14. Wolfe
WOLFE
She kissed me four days ago, and I still haven’t recovered.
I don’t mean that figuratively, either. I mean my brain is operating at roughly seventy percent capacity because the other thirty percent is committed to replaying the exact sequence of events on an endless loop.
The weight of Eva’s hand on my arm. The heat and hunger of her mouth on mine.
The sounds she made that I’ve never heard before, that ragged, desperate breathy sound.
And the way she said “not yet” like it was a door she was leaving cracked open on purpose.
Not yet.
She said, “not yet” and my brain heard an evasive timeline.
But my body heard something else entirely.
My body heard, “fuck yes, eventually” and it hasn’t shut up about the possibility since.
I’ve had sex before. But I’ve never wanted someone the way I want her.
It’s like a hunger pang my brain can’t override.
Something physical that lives and grows inside of me independent of my mind.
And it confuses the hell out of me. My brain runs everything in my life. Everything. But it doesn’t run this. My body does. And my body wants Eva in ways I can’t even begin to categorize.
Not yet.
Two words that are taking up more space in my head than Dmitri Kozlov, which is a big fucking problem because Dmitri is the one who might actually kill us.
We’re at the main house. It’s been our routine for the past few days. We show up in the morning, Eva works with Adriana’s data and debriefs with Lochlan in the afternoon. And I sit across the room pretending I’m focused on my own screen while tracking every time she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Eleven times today. I’m keeping count because my brain keeps count whether I want it to or not.
She hasn’t mentioned the kiss. Not once. She shows up, works, talks to my brothers like a professional, eats Tony’s sandwiches, and goes home.
She’s friendly. She’s focused. She’s completely, infuriatingly normal.
And it’s killing me.
Because I’m not normal. I’m sitting here with bruised knuckles from pounding the hell out of the heavy bag at the gym this morning because I needed to burn off whatever’s been building in my chest since that kiss.
Not that it worked. I hit that damn bag for forty-five minutes and I can still feel her mouth on me.
“Wolfe.” Lochlan’s voice snaps me back to reality. “You with us?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what did I just say?”
I drum my thumb against my thigh. “You said the Back Bay property has a secondary entrance through the loading dock that isn’t covered by the main security rotation.”
He stares at me. “How the hell do you do that?”
I shrug. “I was listening.”
“You were staring at the wall.”
“I can do both.” I slant a glance at Eva.
Her mouth twitches from across the table. She doesn’t look up from her screen, but I catch it.
We’re gathered in the conference room to map out the trap for Dmitri’s warehouse hit.
Eva, Lochlan, Adriana, and I sit around the long table going through logistics.
Ronan’s in his office on a call. Gavin is somewhere doing whatever Gavin does when there’s nothing to punch and maim.
Cillian’s at Venom, but checking in with me by text every hour because he can’t help himself.
Adriana lays out the building specs. Lochlan maps the security gaps. Eva cross-references everything against the Renaldi calendar. And I’m supposed to be building the digital layer of the trap…the fake data Dmitri will find when he gets inside.
I am building it. I’m also keeping track of the eleven hair tucks and the fact that Eva switched from the pen behind her ear to a pencil today, and the way she taps her fingertips on the table when she’s thinking. It’s different from my thumb tap but serves the same purpose.
We’re the same. That’s the thing my brain keeps circling back to. Yeah, we’re wired differently, and we suffered different damage, but we’re very much alike. We process the world through patterns. We hide what we feel because feeling shit got us hurt. We’re better with systems than people.
Except I’m starting to think she might be a person my system was designed for, and I don’t know what to do with that thought so I just let it loiter, taking up space next to “not yet.”
Adriana asks Eva a question about the financial data. Eva answers without hesitation, pulling up a spreadsheet she built that connects three shell corporations to a single address. Adriana leans forward and studies it.
“This is thorough,” Adriana says.
“I’ve had practice,” Eva says.
“Clearly.” Adriana looks at her. “Have you ever considered doing this kind of work legitimately? Forensic accounting firms would kill for someone with your skillset.”
Eva’s fingers stop moving over the keyboard. For about two seconds, she’s completely still. Then she starts typing again, and with a shake of her head says, “I’m a convicted felon. No legitimate company will touch me.”
“I might know people who would,” Adriana says.
Eva looks up, a flicker in her expression. It’s not hope. It’s that thing you feel when someone suggests the impossible and you haven’t decided yet whether or not to believe them.
“Maybe,” Eva says, a faint smile stretching across her face. “After this is over.”
“After this is over,” Adriana says in a firm voice. And she means it. I can tell because Adriana DiMicheli Molloy doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.
And the possibility lights me up a little bit. I can’t lie.
After this is over.
Eva said it like she believes there’s an after. A week ago, she didn’t. A week ago, she was surviving day to day with no finish line.
Something changed.
And I don’t think it’s just the operation.
About an hour later, Lochlan and Adriana head to Ronan’s office. Eva stays at the table, scrolling through data, her chin in her hand as she peers at the monitor.
I stay too. Because I can’t make myself leave.
Leave her.
I get up to grab a bottle of water from the side table. I walk behind her chair to get to it. My hand brushes the back of her shoulder as I pass.
I didn’t mean to do that. Or maybe I did. I don’t know anymore. The line between accidental contact and deliberate contact has been blurring all week, and I’ve stopped trying to figure out which side I’m on.
She doesn’t flinch or look up. But her typing pauses for exactly one second.
I pick up a bottle, twist off the cap, and walk back. This time I don’t touch her. But I pass close enough behind that she’d feel the air shift, and her head tilts about two degrees toward me as I go by.
She’s keeping score too.
We work in silence for the next twenty minutes. It’s the kind of silence that used to be comfortable, but now is loaded with so much tension that I can hear my own pulse pound between my ears.
“You’re watching me,” she says without looking up.
“I’m not.”
“Your typing stopped eleven seconds ago. Either you’re watching or you fell asleep sitting up.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“You know about what.”
She slowly turns to look at me. “Wolfe.”
“Eva.”
“We’re at your family’s house.”
“I’m aware.”
“Your brothers are down the hall.”
She holds my gaze. “Whatever’s happening here, it can’t happen here.”
“Nothing’s happening.”
“Your pupils are dilated.”
“How can you tell from four feet away?”
“Because I’ve been looking.”
My pulse beats harder. She’s been watching me the same way I’ve been watching her, except she’s better at hiding it because Eva’s been hiding things her entire adult life.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, nothing’s happening here.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We turn back to our screens. The silence is deafening now. My thumb taps against my thigh, and I don’t even try to stop it.
Eva takes a break around three to call Sal. She paces in front of the front steps, her phone pressed to her ear, a smile stretching across her face at something he said. The afternoon sunlight catches her dark hair, making it shine, and my brain takes a screenshot without my permission.
Sixty-three screenshots since the gala. I’ve stopped pretending that number is any bit normal.
She comes back inside, still smiling. “Sal says hi. He wants you to come by for the new pasta he’s testing.”
“Tell him I’ll be there.”
“You don’t even know when.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She looks at me. The smile softens into something else, and my heart does a funny flippy thing in my chest.
We wrap up around five. Lochlan and Adriana head to Ronan’s office for a final check-in. Eva grabs her jacket. I grab my keys.
We walk to the car. It’s been our normal routine since our work here started. We don’t talk for the first few minutes of the ride, the silence finally shattered by my “Enter Sandman” ringtone. I furrow my brow when I see Unknown Number flash on the screen.
I pull over to the side of the road and answer because unknown numbers are part of my job. I also don’t want to answer this call on speaker.
“Mr. Molloy.” The accented voice is smooth and pleasant when it hits my ear…familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl even though I’ve never heard it before.
Eva turns her head, a curious look on her face.
“Who is this?” I say.
“A mutual friend of the woman sitting next to you.”
My blood goes cold. Eva’s eyes widen. She heard that.
“You’re surprised I have your number,” he says. “You shouldn’t be. I’ve had it for months. I just didn’t have a reason to use it until now.” A beat. “So she’s told you about me. Good. That saves time.”
“Dmitri,” I say.
Eva’s whole body goes rigid, her fingers balling into tight fists.
“To express my gratitude, actually. Eva’s been doing beautiful work. She’s thorough and professional. The data she’s collected over the past three months has been extremely useful.”
“What do you want?”
“To let you know that her work is done. She finished the last piece two weeks ago and didn’t even know it. Everything I needed, I already have.” A pause. “I thought it would be good to tell someone who might care.”
“If you touch her—”
“Ah.” He sounds amused. “There it is. The thing I was calling to confirm.” Another pause. “Take care of her, Mr. Molloy. People who matter to us make us vulnerable. And vulnerability, in our line of work, is very expensive.”
The line clicks.
I squeeze the phone, my hand shaking. That son of a bitch.
Eva stares at me. She heard enough. Her face is white.
“Your work is done,” I say. “He has everything he needs. Which means—”
“I’m expendable,” she finishes. “And Sal is a loose end.”
I pull back into traffic. My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
He didn’t call to threaten me. He called to let me know he already won.
And the proof is sitting right next to me.