“So let him see. He’ll learn that you’re mine.”
“Later, Alek.” At my dark look, Eva sighed and kissed me gently. “You know I want to feel you inside of me. But I can’t risk Jules seeing us and going ballistic. I promise we can later, okay?”
I groaned and adjusted my hard-on. “Fine. But you’re paying for it later.”
Eva smiled. “Looking forward to it. Are you ready to meet my brother now?”
“I guess,” I said, voice rougher than intended, because I would have much rather pulled her into the backseat of my car and recreated this morning over and over. I planned to make good on those failed wishes many times later.
I had no idea she wouldn’t keep her promise.
The house loomed larger the closer we got. Brick pillars flanked the entrance, worn smooth with age. Cold light spilled from the tall windows, curtains swaying with staff eyeing us with curiosity. The light from the lanterns flanking the entrance did nothing to soften the place. If anything, it made the shadow sharper.
Eva slowed at the door, turning to face me one last time. Her eyes searched mine—not fearful, not uncertain, just… hopeful. Trusting.
That look landed somewhere deep in my chest.
She took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she had no idea of her ability to completely undo the heir and de facto leader of the most powerful mob in the city with a single look and the absence of a little fabric. Eva squeezed my hand once as if meant to reassure me. But I could tell from the way she bit her lip that it was she who needed reassurance.
“Hey,” I said, gripping her chin and bringing her dark eyes to meet mine. “Everything will be fine.”
“I know. Jules promised to be on his best behavior, and he even said he’ll let us get settled at the dinner table for a few minutes before the interrogation begins. I’m sure it’ll be great.” A stormcloud of worries thundered behind her eyes, and the annoyance in me softened.
I brushed my thumb along her jaw, every touch reverent. “I’ll behave,” I told her quietly. “For you.”
Her lips curved into a smile meant only for me. “That’s all I ask.”
She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth—sweet, restrained, nothing like what we both wanted. Yet it was still a temptation, because Eva was sin wrapped in sweetness.
My girl smiled at me. Then she opened the door.
Cold air rushed out to greet us, thick with the scent of polished wood and something sharper beneath it. Oil, maybe, or even blood. Something that soaked into the walls over decades and never quite left.
I stepped inside after Eva, immediately aware of how quiet the house was. Not peaceful, but hushed. Like something was holding its breath, studying me, gauging whether I was predator or prey.
I straightened my posture and glared into the darkness, shuffling closer to Eva, who led me through the home, occasionally commenting on different aspects of the house.
There was wood everywhere. Dark mahogany floors, dark walls adorned with crown molding, a sweeping staircase that curved upward like a spine. Everything was pristine and expensive and utterlylifeless. There were no photographs. No art that didn’t look like it was purchased at an auction house. No sign of clutter or warmth. No, there were only objects chosen because they were old, rare, and worth more than most of the people in the city earned in their lifetime.
It was money without taste. Wealth without joy. Immaculate in the way that mausoleums were.
I fucking hated it.
Eva’s hand slipped from mine as she continued through the home. I fell behind her, noticing the way her shoulders rounded a fraction, and her steps faltered as if unsure. The lightnessshe carried around with her everywhere she went dimmed, like someone had turned down the flame on one of those old-timey gas lanterns the moment she entered.
My solnyshka shrank.
The sight of it made my jaw tighten. What kind of fucking childhood did she have to feel like she didn’t belong in her own family’s home?
Eva had occasionally told me stories from when she was a kid, though most of them were happy memories involving her brother playing with her. She rarely spoke of her parents, and when she did, it was with an air of detachment—like she was talking about a distant cousin or something. My Eva was never unkind, but it was as if she barely knew them.
I didn’t realize how true that was until I looked around this house she claimed she grew up in, unable to find a sign of her anywhere.
There were no photos of a little girl with her brown hair tied in pigtails adorned with pink ribbons. No crooked drawings framed with pride. No evidence that a little girl had ever laughed or cried or grown up here. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve assumed this house had been occupied exclusively by ghosts and men who didn’t believe in tenderness.
I imagined Eva small in these halls—too quiet, too careful, learning early how not to take up space. Thinking that she had to earn her love from people who refused to give it to her.
Something ugly arose within me. This wasn’t a home. This was a breeding ground for all the demons I’d been trying to eradicate within her.
