Page 5 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Eva

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I slide the final pin into my hair. Every strand sits exactly where it should. My black silk suit clings to me like a liquid shadow, and my stiletto heels—seven inches of pure intimidation—gleam under the suite’s lighting. Perfect. Lethal. Untouchable.

“This is a mistake.”

Leon’s voice cuts through my focus. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his massive chest, wearing that disapproving expression I’ve come to despise. And he’s not speaking Russian, the common language of the Consortium.

He’s speaking our shared dialect, the one from home. That means he’s serious about talking me out of this—he’s not appealing to the head of the Consortium.

He’s appealing to me .

“The Gattos are bad news,” he continues, his tone measured but insistent. “Volatile. Petty. And they can’t afford your wares.”

I guide my red lipstick across my mouth in one smooth stroke and say nothing.

“Eva. You’re better than this.”

Now I turn. Slowly. The look I give him could freeze the Mediterranean. “I am not here to be better . I am here to win.” Leon opens his mouth again, but I slice through whatever platitude he’s about to offer. “Watch your tone.”

He says nothing more. He simply opens the door for me, and I sweep past him into the hallway.

The silence that follows is exactly what I wanted.

The Gatto’s casino makes the Golden Sands look refined.

I didn’t even catch the name, I was so taken aback by how tacky everything is.

Red velvet drapes hang like curtains of dried blood around gold-plated everything, and the women lolling across the gaming tables as they openly palm extra chips look like they were ordered from the same catalog as the decor. Tasteless. Gaudy.

Exactly what I expected.

And I’m starting to have second thoughts.

I enter with Leon flanking my right side, two more of my men creating a wall of silent menace behind us, and Markov sweating as he hurries along next to me.

Gatto’s men escort us through the maze of slot machines to a private lounge where champagne waits in an ice bucket.

But I know better than to drink anything offered.

The Gatto Boss himself emerges from behind a leather-bound bar, arms spread wide like we’re long-lost family. We’ve never met, but he greets me like an old friend.

“Eva Novak! The most dangerous woman in the room.” He pauses, grins like he’s told a joke. “Oh, I guess I gotta be politically correct these days, eh? The most dangerous person .”

I don’t smile back. “That might be flattering in a different room.”

His laugh is too loud, too forced. Behind him, his lieutenants shift uncomfortably.

We sit. He pours himself champagne and makes a show of offering it to me. I decline with a shake of my head and he pours out a glass anyway, which I ignore. He starts talking numbers—shipments, territories, profit margins—but within minutes, it’s clear he can’t afford what I’m selling.

“Mr. Gatto,” I interrupt, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re wasting my time. You don’t have the capital for this conversation.”

His face reddens. “Now hold on?—”

“Unless,” I say, and he halts immediately. I almost smile. He makes this too easy.

“Unless?” he prompts.

“Unless you’d be willing to make up the shortfall by doing me a favor.”

“Do a favor for a beautiful woman like you? Ma’am, I’d do anything you asked.” He gives a lascivious grin, which I let pass, although I could swear I hear Leon growl beside me.

Instead, I lay out my wishes. “I want you to expand your territory, Mr. Gatto. I want you to do whatever is necessary to take over Vegas from the Colombos.”

The Gattos may be beneath me, but they’re perfect for what I have in mind.

If they’re willing to take on the Colombo Family directly, I’ll provide them with weapons at a substantial discount.

Not the bargain-basement prices they originally wanted, but enough of a reduction to make this war profitable for them and ruinous for Brie.

The Gattos can bloody themselves against the Colombos while I sit back and watch.

When the smoke clears, Brie will either be dead or desperate enough to pay my full price without question.

And if the Gattos prove useful enough to survive, perhaps they’ll earn themselves a more permanent arrangement with the Consortium.

Unlikely, but I suppose they can dream. And it’s elegant, really—using one Family’s ambition to crush another’s arrogance.

Gatto is only too eager to comply.

“Excellent,” I say, once we’ve come to terms. “My finance man, Markov, will send through the paperwork. And now we are done here.” I start to rise, but he leans forward, our new agreement making him bold.

“I have something else you might be interested in,” he says. “You strike me as a woman who enjoys…exclusive offerings. How about a sweetener on top—a way to say thanks for being so understanding?”

Every instinct I have screams danger, but curiosity is a weakness I’ve never quite conquered. “What kind of sweetener?”

Gatto’s smile widens. He gestures toward a side door draped in more of that hideous red velvet. “Come and see.”

The moment I step through those curtains, my skin crawls.

The room is filled with men lounging at small tables, conversations and laughter filling the room. The lighting is dim, theatrical, designed to hide shame in shadows.

At the other end is a small stage, bathed in light.

My stomach tightens as I realize what I’m seeing. A woman is led out like cattle, barefoot and trembling. Then another and another, each one wearing the same expression of hollow resignation. Each is dressed in a cocktail gown like this is some kind of beauty pageant.

But it’s not a pageant. Not at all.

I take a step back, but before I can turn on my heel, I see the last woman being pushed out on stage by someone in the wings.

Strawberry blonde hair catches the light like spun sugar. Blue eyes are wide with a terror she’s trying desperately to hide. Lips pressed together like she’s holding in a scream.

Her dress is cheap, too short, too tight over curves that would make a saint stare.

I go completely still. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

It’s the woman at the bar from last night. The one who made me forget, for just a moment, that the world is full of disappointments.

What in the hell is she doing here? Is this some kind of setup?

One of the men in the room makes a loud joke about “breaking her in.”

Something snaps inside me.

I spin toward Gatto. “If you think I have an interest in human trafficking, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

He actually looks surprised, like I’ve just criticized his choice of appetizers. “Hey, now, don’t get it twisted. They sign contracts. They’re all consenting adults. It’s all legal?—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.” I’m already pushing back through the red curtain, Leon keeping step with me. “There will be no deal.”

Gatto scrambles after me, his voice rising with panic. “Now hold on, we can work something out. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot?—”

Leon stops him dead with one arm. “Step back,” he says calmly. “Ms. Novak is leaving.”

My other men form a protective wall around me as I storm through the casino toward the exit.

But in the foyer, with its cold marble and flickering lights, with the distant sound of slot machines echoing in my ears, I stop walking.

Leon, who has been bringing up the rear, notices immediately. “Ms. Novak?”

I don’t answer. Can’t answer.

She didn’t crumble. That’s what I keep thinking. In that spotlight, with those animals salivating over her, she just stood there with her chin up, blue eyes blazing.

And she certainly didn’t smile. Not even the fake smile from last night, the one that gave way to a real one, that made her eyes sparkle when I flirted with her.

What was she doing there?

The disgust I felt at that auction shifts, morphs into something more dangerous. Not because of what I saw, but because I can’t stop seeing her. That red-gold hair. Those defiant eyes. The absolute wrongness of finding her in that place.

No. This has to be a setup. The man at the bar last night—he must have seen me flirting, that’s all. They thought they could buy my favor by offering me a woman.

Leon murmurs something to the other men about scanning the room. They wait respectfully while I think, but my pulse won’t slow down.

Because what if it’s not a setup? What if that pretty little waitress is about to be “purchased” by one of the horrendous men crowded into that room?

She must be very desperate or very naive.

Or a plant.

But my God, if she’s a honeytrap, she’s the most convincing one I’ve ever seen. I know bait when I see it. And she did not make me suspect for a single instant?—

I will not allow the Gattos to let it be known that I will accept human currency. And I certainly can’t buy a human being like livestock. I won’t. I’ve done terrible things in my life, but I’ve never crossed that line.

Then again…is it really so different from my normal arrangements? I pay women for their company all the time. For their company, their bodies, their silence. For them to leave when I’m done with them. It’s cleaner that way. Safer.

But I cannot show weakness to Gatto. I cannot go back to that auction room.

I certainly cannot let anyone see that a strawberry blonde bartender with frightened eyes has gotten under my skin.

“Call the car,” I tell Leon.

But as we continue our walk to the exit, as the casino’s garish lights fade behind us, I can’t shake the image of her standing in that spotlight. Alone. Afraid. Brave.

And in short order, she’ll belong to someone else.