Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Tolya
Tolya’s Penthouse
Nico sits opposite me, calm and collected.
But I can see the fire simmering behind his eyes as the late afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the sleek surfaces of my office.
The same eyes Eva has, only without the hesitation she sometimes carries. He’s focused. Ready.
“This shipment is our chance,” he says quietly, voice steady. “New girls are coming in tonight. The Don’s trying to restock his club, pushing to move them faster than before. He thinks no one’s paying attention.”
I study him, weighing the risks. This could be the moment we’ve been waiting for.
“And you’re confident you can get enough proof to satisfy the others? Enough to bring the whole thing crashing down?” I ask.
Nico nods. “I’ve got a team prepped. We’ll catch the handoff. I’ll have enough witnesses gathered to solidify my position.”
“Good.” I lean back, exhaling slowly.
There’s a pause. His eyes flicker to the edge of the desk, then back to me.
“You know what that means.”
I do. He’s been under my roof as a ‘guest’, a polite word for keeping the man on a leash since he’d been brought in after the first operation had been sabotaged.
Nico meets my gaze, unflinching.
“I have to leave the penthouse.”
I didn't answer immediately. I’ve held him here for weeks, half a prisoner, half an ally. But I can’t hold him forever.
And after a long moment, I nod. “Fine.”
Relief flashes briefly in his eyes, but he masks it quickly. “Thanks. We’ve got a solid plan. Just need patience and a healthy dose of luck.”
He stands, slipping his jacket on easily. “I’ll check in before nightfall.”
He’s almost out to the elevator door when it dings and slides open smoothly. Yaro steps out, his usual imposing shadow. His eyes sweep the room landing on Nico at the step of the foyer.
“You’re letting him go?” he asks suspiciously.
“I am.” I meet Yaro’s gaze without hesitation.
His brow furrows, doubt etched deep. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“He knows what’s at stake.”
We both watch in stoic silence as Nico disappears inside the elevator. The light overhead flips through the floors as it descends.
Yaro exhales sharply, crossing his arms. “You’re letting too many people get too close. I’m starting to think you’re the only one trying to keep you alive.”
I ignore the barb. Nodding slowly, I continue, “It’s time to move forward. Nico’s faction will move on De Mello’s next shipment.”
Another pause falls between us as we retreat to my office. Yaro closes the door behind him as I re-take my seat at the mahogany desk.
“What’ve you got?” I ask, pointing to the file tucked under his arm.
He tosses it on the desk. The papers rustle, a cacophony of photos spill out across the polished wood.
“This,” he says, voice low as he sits in the seat across from me, “explains those pictures we found of Eva with the Don. Why we thought she was in his inner circle.”
I skim the photos —Eva at charity events, standing near De Mello, smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes. Yaro reaches across the desk and flips to another page.
“Turns out, it wasn’t proximity. It was pursuit.”
He slides over text logs, surveillance reports—evidence of months, maybe years, of unwanted attention.
“De Mello’s been after her for years,” Yaro says grimly. “Gifts she never asked for. Following her at functions, cornering her when Nico wasn’t looking. People watching her every move.”
My stomach twists.
“He’s been sexually pursuing her?”
“More than that. She never told you?”
“No.”
Yaro shrugs.
“Maybe she thought it was easier to keep it to herself. Or maybe she didn’t want you to know.”
I close the folder slowly, heart pounding.
“She’s not part of his crew,” I say quietly. “He was circling her.”
Yaro nods. I close the folder slowly. My hand trembles. The pictures blur. Not from motion, my vision’s just gone red.
Eva. My Eva. Pursued. Hunted. Harassed. By him. For years. And Nico did nothing.
A low sound builds in my throat, a growl, something primal and feral. I push back from the desk so violently the chair topples behind me, crashing to the floor.
My pulse thunders in my ears. And then I snap. Yaro must have seen it written on my face because he jumps out of his own chair and lunges to the corner of the room, out of my path of destruction.
I grab the edge of the desk and flip it, wood and metal groaning as papers, pens, and glass fly. A heavy crystal decanter smashes against the wall, amber liquid bleeding down like a dying thing. Picture frames fracture. The carpet is littered with debris.
I let out a snarl. A real one. The kind I haven’t heard from myself since my father died.
I should have known. I should have seen. No wonder Nico offered her up in marriage. He had to have known.
How long had she been enduring that bastard’s attention? How many times had she flinched and smiled through it—because that’s what women like her are taught to do? Because no one fucking stopped it.
“Damn it!” I growl, fists clenched tight, muscles coiling with fury. The rage is a storm breaking loose, fury at the Don, at the danger Eva’s been in without my knowing.
“Prep the team. We go in with the Italians tonight. That bastard dies by my hand.” I meet his gaze, voice low and steady.
He nods, something akin to respect shining in his eyes.
I wipe the blood from my hand on my shirt and snatch my phone off the floor where it landed.
Nico answers on the first ring.
“I’m done waiting,” I rasp. “This is now a joint operation. We move tonight. When the shipment hits the warehouse, we cut the head off this snake. No more games. No more diplomacy. I want bodies in the water by dawn.”
A beat passes. “Tolya—”
“I let you go. Do what you have to. Get the proof if you still need it. But this ends tonight.”
I close my eyes. Breathe. But it does nothing to stop the dark tide rising inside me.
“And Nico?” I add, voice low. Vicious.
He’s quiet. Waiting.
I press the phone tighter to my ear. My lips barely move.
“He’s mine.”
The back wing of the penthouse, once a reading lounge, now repurposed into our private armory, is dim, lit only by the overhead fluorescents reflecting off cold metal.
The walls lined with locked cabinets and mounted racks, every weapon in its place.
Rifles, pistols, knives. Tactical gear. Enough firepower to reduce a building to rubble if necessary.
I methodically check the action on my SIG, sliding it back into the holster at my hip.
Yaro stands a few feet away, already geared up.
Beside him the other four members of our elite team do the same.
His expression is unreadable as he secures the final strap on his vest and fits a blade to his ankle sheath.
We don’t talk. There is nothing more to say today. We’re going into hell tonight and we may not all make it back.
“Ready?” Yaro finally asks, his voice low, taut.
“Let’s move.” I nod.
We lock the armory behind us with a solid click. The sound reverberates through the quiet like the final nail in a coffin.
Yaro takes the lead down the corridor toward the elevator. I let him, a motion flickers in my peripheral vision. And when I turn, I freeze in place.
Eva is there.
Her slight frame is visible in the bedroom doorway, bathed in golden light that spills into the hallway from the light behind her.
A sheen of sweat glistens on her brow, her chest rising and falling from exertion.
Her leggings cling to her curves like a second skin, the hem of her tank riding up to reveal a sliver of her stomach.
She must have been in the middle of a workout. But her eyes are on me. Wide. Curious. Concerned. She’s stunning. Effortlessly. Unknowingly. But that’s not what stops me.
It’s the look in her eyes. She’s not stupid. She can feel the change in the air. Taste it. I move toward her, every step measured. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Her eyes search mine as she shakes her head. “It’s alright. I heard movement and thought I’d see what’s up. Where… where are you going?”
“I’ll fill you in when I get home later tonight.” I reach her, slide an arm around her waist, and pull her to me. Her body’s warm against mine, heart still racing beneath her damp skin. I press a kiss to her forehead and linger there for a breath longer than I should.
Her skin’s still warm, her breath shallow. I bend down and kiss her forehead. She smells like vanilla and salt, fresh sweat and skin. She rests her hands lightly on my chest, then slides them up to hook behind my neck.
She tilts her chin up, searching my face. “Tolya, tell me where you're going…”
I shake my head slowly as I lean into her, my lips brush the shell of her ear. Placing a soft kiss on the curve of her neck just below her ear.
“I’ll be back later.”
Her brow furrows. “Is everything alright?”
“It’ll be fine,” I lie. It’s all I give her. All I can give her.
She doesn’t like the answer. I can see it in the way her lips draw together in a tight frown. But she doesn’t push. Born into this life she knows better than to ask further. Her arms tighten just slightly, a subtle tell she’s not reassured.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner together tonight,” she says after a pause, voice soft. Hesitant. “Something simple. Just us.”
Dinner. Something normal couples do together. My lips curve before I can stop them. A rare, unguarded smile breaks across my face, and I don’t bother hiding it.
She blinks. Then laughs under her breath. “You do smile here too.”
“I’ve been known to, occasionally.” I chuckle, just once.
“You should do it more.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “You’ve got a good one. Dangerous, but good.”
The smile stays. God help me, I can’t make it go away. I cup her cheek, letting my thumb brush the curve of it.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and kiss her—slow, soft, like I have all the time in the world. Like we’re not going to war tonight. Like I’m not walking out that door with blood in my heart and murder on my mind.
“Dinner, yes” I echo. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll be back,” I whisper against her lips. I kiss her then soft, tender then force myself to pull away.
She nods and doesn’t say anything more.
I force myself to let go of her and step back, immediately feeling the loss of her warmth against me. I can feel her gaze burning into my back as she watches me in silence as I head toward the elevator.
Despite every urge, I don’t look over my shoulder. I let the smile fall. Let the mask slide back into place, a steely death mask.
Yaro’s and the men are waiting for me at the elevator, eyes flicking toward the hallway and back to me. They don’t say a word and neither do I. The doors open and we step inside.
Yaro glances at me sideways, expression unreadable. “Everything good?”
I say nothing. Instead, I let the mask fully settle into place, letting the cold settle into my bones. The softness in my chest calcifies and my face hardens.
By the time we hit the lobby, the man who kissed her in the doorway is gone. Replaced by a stone cold killer. By the Pakhan.