9. Eva
Eva
R obin sleeps soundly, curled on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The bruise on her jaw looks darker against the white pillowcase, but her breathing is deep and even. Peaceful.
She looks truly at rest, no nightmares invading her rest, and I’m so thankful for that.
I slip from the bed carefully, gathering my scattered clothes from the floor. She sleeps through my shower, doesn’t stir when I dress, doesn’t wake when I scribble a quick note on hotel stationery:
Gone to debrief. Back soon. Text me if you need me.
—E
The hallway outside our suite is almost crowded.
Two of Leon’s men flank our door, and two more are positioned where Robin’s family is staying.
Down the hallway, I see Colombos guarding the elevator, and another at the emergency stairs exit.
Good. I nod to my guards and ask them to contact Leon to meet me at the elevator.
I check my reflection in the mirrored panel while I wait for him. Eva Novak, arms dealer and Consortium head, stares back at me, but I barely recognize her.
Leon strolls up a few minutes later, the only sign of last night’s efforts a bandage wrapped around his forearm.
“How is it?” I ask with concern.
“I’ve had worse paper cuts.” His usual gruff tone is softer, and we both instinctively speak in our village dialect.
I learned the hard way that Brie Colombo has a gift for languages, and while she is an ally, she doesn’t need to know everything that Leon and I speak about, in case her security is picking up our conversation.
“The phone’s a write-off,” he goes on. “Unfortunate.”
“It is.”
“We will find this traitor,” he says confidently.
I can’t help glancing at him as we enter the elevator, wondering if Robin could possibly be right to suspect him. I just can’t see it, but when it comes to Robin, I’d even be willing to look at her siblings with suspicion if it meant protecting her.
The phone is a disappointment. And Leon took charge of it. But I saw its fragments myself; it was unlikely we would ever recover anything from it.
We make our way not to the boardroom, but to Brie’s private quarters, where she texted me to come when I was ready.
We need a special elevator to access the suite, and once we arrive, there’s quite a crowd, and a dozen bottles of very expensive champagne, despite the fact that it’s only just past noon.
“Eva!” Hadria raises her glass as we enter, eyes bright with satisfaction. “There she is—the woman who just neutered the Gatto Family in one night.”
“Nice work,” Lyssa adds from her position lounging against the bar, Scarlett tucked into her arm. “I heard you put the bullet into Ronnie G yourself.”
Ronnie…? For a moment, I have no idea who she means, but then it occurs to me: that was his name. Ronaldo Gatto.
The Gatto Boss.
I will make sure that name remains forgotten.
The room, meanwhile, has erupted in approving murmurs. Juno Bianchi nods at me, while her wife Caitlin raises her own glass in a silent toast. Even Sunny Santiago, her arm slung around the impassive-faced woman who led one of the other teams, grins and gives me an exaggerated thumbs up.
“The others?” I ask her over the chatter.
“We got them out,” she promises. “Every last one.”
I should feel proud. Victorious. Instead, all I can think about is Robin.
“Everything went perfectly,” Brie says, moving to the center of the room with the easy confidence of a woman who enjoys the spotlight. “The trafficking victims are safe—Alessa and Natalie’s people have them now. And the Gatto operation is dismantled, gone for good.”
The applause is immediate and genuine.
“I have to admit,” Lyssa says, “Nik told me not to underestimate you, but even so, I’m impressed.
” She gestures toward Nik, who’s nursing a bandaged middle but looking remarkably cheerful for someone who took a knife for me.
“Consortium leadership has teeth. You put your bullet where your mouth was, so to speak.”
“Eva?” Brie turns to me. “Would you like to say something? This was your operation, after all.”
All eyes turn to me, expectant. These are dangerous women, killers and crime bosses and syndicate leaders. My allies. My peers.
The praise should feel satisfying. Instead, it sits heavy in my stomach, tainted by the memory of Robin’s face when she saw me covered in blood. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, but something in her eyes had shifted. A recognition of exactly what kind of monster she’d chosen to love.
“Speech!” someone calls out—I think it’s Alessa de Luca—and the cry is taken up by others. “Speech! Speech!”
I don’t want to make a speech. I want to go back to my suite and wrap myself around Robin’s sleeping form and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.
But these women fought for me, bled for me, and they deserve acknowledgment. I move closer to the center, and the room falls silent.
“I owe all of you my thanks. And I want you to be the first to know that the Novak Consortium’s business model is changing,” I hear myself say. “Effective immediately.”
Uncle Stefan’s champagne glass stops halfway to his lips. But he’s not the only one looking surprised and cautious. The women ranged before me are waiting on tenterhooks to hear what I’ll say next.
“We will no longer supply weapons indiscriminately to the highest bidder,” I continue, my voice gaining strength.
“From now on, the Consortium deals exclusively with the organizations represented in this room, and their verified allies. People who’ve proven they understand the difference between necessary violence and meaningless cruelty. ”
Murmurs of surprise ripple through the gathering.
“There will always be a need for protection,” I go on, “and that is where the Consortium will focus our interests. Additionally, we’ll be significantly expanding our philanthropic operations.
Starting with a substantial donation to Alessa and Natalie’s anti-trafficking foundation and victim assistance programs.”
This gets actual cheers. But in the corner, I catch Stefan’s expression. He wears the same look of displeasure that I remember my father had from time to time when I questioned the Consortium’s policies.
“Well,” Hadria says, as the applause dies down, “that’s certainly a departure from tradition.”
“Tradition built my father’s empire,” I reply. “I’m building something different. And I am proud to be able to call all of you my allies—and, I hope, my friends.”
Nik raises her glass again. “To friendship,” she says, and gives me a rare smile. I give her one back—the first genuine smile from me she’s seen.
As conversations resume around us, Stefan appears at my elbow like a thundercloud.
“Eva,” he says quietly in Russian, “we need to discuss this. There are considerations—European partnerships, existing contracts?—”
“There will be no consultation,” I cut him off. “I am the head of the Consortium. My word is law.”
“Of course, but there are financial implications for our partners in Europe?—”
“They can adapt or be cut off entirely,” I snap, loud enough that I can see Brie and Nik, nearby, listening in with interest. Both of them understand Russian. Well, let them listen, and see that I mean what I say. “The Consortium is worth billions, Uncle. We can weather a few strategic cuts.”
Stefan’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly before he forces a tight smile. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.”
After Stefan melts back into the crowd, Leon moves closer.
“You should have consulted with him first,” he says in our village dialect.
I turn to stare at my oldest friend and protector. “Excuse me?”
“Stefan and I have uncovered financial irregularities within the Consortium.”
Heat flashes through me. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
Leon’s expression is carefully neutral. “I have tried. But you have been focused on…other things.”
Damn it. That’s true. I remember Leon trying to brief me even before Robin was kidnapped, remember brushing him off because all I could think about was…
Robin.
“Now that things have resolved,” Leon continues gently, “I would be happy to call in Markov for a meeting?”
I nod curtly, guilt churning in my stomach. Robin is safe, and that should mean I can think clearly again. Should mean I can be the leader the Consortium needs, especially if I want to make those changes I just announced publicly.
But all I can think about is how she felt in my arms, how she looked surrounded by her family, how she smiled when Maisie hugged me like I belonged there.
What happens now? What happens when she has to choose between the life she built with them and the life she could have with me?
I already know the answer. Robin wouldn’t be Robin if she abandoned her family for her own desires. She sacrificed herself once to save them; she won’t let them go now.
And I’ve changed, too. Because I can’t ask her to do that. Won’t ask her to choose me over the people who love her so unconditionally.
My phone buzzes against my ribs. A text from Robin: Can you come back to the suite? We need to talk.
“I have to go,” I tell Leon, pocketing the phone.
He nods his understanding. “The financial irregularities?—”
“Tomorrow,” I promise. “Tomorrow we’ll handle everything.”
Robin wants to talk, and I’m pretty sure I know what that conversation will entail.
Choosing her family over me.
Deciding that loving someone like me isn’t worth the danger it brings to the people she loves most.
And the hell of it is, she’ll be right to make that choice. It’s the smart thing for her to walk away, to disappear into whatever normal life she can build. Away from arms deals and assassination attempts and warehouse rescues that shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.
It’s one of the things I love most about her—her absolute devotion to the people who depend on her.
I hated it at first, hated the way she had something other than me to worry about.
And privately, I still think she needs to stop martyring herself for them.
She has made some very foolish decisions in her quest to make sure her loved ones are safe.
But I can hardly talk.
I’ve made a few foolish decisions myself since Robin came into my life. And I would make them again.
Because I’ve changed, somewhere in the space between buying her at auction and watching her sleep peacefully in my arms. The old Eva would have demanded she choose me , would have used wealth and power and emotional manipulation to bind her close, regardless of the cost to anyone else.
This new Eva—the one Robin has helped create with her gentle hands and fierce heart—can’t do that. Won’t do that. Even if it means losing the only person who’s ever made me want to be better than I am.
I make my excuses to the group, accepting congratulations and promises of future cooperation with the kind of smile that’s served me well in business meetings.
The elevator ride back to my suite feels like I’m headed to the guillotine. Each floor that passes brings me closer to the conversation that will end everything good I’ve found in this life.
But I owe Robin honesty and understanding. After everything she’s been through for my sake, she knows now what staying with me could cost. And so there’s a part of me that hopes she’ll tell me it’s over. Hopes she’ll choose herself .
Even if that choice breaks both our hearts.