Page 26 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Eva

I wake the next morning to Leon looming over me. “You have a visitor,” he rumbles quietly. I sit up fast—too fast—wondering if Robin has come back after all, ignored everything I said, decided she was going to?—

“Hello, Eva.” It’s not Robin.

It’s Dominika Kusek. What is she…

For a split second, I wonder if she came because she was worried about me. Because she heard about the attack, and… But her face is cool, her eyes cutting, her shoulders squared like she’s bracing for a fight.

I glance at Leon. “It’s alright.”

He’s not happy, but he backs out of the room with a hard stare at Nik.

“So,” she says once he’s gone, her tone laced with dry contempt. “This miraculous woman you’ve suddenly fallen for. Tell me about her, because I don’t believe for one second that she really exists.”

I give a frosty smile. “Why on earth would I make her up?”

Nik scoffs. “Because you have some deeper scheme. You want to provoke Brie into a war with the Gattos because you think—wrongly—that we will lose. Isn’t that what this is really about? You’re looking for a way to destroy the Colombos. To get back at me .”

I sit up straighter, the old me flooding back. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not worth the trouble, Dominika .”

She tilts her head. “Then tell me. Where did you meet this fantasy woman?”

“I told you all at the meeting,” I snap. “I met her at the auction. I was there. I bought her.”

Nik’s eyes narrow in disgust. “You— took part in the auction?” Her voice is low, dangerous. “God, Eva. Of course you did.”

I’m losing my audience, clearly. But my head is still too fuzzy to provide the words I need right now. “Listen, it wasn’t as though I was there in order to—you don’t understand—” I reach out for her.

“I understand, alright.” She jerks back as though my outstretched hand might infect her. “And I don’t know what game you’re playing this time, Eva, but I’m going to recommend to Brie that she stay well away from it.”

She marches out, leaving me in a room that feels suddenly twice as cold.

God damn her.

And yet…I can’t entirely blame her. What she said, her fear that this was just a ploy to destroy the woman she loves, and the Colombo Family—well, I can see why she’d think that.

I’ve done pettier things before.

My reputation isn’t exactly working for me when it comes to Nik Kusek.

I’ll have to call Brie again, but not until I get back home. Put some distance between me and my broken heart.

Leon takes care of everything. The doctors release me, and we make a quiet retreat, avoiding any difficult questions with law enforcement. Soon enough, I’m home again.

But Castle Blacklake once again feels like a mausoleum.

I walk through corridors that once echoed with Robin’s laughter, past rooms where she curled up to read, through halls where her warmth somehow made centuries-old stone feel new. Now there’s nothing but cold and shadows again, empty spaces that remind me of what I had and relinquished.

For good reason, I try to remind myself.

The first selfless thing I did in my whole life, and it cut me to the bone.

The selfish part of me keeps whispering that I could have kept her, could have found another way.

But I know better. The attack in Vegas proved what I’ve always known but chose to ignore—my world doesn’t have room for love. It has room for weapons and violence and cruelty.

That’s all it’s ever had room for.

The sheer absurdity of ever thinking I could have love hits me, and I let out a humorless laugh, which only bounces back to me off the walls.

Eva Novak, imagining domestic bliss. Planning to bring her lover and four American children to live in a castle built on blood money and death. Dreaming of bedtime stories and homework help and soccer games like some delusional suburban fantasy.

What was I thinking? That I could ever transform into someone worthy of Robin’s light? That I could somehow wash the blood from my hands and turn into the kind of person who deserves love?

I’ve never even wanted those things before Robin.

Marriage, children, the suffocating domesticity some girls seemed to crave during my school days—it held no appeal for someone like me, raised to inherit an empire built on blood.

But Robin made me want impossible things. Made me believe I could have them.

The delusion is over now. Time to bury it deep, lock it away in a little box where it can’t hurt me anymore. Robin Rivers and her laughing siblings—all of them go into the vault with those few other weaknesses I’ve allowed myself during my life.

I settle into my study with a glass of wine and force myself to review financial reports. It’s pointless, of course, but what else is there to do?

I made my choice. I chose to continue on through this life alone. That means my work is the only legacy I’ll leave.

Later that night, I head down to the Great Hall, wondering if I should really finish the whole bottle of wine by myself, or if I should be sensible.

I decide finishing it is actually the sensible thing to do, and I’m in the middle of that process when I hear a noise floating through from the front foyer.

I glance up from my chair by the fire, half-expecting Leon—but it’s my cousin Dimitri, slouching inside with his coat half-buttoned and his hair in disarray.

He looks wrong. Not his usual wolfish, rakish self. His shoulders droop, and the grin he flashes me is brittle.

“I’ve been chucked,” he declares, flopping into the opposite chair as though he owns the place.

I arch a brow. “The Monégasque princess?”

“Her Supreme Heinousness,” Dimi says with theatrical misery, “ran back to her milquetoast husband the moment she realized she’d have to renounce her title if she divorced.

Can you imagine?” He spreads his arms wide, as if inviting the vaulted ceiling to marvel at the injustice.

“Throwing me over for pearls and protocol.”

I snort. “I can imagine it all too well.”

He leans forward to pour himself a glass of my wine without asking, as ever. His eyes soften as he studies me over the rim. “Sorry about Uncle Zoltan. I really did want to come to the interment, but?—”

“But you didn’t want to risk running into your father,” I finish for him. “It’s fine. You were at the official funeral, anyway.”

“And as it turns out,” he sighs, “Dear old dad tracked me down anyway in Paris. And now he tells me you’ve had your own heartbreak, cousin.”

My fingers tighten on the stem of my glass. “Your father talks too much.”

“He absolutely does,” he agrees lightly. “But I’m glad he told me, since you never would have. So let’s mourn our lost loves together. For a night, at least.”

I consider the wine in my glass, and then tip it down my throat. “Fine. Let’s get drunk.”