“Papa, I can’t come home. I’m doing important work.” The lie leaves my lips on a breath I force through my throat and my tears, knowing I will probably never make it home. “Just… just tell them to call me, okay? I’ll see what I can do to help from here. That’s all I can do right now.”
It’s more than I should promise, but what else can I do? I might never see them again. At least this way I get to hear their voices. The realization forces fresh tears from my eyes to track down my cheeks, and I know I will lose it if I stay on any longer.
“I have to go. I’ll call tomorrow and see what you need, okay?”
“See that you do.” It’s my father’s parting command.
“Good night, Eva.” Marco sounds sad, a counterpoint to my father. “Thanks for calling. We miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Good night.”
I end the call before the sobs erupt, and I cover my face with my hand, trying to stem the flood.
A sound interrupts my misery. I jerk my head up as Evgeny walks into the room, and I hastily wipe at the tears with my hand. He crosses the kitchen without a word and picks up his book, which I hadn’t noticed he’d forgotten.
Then he retraces his steps, and I almost sigh with relief. Instead of leaving, he looks back at me. The emotion in his eyes is unreadable, the green almost preternatural in the shadows. Shivers run under my skin, following his gaze as it traces me, and I can’t look away.
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone again.
9
EVGENY
Thoughts of Eva won’t leave me alone, and they’re driving me out of my mind.
I can’t get the image out of my head. Her at the kitchen island, hunched over her phone, clutching it in both hands, tears tracking down her cheeks. I can still hear her voice, choked with emotion, as she talked to her family.
I don’t care what Vasya says. I still don’t entirely believe Eva isn’t part of some plot against me. Especially after Tsepov came to the restaurant, aknownKucherov territory. Especially after that parting shot of Tsepov’s.
I would watch your back because you never know who’s coming for it.
I should be working out what the bastard meant by that warning, deciding whether there’s any truth to it or if Tsepov is only trying to rattle me. He might be trying to throw me off balance, to get in my head and make me slip. The guy is oily and desperate enough to try anything to get one over on me.
I should be figuring out whether Eva is part of that plan, digging deep to find any hint of a connection with the Sokolinaya Bratva. I gave her the phone to call her family, hoping she would let something slip or call a contact.
But I can’t deny the call sounded real, the pain in their voices unfeigned and pulling at a part of me I thought long-buried. And I’m trying desperately to ignore the small part of me that gave her the phone because Vasya’s plea got to me.
So, Eva haunts me. She’s in my dreams, asleep and awake. She’s there in my mind’s eye when I should be working. And I can feel her under my skin at night when I know she’s at the opposite end of the house.
Her dark eyes bore into me, and my fingers itch to touch her again, to feel the silk of that wealth of hair and the soft warmth of her skin. I want to taste her lips like I should have that night at the club. I want to feel her writhing beneath me, burning with desire as she screams for the release only I can give her.
“Boss?”
Dmitri’s question jerks me out of a vision of Eva up against a wall, hair wild, hands pinned, my name on her lips as she screams through her orgasm.
“What?”
Dmitri’s eyebrows lift at my snapped reply, and I adjust myself. The thick bulge in my pants is uncomfortable.
“Did you hear what I said?”
He knows better than to ask if I’m okay, though the question is obvious on his face.
“No.”
Dmitri’s eyebrows lift further, and he licks his lips. I’ve been snapping at everyone and everything lately.
“I said the police found Vladislav dead this morning.”
