21. Eva
EVA
Three hours. That’s how long it took me to map every deal Dmitri can blow up next. Ronan read my report, nodded once, and said “good work.” I almost checked behind me to see who he was talking to.
As I walk out of his office, my phone buzzes with a news alert from The Boston Globe. I almost choke at the headline that appears on my screen.
Fuuuuck.
I’m about to look for Wolfe when Adriana walks into the house carrying three garment bags over her arm. Behind her is a younger woman around my age. She’s tall, thin, and has eyes that literally sparkle.
“I’m not sure if you’ve seen or heard the news yet, but we have some damage control to do over dinner tonight. You need to get dressed,” Adriana says.
“I’m coming?” I ask, furrowing by brows.
“Absolutely. It’s all part of the plan. So you need to ditch the band t-shirt and pick out one of these,” Adriana says, holding up the bags. “I brought options, and my sister, because she’s better at this than I am.”
The sister steps forward, flashing a smile that could easily blind someone.
She has dark hair that falls past her shoulders, and the kind of face that belongs on a magazine cover.
But her energy is completely different from her sister.
Where Adriana is steel and strategy, this woman is warm and bright.
The kind of person who walks into a room and makes the temperature shoot up about ten degrees.
“Luna,” she says, extending her hand. “And before you ask, yes, I’m the fun one.”
“Eva.” I shake her hand. “And I have no idea what’s happening.”
“What’s happening,” Adriana says, “is dinner. Tonight. We’re all going to a restaurant in Back Bay that every power player in Boston has eyes on.
After the Globe article hit, we need to be seen together.
The Molloys and DiMichelis at the same table, looking strong, united, and not a bit worried about that asshole Dmitri Kozlov. ”
“And you need me there because...?”
“Because Dmitri will have people watching. And when they report back that the woman who defected from his operation is sitting at a table with both families, it sends a very specific message.”
“What message?”
“That you chose us. Publicly. Visibly. And that we chose you back.”
My lips twist into a grimace. “Isn’t that painting a target on my head—or on Sal’s?”
Adriana shakes her head. “Dmitri already knows where you are. He broke into your apartment. He called Wolfe’s phone. The target is already painted, Eva.” Adriana unzips the first bag. “The question is whether you hide from it, or you stare it down.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You married into this.”
“I married into this because my father signed a contract with a man I’d never met. I didn’t get to choose. But I chose to stay. And I chose to make it mine. The dress is like armor, Eva. Wear it like you mean it.”
I stare at her. She stares back. She’s not asking. She’s also not ordering.
Because she knows.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m taking my knife.”
“There’s nowhere to put a knife in that dress,” Adriana says.
“Then I’ll improvise,” I say with a shrug.
“I like her,” Luna says from behind us. “And for the record, I have the perfect clutch bag that you can slip your knife into.”
“Another reason why I knew you were the right woman for this job.” Adriana smiles at her sister. Then she turns back to me. “Now, let’s get you ready. You’ve been wearing Wolfe’s t-shirts for a week, and it’s time to glam you up.”
“I like his t-shirts.”
“I’m sure you do.” Adriana gives me a look that says she knows exactly why I like them and she’s choosing not to comment. “Okay, Lulu, take over. I need to make some calls.”
Adriana leaves. Luna turns to me with a grin that could light up a stadium.
“Okay,” she says, pulling the dress out of the bag. “Let’s make you dangerous.”
The dress I chose is black. Simple and fitted with a low back. The fabric is soft and expensive and the kind of thing my body isn’t used to wearing. When I put it on and do a half-turn in the mirror, I have to gasp. It was made for me, hugging every curve.
I’ve never felt so beautiful, even with a pencil holding my hair in a messy bun.
“Sit,” she says, pointing at the chair. She pulls out the pencil and my hair tumbles down my back. “Hair first.”
I sit because I found out pretty quickly that arguing with Luna is pointless. She’s so aggressively cheerful about the whole makeover thing that resisting just makes me feel like a bitch.
She works fast. On the table in front of the mirror is an assortment of hairpins, brushes, and bottles of products I don’t recognize the names of.
She chats while she works…about the restaurant, about the shoes she brought that I’m probably going to hate but will wear anyway because they make the dress work.
She’s funny and witty and I find that the stress leaves my shoulders for the first time in days.
“Hold still,” she says, tilting my chin up. “Eyeliner.”
“I don’t usually do eyeliner.”
“You do tonight. Trust the process.”
“The process involves me not being able to blink.”
“Beauty requires sacrifice, Eva,” she sing-songs.
I let her do her thing. She steps back after about forty minutes and studies me like I’m a painting in an art gallery.
“Done,” she says. “What do you think?”
A gasp slips from my lips when I look in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Not in the sad way. In the holy-shit-who-is-that way. The dress, the hair, the eyes. I look like the kind of woman men make bad decisions for. Which, given the circumstances, is exactly the point.
“You okay?” Luna asks.
“Yeah.” I blink hard. “It’s just been a while since I looked like this.”
“Well, get used to it.” She squeezes my shoulders. “Because you look incredible and we’re already running late.”
She pulls out a clutch bag that matches the high-heeled sandals on the floor. I drop my knife into the bag and slip my feet into the shoes, feeling a tiny bit like Cinderella.
Look at me. Buying into the fairy tale shit.
I bite back a grin.
The brothers are gathered in the foyer when we come down the stairs. Everyone is dressed to the nines for this public display of defiance we’re about to put on for the Boston elite.
But my eyes catch on Wolfe. And then they refuse to move away from him.
His suit is navy blue and looks like it was cut for his body.
His dark hair is slicked back, his ice blue eyes popping against the fabric of his suit.
His white shirt is open at the collar. No tie.
A shiver scuttles down my spine at the sheer gorgeousness of the man standing in front of me.
He looks like Clark Kent right before he finds the phone booth except I already know what’s under the suit and the glasses and the composure.
He’s mid-sentence with Cillian when I get to the last few stairs. Cillian sees me first. His eyebrows jump and he elbows Wolfe without a word.
Wolfe turns.
And his entire operating system crashes.
I watch it happen in real time and damn, if it isn’t the hottest reaction I could have hoped for.
His mouth drops open. His hand freezes mid-gesture. His eyes go wide behind his glasses, and somewhere in the depths, I see a flicker of raw, unbridled desire ignite.
I did that. Me. In a black dress and heels I can barely walk in. I just shut down the smartest brain in the building.
“Holy shit,” Gavin mumbles.
Cillian just grins.
Wolfe’s hand slowly lowers to his side. He blinks. Then he swallows. His thumb starts hammering against his thigh.
“You...” He stops, clears his throat, and tries again. “You look...”
“Use your words, Wolfe,” Gavin says with a snicker.
He slants Gavin a look before turning back to me. “My words are offline.”
“How long do you think it will be before you’re back online?” I ask, moving toward him, hoping I don’t stumble in these damn stilts.
“Unclear. Could be permanent.”
I stop in front of him. His eyes haven’t left me. I don’t think he’s taken a full breath since I appeared.
“You clean up nice too,” I say, straightening his collar because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t grabbing his face and kissing him senseless in front of his entire family.
Then Luna comes down the stairs behind me.
I turn just in time to see Cillian’s grin vanish. His expression is eclipsed by something quick and raw, an immediate shut down, like a tripped circuit breaker. He covers it fast, but not fast enough.
Because I already caught it.
Luna doesn’t look at him. She walks straight to Adriana, heels clicking on the marble floor, posture perfect, eyes forward.
I don’t know the history between them. But I know what I just saw on his face, and I know what I don’t see on hers, and the space between those two things is damn loud.
We pile into cars and head to Back Bay.
The restaurant, Osteria Gente, is the kind of place where people come to be seen.
We aren’t seated in a private room. The hostess ushers us over to a prominent table near the center of the dining room where every eye in the place can observe us.
Adriana chose it on purpose. The Molloys and the DiMichelis, together, unshaken, and ordering expensive wine like their world isn’t a complete inferno.
I get why I’m here now. This play isn’t just about unity between the families. It’s about me. Eva Moreno, the woman who flipped off Dmitri’s operation, sitting in public with the people she defected to, looking like she made her choice without a backward glimpse.
That’s the message. And it’s aimed directly at Dmitri.
Wolfe is next to me. His hand finds my knee under the tablecloth about thirty seconds after we sit down.
I cover his hand with mine and he turns his palm up and weaves his fingers through mine.
We sit like that through the first course, hidden under white linen, while two of the most powerful families in Boston project strength for whoever’s watching.