeah, well… I kinda live day-to-day.”
“Don’t worry,” I reply. “I’ll go out now and get a couple of things.”
“Okay,” Esme says without argument. “I’ll see you in the evening then?”
“Evening?” I repeat, turning to her.
“I have to go in to work today,” she tells me like it’s unavoidable.
My eyes narrow. I step forward. “You’re not going to work today. Or any day.”
Esme raises her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Esme, that job is beneath you. It’s not what you want to do,” I tell her. “And you don’t have to anymore.”
“But—”
“Tell me you like going in to work every day, and I won’t say another word,” I challenge.
She hesitates. I can see her contemplating a proud lie.
Then she sighs. “Fine. I don’t like the job.”
“Then don’t do it,” I tell her. “You’re not on your own anymore. I’m here.”
I see the light spark in her eyes. Hope kindling.
Again, I feel the guilt resurface. We still haven’t discussed our plans for the future.
Esme still has no idea that I’m poised to take over control of the Bratva.
I have to tell her—I know that. But I’m selfish enough to cling to the moments before then.
One more morning. One more day. One more hour.
Then I’ll tell her.
Then I’ll explain.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I’m not even sure what that questions means.
Am I sure about what?
Her?
Us?