Page 3 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Eva

I ’ve always thought that the Golden Sands Casino is an affront to the senses.

Stuffed full of gaudy gold trim and crystal chandeliers that scream nouveau riche desperation, the air is thick with cigar smoke and the noise from the slot machines is deafening, even in the foyer.

I move through this circus with Leon’s solid presence at my right shoulder, and a cluster of bodyguards around me, while the weaselly Markov, my chief finance officer, scurries beside me.

“The boardroom is this way, Ms. Novak,” the hostess simpers, her false eyelashes batting. I don’t acknowledge her existence—acknowledgment implies she matters, and she doesn’t—but I follow her as she leads me to a private elevator, and up to the usual boardroom.

The hostess pushes open the doors for me, and there she is. Brie Colombo lounges in her chair in a sharp white pantsuit and gold-threaded shirt, platinum hair swept back from unusually green eyes. She’s beautiful in that calculated American way, with her gleaming teeth and smooth, tan skin.

But it’s the woman standing behind her that my eyes stray to first.

Dominika Kusek. My former wannabe-protégé. The ungrateful bitch who spat on my offer of glory in the Novak Consortium, and chose a Vegas amateur over a legacy that has been centuries in the making.

She doesn’t flinch when our eyes meet. I’ll give her that. Most people look away when I fix them with my full attention. Dominika—Nik, she insists on, so I like to call her by her full name to annoy her—holds my gaze with eyes that are steady and unrepentant.

“Eva!” Brie could be greeting an old friend as she rises with a smile. “How lovely to see you again.”

I take her proffered hand. “Mrs. Colombo.”

“Please, it’s Brie.”

It’s been a year since I’ve been here, and my irritation at Brie Colombo stealing away Dominika is still strong. “Brie,” I say coolly. “It’s wonderful to be back in Vegas.”

She gives a little laugh. “I hope things will be much less exciting during your visit this time.”

The negotiations begin, and within minutes I know this is going to be a waste of my time. Brie wants military-grade equipment at bargain basement prices, citing “better offers” and claiming she doesn’t “need a tank to squash a fly.”

“Cheap arms attract federal attention,” I point out, my voice arctic. “The Colombo Family is not in a position to make demands from the Novak Consortium.” I play it the way I always have: nothing personal. We aren’t bargaining as ourselves, but as the entities we represent.

“A year is a long time.” Brie leans back, supremely unbothered. “I’ve made a lot of inroads since you were here last, Eva. I have a lot more friends, for one thing.”

Markov tries to mediate, his nasal voice grating as he suggests compromises. But Brie steamrolls him without breaking stride, and I feel my carefully maintained composure beginning to crack as Dominika lets a smirk cross her face.

“You’re making a mistake,” I tell Brie, letting frost creep into my tone. “And disrespecting the Consortium is unwise. You’ll regret it.”

Dominika speaks for the first time, her voice quiet but cutting: “Funny. I don’t regret a thing.”

Suddenly I’m back in an underground lesbian jazz club. The memory unfolds with perfect clarity—Dominika Kusek standing defiantly before me, choosing her Amazonian ex-showgirl over everything I tempted her with.

“Don’t you know what I can offer you?” I’d demanded.

“I know what you can’t,” she’d shot back. “And that’s love. I hope you find someone else you care about more than yourself one day, Eva. I don’t know if that’s possible—but I hope you will.”

Then she’d leaned closer, making sure I saw the truth in her eyes. “But nothing on earth will keep me away from Brie, and certainly nothing you have to offer.”

I force myself back to the present, where Dominika is watching me with knowing eyes.

“I don’t know all the customs of Las Vegas, it’s true.

But I will not lower myself to haggle over pricing with you.

” I stand and smooth my skirt. “And when your cut-rate toys jam in the middle of a bloodbath, perhaps you’ll wish this meeting had gone differently. ”

Leon opens the door for me, and I walk out with my chin high, my blood boiling beneath the surface.

But no one would think it to look at me. Eva Novak doesn’t flinch. If the Colombos won’t buy, there are plenty who will.

“Will you go to your preferred club?” Leon asks delicately, when we’re back in the armored limousine.

I can’t go back to the Secret Garden tonight. Brie and that traitor might be there, and I cannot be bothered to deal with them again. “No,” I say decisively. “I’m going to find somewhere new to drink. And alone , Leon.”

“No,” he rumbles comfortably. “I will accompany you.”

Leon allows me into the Secret Garden alone, but nowhere else in this city. And there’s no point arguing with the man. I might rule with an iron fist, but Leon is like a robot programmed to protect me no matter what—even if I myself command him to leave me.

“Fine,” I say. “Tell the driver to get off the Strip and find some hole in the wall.” If Leon insists on coming, I plan to make it as unpleasant an experience as possible.

The bar we end up in is a total dive—a neon sign that strains now and then, and the kind of clientele that carries more scars than credit cards. It’s perfect . Tonight I don’t want velvet seats and champagne flutes. I want noise. Smoke. Cheap vodka.

And somewhere I can plot and plan my revenge against Brie Colombo. If she won’t buy from me, I’ll make sure she can’t buy from anyone else, either, and make her come running back. She has no idea what she’s dealing with, and Dominika clearly hasn’t warned her, either.

“This place isn’t safe,” Leon grumbles, filling the doorway as he scans for threats. “That man over there—I’ve seen him before. He works for the Gattos.”

“The Gattos are hardly a threat,” I sigh, selecting a booth in the shadows where I can see every entrance. I flick my fingers at Leon, who sighs and takes a position at a nearby table, close enough to act but far enough to give me space to think.

As usual, Las Vegas is my last stop in what has been an insufferable tour of American cities.

Six weeks of the same tedious negotiations from coast to coast. New York, Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles—and every client has tried the same pathetic dance.

Times are tight, they whine. The economy is rough.

Surely the Novak Consortium can be reasonable about pricing?

But quality costs what it costs, and my father didn’t build this empire by offering clearance sale prices to ungrateful customers. They’ll pay my price eventually. They always do. But to have Brie Colombo, of all people, think she can make demands of me…

It’s time to remind these people of the power I wield.

I feel Leon’s eyes on me when I go up to the bar to order a vodka, neat, and then I go back to the table and turn my thoughts back to the problem.

Brie Colombo seems to believe ruling over her little city-state makes her my equal.

And as for Dominika—she chose a glittering false facade over everything my family has built.

Over me .

The betrayal still stings, sharp and unexpected. Not romantic jealousy, of course. I appreciated Dominika’s skills, that was all. But this is about loyalty . About respect.

About the way she looked at me today like I was the villain in her little love story.

Maybe I am.

If so, I will live up to my role. The Colombos are done, I decide. There are plenty of other Vegas organizations vying to take their place. I’ll choose one, bolster them, and sit back as they wipe the Colombos off the map.

I’ll talk to the Gattos.

They’re the first to come to mind, after Leon complaining about that slimy, unblinking man sitting in a dark corner on the other side of the room.

I send Leon an instruction by text, and ignore the dark look he sends me when he reads it, telling him to contact the Gattos for a meeting.

But as for me, something else has caught my eye—the waitress approaching with my drink.

Around her mid-twenties, with strawberry blonde hair pulled up in an elaborate ponytail and curves that her clothes reveal rather than hide.

She’s made up, but not over the top. No false lashes.

No duck lips. No desperate glamour. Just… natural.

Luminous in a way that seems impossible in this place. Hell, in this entire city.

She starts to set my glass down, but something makes her pause. Our eyes meet, and I watch her fake smile turn real for just a moment.

“Do you always smile like that,” I ask, letting my gaze linger deliberately on her mouth, “or is it just for me?”

She stands there like a deer caught in headlights. A nervous laugh escapes her. “Uh—I mean, I smile at everyone.”

I lean forward, resting my chin lazily in my hand. “A girl like you must make a lot of tips with that smile.”

Pink blooms across her cheeks like watercolor. “I guess. Depends on the night.”

She fumbles the coaster, nearly spills my drink, then steadies it with shaking hands. The blush deepens, spreading down her neck, across her ample cleavage. I watch all of it with growing amusement.

“You have an accent,” she blurts out, and then bites her lip.

“I do.”

“Are you British?”

“I am not. Would you like to guess again? We could make a lovely little game out of it.” I let my eyes wander over her and watch the flush darken in her cheeks—and her pupils dilate.

“Shirley!” shouts a voice from the bar. “Girl, I’m getting swamped here, c’mon!”

She glances back “I gotta get back to the bar,” she says, and there’s real regret in her voice. “Do you, um, want anything else?” she asks.

“More of that flustered look. It’s charming.”

For a moment she just stares at me, lips parted in surprise. Then she gives a strangled laugh and backs away like I might bite.

I wasn’t planning on playing around tonight. My mind was on business, on revenge, on the thousand ways I could make the Colombos regret their arrogance. But suddenly I’m tempted. This girl isn’t my usual type at all.

I prefer sophistication. Experience. Women who understand the rules of the game.

But there’s something about her reactions, the way she sneaks a look over her shoulder at me as she goes back to the bar, that sparks something inside.

I watch her upset a full glass and apologize profusely to her blue-haired bar-mate, who glares at me as though it’s my fault. I suppose it is. She keeps glancing at me from under her lashes, biting her lower lip in a way that suggests she has no idea how appealing she looks.

A tender little morsel…

Leon appears at my elbow. “The Gattos,” he says quietly. “They want to meet tomorrow.”

I sigh at his interruption, but the news he brings is welcome. “Perfect.”

“Not perfect,” he says sternly. “The Gattos? They are?—”

“They’ll do for now,” I snap. The Gatto family might be beneath me, but they serve a purpose. Helping them will make life very difficult for Brie Colombo in her little kingdom. “Give me two hundred dollars cash.”

He does, and I walk up to the bar, ignoring the stares from the various lowlifes around me. The girl—Shirley, I suppose—sees me coming, and stands there with wide eyes, pulling a beer until it overflows onto her hand and she startles, setting it down.

“For the smile,” I tell her, sliding the bills over to her. She takes it with her beer-wet hand—I know, because I stroke my fingers lightly over hers. “Perhaps we can play that game I mentioned another time.”

Her blue eyes go so wide I think they’re in danger of popping out.

I step out into the Vegas night, wishing I could go back inside and continue that fun little distraction. Under different circumstances, I might have taken her back to my hotel room, taught her things that would make her blush spread everywhere .

But business must come first. Always. It’s what my father taught me, and it’s what built the Novak empire.

The Families here in America seem to think my grip is weakening. Think they can push back against my pricing, demand discounts like I’m some common trafficker desperate for their scraps.

They’ll learn how wrong they are.

Tomorrow, the Gattos will get a windfall, and the Colombos will get their warning.