19. Eva
EVA
I open the door to my apartment and my stomach drops into my sneakers like a goddamn lead weight.
My go bag is on the kitchen table.
The black duffel bag that lives hidden in the back left corner of my closet with the handle facing out, in exactly the same position where I put it the day I moved in here, is on the fucking kitchen table.
I check it every day. It’s my ritual. My lifeline.
The thing that says I can disappear in minutes if my world catches fire.
Now it’s sitting in the middle of my kitchen table like a centerpiece. And next to it, flat on the cracked wood, is a photo of Sal.
He’s behind the bar at Rosario’s, laughing with a customer. It looks to have been taken through the front window. The timestamp in the corner says yesterday.
My legs lock up, every muscle twitching, and my stomach clenches so hard I nearly double over. I grip the doorframe with one hand and the other goes straight to the knife in my jacket. I hold it so tight my knuckles crack.
They were in my apartment. They went through my closet. They found the one thing I packed for survival, and they put it on display like a goddamn trophy. Right next to a photo that says, “we can get to your brother whenever we want.”
I scan the room on autopilot, checking for anything else that’s out of place.
Everything looks normal, which makes it worse.
They came in, touched my things, arranged their little presentation, and left without disturbing a single other object.
That takes patience. That takes skill. That takes someone who wanted me to know exactly how easy it would be to do something so much fucking worse.
I pull out the burner and call Wolfe. He picks up on the first ring.
“Someone was in my apartment.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which isn’t saying much. “They pulled my go bag out of the closet and put it on the table next to a surveillance photo of Sal.”
One second of silence ticks past. Then two.
“Don’t touch anything. Leave now. I’m sending Cillian. He’s close by.”
“Wolfe—”
“Eva,” he growls. “Get out of there. Wait on the street. Please.”
The “please” does it. Wolfe doesn’t say please. He throws out facts and directives and dry observations about cereal. “Please” means he’s scared and he’s trying not to show it.
I back out the door and run down the stairs, practically tripping over my own feet to get to the ground level.
The street looks normal on this Tuesday afternoon. That’s the thing about danger. It never comes with a warning label.
A woman with a stroller passes by. Then a cluster of kids on bikes tear past. The neon sign hanging over the dry cleaner buzzes the way it always does.
Sweat beads pebble the back of my neck, my breaths short and shallow. My apartment was just violated by people who work for a Russian criminal and the neighborhood looks like freaking Pleasantville.
I want to scream. Instead, I lean against the building, wrap my arms around myself, and wait.
Cillian pulls up in a blacked-out Range Rover four minutes later. He gets out, takes one look at my face, and doesn’t ask a single question.
He walks around the front of the car and pulls open the passenger side door. “Get in,” he says.
I get in, my hands trembling in my lap. He closes the door, walks back to the driver’s side, puts the car in gear, and floors the gas.
“They left my go bag on the table,” I say after a few blocks. “Next to a photo of my brother.”
His jaw tightens. “Message received.”
I twist the ends of my hair around my fingers.
“I don’t understand. Why not just kill me?
They know where I live. They know I turned.
Dmitri has everything he needs to do whatever the hell he’s got planned.
I’m a loose end with a laptop and a prison record.
Why break into my apartment and arrange a little art installation instead of putting a bullet in my head? ”
“Because killing you will start a war with my family, and Dmitri’s not ready for that fight yet.
He’s still building leverage. Right now, he needs the Molloys off-balance, not raging.
” Cillian glances at me. “You’re more useful to him as a threat than a body.
If he hurts you, my brother will lose his mind.
If my brother loses his mind, he’ll make mistakes. Dmitri wants mistakes, not martyrs.”
I let that sink in. I’m alive because my death would be tactically inconvenient. That’s not exactly a warm blanket of comfort.
“Which brother?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said ‘my brother will lose his mind.’ Which brother?”
Cillian looks at me like I just asked him what color the sky is. “Eva. Come on.”
“I’m asking.”
“You know which one.” He turns back to the road. “The one who’s been a completely different person since you showed up. The one who misses our weekly basketball games and sleeps at your apartment instead of staring at his monitors until the ass crack of dawn.” He pauses. “Speaking of which.”
“Speaking of what?”
“You and Wolfe.”
“What about me and Wolfe?”
He’s quiet for a second, navigating a turn. “How is he?”
“Excuse me?” He cannot be asking about—
“Jesus, Eva. I’m not a fucking perv. I just wanna know how he is with you, how he is when nobody else is watching.”
“Oh,” I say. Something in his voice makes my chest ache. He’s watching out for Wolfe just like he did years ago when he sat outside his younger brother’s bedroom door during their father’s rages. He wants to make sure the person he loves most in the world is okay.
“He’s good,” I say. “He’s really good.”
“Yeah?”
“He eats real food now.”
“Yep,” Cillian says. “He shocked the shit out of me when he ate one of the sandwiches at the house the other day. He’s always been weird with the textures of different foods.”
I smile. “Yeah. But he’s getting better with trying things. He sleeps more than three hours a night, too. He’s...” I search for the right word. “Present. Like he’s actually in the room instead of running calculations in his head.”
Cillian nods slowly. “That’s new.”
“I know.”
“That’s you.”
“I don’t think it’s just me.”
“It’s you. Trust me. I’ve known him his whole life, and I’ve never seen him like this.” He pulls onto the highway. “Look, I’m not going to do the whole overprotective brother thing. Sal already has that covered from your side, I’m sure.”
My grin widens. “He really does. But he loves Wolfe, and he’s been matchmaking from day one.”
“Cool.” Cillian chuckles. “My brother doesn’t let people in.
Not because he doesn’t want to. It’s because our dad taught him that letting people in gets you hurt.
He broke things Wolfe cared about to prove that caring was dangerous.
And Wolfe learned that lesson so well that he spent the next however many years of his life making sure he never cared about anything that could be taken from him. ”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and weaves around a slow-moving car.
“Then you showed up. And I think he cares about you in a way that he can’t control and can’t turn off and can’t protect himself from.
That probably terrifies the shit out of him.
It also might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
” He shrugs. “So, don’t break him, okay? That’s all. Just don’t break him.”
“It’s not my plan.”
“Good. Because if you do, I’ll have to choose between you and him. And I love you, Eva, but there’s no contest.”
I stare at him. “You love me?”
“You’re family now. Whether you like it or not.” He winks at me. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You just made it weird.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I always make it weird. Ask my brothers.”
When we pull through the gates of the Molloy estate, I stare at the house. It looks the same as it did last time I was here. But then I was a guest with a laptop and an attitude. Today, I’m a refugee.
Wolfe waits at the door. His eyes find me the second I step out of the car. He opens the door and comes outside. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, all of me, from my head to my feet, like he’s running some internal checklist to make sure I’m intact.
Physically, I’m all here. But mentally? That’s a whole other story.
His jaw is tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“I’m fine,” I say, putting my hand on his arm.
“You’re not fine,” he says.
“I’m here. I’m breathing. Close enough.”
He doesn’t argue. He takes my jacket and hangs it by the door. Then he puts his hand on the small of my back. Just rests it there, warm and steady. He doesn’t pull me or guide me. He just lets me know he’s here for me.
And I really need that right now.
I lean into it for about three seconds because that’s all I can handle before I start bawling my fucking eyes out, and I’m not doing that in this hallway.
Ronan appears and gives me the rundown. “The guest room is on the second floor. Wolfe’s old room is across the hall. Security on Sal has been doubled. We brought in Cillian’s guys on top of Lochlan’s team.”
“Cillian has people?” I ask.
“Cillian has a lot of things he doesn’t talk about,” Wolfe says.
Ronan’s eyebrows knit together. “Have you mentioned this to Sal? The break-in?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t know anything. About Dmitri or the work I’ve been doing. Nothing.”
Ronan gives me a swift nod. “Good. Keep it that way. You think he’s going to pop in at your place?”
“I doubt it,” I say. “I usually meet him at the restaurant. He practically lives there and doesn’t have time for house calls.”
“Okay. Make sure he keeps his distance,” Ronan says. “We don’t want to tip off the enemies.”
I let out an unsteady breath as I nod my head.
Gavin shows up with a plate of subs. “Welcome home, roommate. Tony made extras because Cillian called ahead and told him you were coming. He also told Tony you haven’t eaten today, which is unacceptable according to Tony’s personal code of ethics.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Nobody asked if you’re hungry. Tony has decided you’re eating. Don’t fight it. Nobody wins against Tony. Not even Ronan.” He puts the plate on the hallway table. “Also, the guest bathroom has really good water pressure. I’m jealous, and I want you to know that.”
Something loosens in my chest, the tiniest bit. And I smile.
Wolfe leads me upstairs and down a hallway.
He pushes open a door and I swallow a gasp when I walk inside.
Jesus. The guest room is bigger than my entire apartment.
There are real pillows on a king-size bed that has an actual comforter.
A window overlooks the back garden, and next to it is an empty closet waiting for things I don’t have to fill it.
Wolfe stands in the doorway while I sit on the edge of the bed. He’s in the same position by the doorway, waiting for me to decide how much space I need. As always.
“We’ll get your things tomorrow,” he says. “Cillian and I will go.”
“Not the go bag.”
He looks at me.
“It’s been touched. It’s not mine anymore.” My throat tightens and I swallow hard past the knot. “I know that sounds crazy—”
“It doesn’t sound crazy. I threw away a radio I spent three months rebuilding because my father smashed it to hurt me. I know what it means when someone contaminates the thing that makes you feel safe.”
Goddamn this man.
“I’ll make you a new one,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know what goes in it. I’ve been paying attention.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. I press the heels of my hands against my burning eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry in this room.
“When this is over,” I finally say when I think I can get the words out without an accompanying sob.
“What happens to me? My apartment is gone. My old life is gone. I don’t have a resume that doesn’t include a felony conviction and three months of working for Russian organized crime.
” I drop my hands. “Where do I go? What do I do? Who the hell am I without this operation?”
He’s quiet for a second. His thumb taps against the doorframe.
“Adriana offered you something,” he says. “Forensic accounting. Legitimate work.”
“She was being nice.”
“Adriana isn’t nice. She’s strategic. She offered because you’re good enough to be worth an offer.”
“That’s a very Wolfe way to give a compliment.”
“It’s the truth.” He steps into the room and sits next to me on the bed.
Our shoulders touch. “You asked who you are without the operation. You’re Eva Moreno.
You’re the best hacker I’ve ever worked with.
You silence my brain. You scare Ronan, which almost nobody does.
You read rooms better than anyone I’ve ever met.
And you make your brother laugh in a way that fills up an entire restaurant. ”
I stare at him. He says it the way he says everything, in that matter-of-fact tone of his.
“That’s a lot of things,” I say.
“You’re a lot of things.”
“Some of them are felonies.”
“Some of the best things are.”
I lean my head against his shoulder and heave a deep sigh. He puts his arm around me. His thumb draws circles on my shoulder in that rhythm I’ve come to know as well as my own heartbeat.
“I don’t know how to do the comfort thing.
I get that this is a moment where a normal person would say something reassuring and meaningful.
” His blue eyes darken. “I don’t have that.
But I can tell you that you’re sitting in a house full of people who will make sure nothing happens to you or Sal.
And I can also tell you that I’m not going anywhere. Even though I’m very bad at this.”
“You’re not bad at this.”
“I’m very fucking bad at this.”
“Wolfe. You just listed six reasons why I matter as a human being without blinking. Most people can’t do that for someone they’ve known for years.”
“That’s because most people don’t pay attention.”
“And you do.”
“To you?” He pauses. “Yeah. To you I do.”
I close my eyes and lean harder into him. He lets me. He always lets me.
And that’s the thing that scares me most. Not the break-in. Not Dmitri or the Albanians or what comes next.
It’s that I’m starting to need this man. And the last man I needed destroyed me.