A Double-Edged Sword
Dante
Evelyn had been living at my apartment for nearly a week now, and each day I felt myself thaw a little more. It was like she’d turned a light on inside me, and it was slowly growing brighter, slowly overpowering the dark.
Don’t get me wrong, I was still a grumpy asshole, but I felt like it might have eased some of the rage I usually carried about with me like a constant companion. Suddenly the nights didn’t seem so dark, and the days didn’t stretch out aimlessly.
I liked coming home. Enjoyed sitting down to a home-cooked meal—not that I couldn’t cook, but she was better at it than me. I loved the sight of her padding around my suite barefoot, seeing her clothes in the laundry basket, smelling her scent on my pillow.
The best part, though, and the part I would never admit to any of my siblings, was that falling into bed with her, even when we weren’t having mind-blowing sex, stilled something in me. I’d never slept better. Never woken up more refreshed.
Hell, I was beginning to think she was good for me.
Nico would say I had it bad, and he’d be right.
We might be playing at being a happy couple, but I knew it was a farce. Make-believe. A short-term arrangement until we’d achieved our goal, and then she’d go back to her place—her life—and I’d be alone again.
The thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.
I poured her a glass of wine as she set dinner on the table. I even knew what vintage she preferred.
I sighed internally. Fucking bad, man.
Still, I had a plan. A three-pronged plan of attack. And I was nothing if not stubborn.
One: banish the thought of any other man from her head. Two: make sure everybody knew who she was dating, and whose protection she was under. Three: drip-feed information to Malakov through Orlov and any other means possible.
The first I thought I’d achieved, judging by the way she gave herself to me every night with increasing abandon. I loved seeing her let loose. Seeing the smile on her face. The laughter in her eyes.
Last night she’d even instigated our lovemaking, grabbing me by the shirt and pulling me into the bedroom. I smiled at the memory, then caught myself, and replaced it with my normal, neutral expression.
The second was happening organically. Word from the gala had spread, and Valentina had even called to say there’d been a piece in the society pages on Tuesday about the unlikely coupling.
Orlov and Alexei would have relayed the information back to Malakov, and I was pretty sure the cartel had taken it under advisement.
So far there’d been no new threats on Evelyn’s life. Her apartment door was still intact after I’d had it fixed, and my men reported no suspicious activity outside the gallery. They still shadowed her everywhere she went, and I had my driver take her anywhere she wanted to go.
That left the third, which was going better than expected.
Only yesterday, Nico had picked up some activity on Malakov’s burner phone, from Orlov’s cell number. The call had lasted forty-seven minutes. That was a serious discussion, and I was betting it was about the Colombians.
At work, Evelyn had seen to it that Malakov had missed out on two pieces he’d expressed an interest in, with rumors that the sale had gone to an anonymous client of Ricardo Sánchez.
Then, Chloe, Evelyn’s assistant, had arranged for an air-tight, temperature-controlled container to be shipped to Bogotá, with legitimate documentation and a shipping manifest.
The assumption would be that it was the high-value artwork heading to the cartel, when in fact, it was two useless pieces she’d picked up at an art fair several years ago.
Yep, things were moving in the right direction.
“My mother has called a sit-down tomorrow evening at her place,” I said as she took a seat next to me at the dining table.
Instead of sitting at opposite ends, Evelyn had set our places next to each other, with me at the head and her beside me.
It was less formal, and I was getting used to the natural flow of conversation.
I’d never had a woman other than Izzy stay with me long-term before, and as Evelyn put it, I was terrible at small talk. I didn’t disagree. But I was getting better at it. With her, anyway.
She glanced at me. “Am I invited?”
“Valentina would insist on it.”
Her lips quirked.
“You’ll get to meet the whole famiglia.” I wondered how she’d handle them all together.
One thing I’d realized about Evelyn was that she was a survivor. I’d been trained by Uncle Sam to adapt to new situations and to overcome adversity, but she had that naturally. She was a lot stronger than she looked.
“What’s Marco like?” she asked, reaching for her wine glass.
“He’s a born diplomat. A charming devil that says one thing and does the opposite. He’s well connected in business and political circles. Has a far-reaching intel network and knows everybody’s dirty little secrets. You can’t trust him, but he’ll make you believe you can.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” she murmured.
“He can also be a stuck-up, arrogant prick, but just ignore that side of him.”
She laughed, and a smile tugged at my lips. Suddenly I wasn’t dreading the meeting as much as I usually did.
“Is he married?” She set her glass down and picked up her knife and fork. We were having chicken with a variety of colored vegetables and a creamy potato dish that smelled amazing. My stomach rumbled.
“Nope. He was engaged once, but it didn’t work out. He’s been single ever since.”
“What is it with you Marcellis?” she said, eyes dancing in the moody lighting. “Do you all have an inherent mistrust of relationships?”
She wasn’t wrong there.
“I blame my mother,” I said, only half joking. Valentina and her pathological suspicion of everyone and everything had given us all trust issues, I was sure of it.
“What was your father like?” she asked softly.
I stared at her, debating whether or not I wanted to have this conversation. She was watching me expectantly.
“He wasn’t like that,” I said finally. “He embraced life. I still remember his booming laugh.”
She smiled, and I realized it was because I was smiling. I whipped the expression off my face. “What a fucking tragic loss that was.”
“Were you close?” she asked.
I nodded, deciding I didn’t want to talk about him anymore.
“My parents were always so involved with each other, there was no time for me,” she admitted, surprising me with the unexpected insight into her past. While we’d talked about the gallery, the plan against the cartel, and even my own family, she’d never once offered anything up about her personal life before I’d bulldozed my way into it.
“Sounds tough,” I said, before taking a bite. Damn, that chicken was good.
“It wasn’t tough, just lonely,” she said, brow wrinkling. “I was an accident, you see. Not that they ever said as much. But they didn’t want kids and weren’t prepared to change their lifestyle just because they had me.”
I tried to picture the young Evelyn fending for herself. It explained a lot.
“How did they die?” I asked.
“Plane crash in Africa. They were on safari when their light aircraft went down.” She shook her head. “They liked to travel a lot.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. I knew what it was like to lose a parent.
“Thanks. I was already at college when it happened, so it’s not like I was a kid.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier,” I said.
She nodded in acknowledgment, then took a deep breath. “No, it doesn’t. But they didn’t leave me destitute. I was able to buy the gallery with what they left me.”
Her face brightened as she talked about the Agora, and I realized how much it meant to her. I ignored the flicker of guilt when I thought about what we’d done. How we were using her for our own ill-gotten gains. Like we used many different businesses.
Still, it was true what I’d told her before. Without the inflated sales, without the constant flow of revenue, without Vincent, she wouldn’t have done as well as she had.
I guessed that’s what you called a double-edged sword.
“I got a new customer today,” she said, as we ate. “One you might be interested in.”
“Oh?” I’d just about cleaned off my plate and was contemplating seconds. That in itself was amazing. I’d never had much of an appetite.
“A Spanish-speaking gentleman by the name of Pablo Ramirez.”
Suddenly, I was very interested.
“What does he look like? He could be linked to the cartel.” I could send the image to Nico, see if he could run it and get an ID.
She frowned. “That’s why I’m letting you know. He was interested in one of my newest acquisitions, Delia Hubert.”
“Who’s she?”
“A contemporary abstract artist. She’s up and coming, and while her work is still affordable, I suspect it won’t be for much longer.”
“If he’s after a deal, it’s not related.” I exhaled and sat back in my chair. No cartel buyer would want an “affordable” piece. They’d be looking to spend big bucks, the more the better.
“Still, I thought it was worth mentioning,” she said.
“You’re right. It is. Do you have his details? I’ll get Nico on it straight away.”
She gave a tiny nod. “Of course.”
We finished the meal, and I had only a small second plate before I loaded the dishwasher. Marco had staff, as did my mother. Nico lived in a big warehouse whose location nobody knew, and Izzy had an apartment in Brooklyn and ordered out a lot.
I preferred to look after myself. The army had taught me how and I wasn’t afraid to admit I still carried many of those habits with me. Routine. Structure. Predictability. They brought me comfort in a life that offered none of those things.
Then there was Evelyn.
I watched as she curled up on the couch, a blanket over her legs, and turned on the TV.
She had one in her room but had taken to spending her evenings here, while I worked in my office, or more frequently, at the dining table just to be near her.
I told myself it was so I could keep an eye on her, but I knew it was a lie.
I half watched the programs she did. Trending series, romcoms, and the occasional thriller. Sometimes I even joined her on the couch, my arm around her shoulders, her body tucked into mine.
If you’d told me I’d be doing this even a month ago, I’d have laughed in your face. Me? With a live-in girlfriend? What the fuck?
Yet here I was, eager not to let her out of my sight. Wanting to hear her throaty chuckles, see her eyes light up when she saw something amusing.
I grimaced. There was that double-edged sword again.
The best time I’d ever had with a woman and it wasn’t even fucking real.
The show ended and she stretched like a cat, lifting her arms into the air and curving her back. I noticed how her shirt rode up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach along with that little freckle I liked to kiss.
My cock responded in a way that only Evelyn could make it do.
Getting up and making no attempt to cover my instant erection, I made my way over to her and held out a hand. She took it, allowing me to pull her off the couch. A little smile curved her lips, and her eyes met mine, filled with unspoken promises.
My heart swelled, as did the heat in my groin, and I led her wordlessly to the bedroom. I didn’t want to think too closely about what I was doing. Or the many, many ways this could go wrong. Because I wasn’t ready to stop. Didn’t want to stop.
I’d tried to expel every other man from her head, but in a cruel twist of irony, what I’d actually done was fill my own head with her until there was no room for anything else.