Page 28 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Robin

One Month Later

“ L ast box!” Maisie announces, as a man from the moving crew we hired sets a cardboard container marked “ROBIN’S ROOM” onto the hardwood floor of our new living room with a satisfying thud.

I look around at what should feel like a miracle.

Sunlight streams through windows that actually open properly.

The walls are a warm cream color instead of the dingy beige of our old apartment.

There’s a backyard where Maisie can play when she gets stronger, and bedrooms for everyone instead of the cramped sleeping arrangements we’ve endured for years.

Today was our official move-in date after a quick sale—cash in hand certainly does open doors—and the house is everything I dreamed of giving my brothers and sisters.

So why does it feel so hollow?

“This place is so huge ,” Alicia says, bouncing on the new couch we bought last week. I’m hoping her grades will improve now that we’re settled. She’ll have her own room, painted lavender like she always wanted.

“Not too huge,” Dane corrects, but he’s grinning as he says it. “Just normal-sized. Like normal people have.”

The word ‘normal’ hits me wrong, though I can’t explain why. This is normal. This is what I’ve always worked for, hoped for. A stable home where my siblings can thrive without constantly worrying about money or eviction notices or whether we’ll have heat this month.

The ten million has barely seen a dent in it, even after buying a whole house and a new, reliable car for Adrian and me to share, plus a second-hand one for the kids as they grow older and learn to drive.

The rest of the money, I’m still not sure what to do with.

I was sure we’d have to pay a whopping amount of tax on it, and explain to the government where the hell we got it.

But I should have known better. Leon sent me a whole packet of information on our new bank account, an attached debit card, and instructions on a particular investment advisor who would help me if I had any questions.

Eva really thought of everything.

It just makes it worse when I think about her caring enough to realize I’d have no clue what to do with ten million dollars. That she was thoughtful enough to provide me with some guidance. Still protecting me from my own naivety.

Adrian emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of sandwiches. He’s been able to drop his jobs now and focus on school, and the stress lines around his eyes have softened. He’s even applied to three different colleges for next year—something that would have been impossible before.

“Lunch is served,” he announces, setting the tray on our new coffee table. Real wood, not the rickety old cane thing salvaged from the side of the road that we used to have.

“Thanks, Adrian.”

But something in his eyes when he looks at me makes me sad. There’s a gentleness there, an understanding that suggests he knows about the sacrifice I made.

The sacrifice that both Eva and I made for the sake of each other and the sake of my family.

“You okay, Robin?” Maisie asks, settling beside me on the couch. She’s looking better and better, and her energy is returning daily.

“I’m perfect,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come.”

It’s true, technically. Everything is working out exactly as it should. The kids are safe, healthy, thriving. I should be celebrating.

Instead, I feel like I’m slowly bleeding out from a wound no one can see.

That evening, I watch the local news while folding laundry—another luxury, having enough clothes that they need to be sorted and put away, instead of worn until they fall apart. The anchor’s serious voice fills our comfortable living room.

“The violence that has been simmering in Las Vegas for weeks shows no signs of abating. Sources say the conflict between several organized crime families has escalated…”

I change the channel quickly, but my hands shake as I fold Maisie’s new school clothes.

Eva is worried about this war that seems to be tearing Vegas apart. I know because I can see the proof every day—the black sedan that parks at the end of our street, the man inside who watches our house with professional attention.

Eva’s protection, even after everything.

But I have no way to reach her. No phone number, no address, no way to know if she’s safe or hurt or…worse.

The not-knowing is killing me slowly.

I actually gave in once, and called Leon. But the number had been disconnected.

“Robin?” Adrian appears in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. “Kids are in bed. You want to talk?”

“About what?”

He settles into the armchair across from me, the one we picked out together at a furniture store where I didn’t have to check price tags. “About how you stare at that car outside like you’re waiting for something. Or how you sometimes look like you’re going to cry when you think no one’s watching.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m eighteen, not eight,” Adrian says gently. “I know what you did for us. I know it cost you more than just the bartending job. And I know you and Eva had something?—”

“Shh,” I shush him. The laundry blurs in my hands. “The kids will hear.”

“No, they won’t.” He leans forward, his voice soft but serious. “Listen, I need you to know that whatever you gave up, whatever you lost—we see it. We’re grateful. And we love you.”

Tears I’ve been holding back for weeks threaten to spill over. “I’m fine, Adrian. Really.”

He doesn’t argue, but over the next few days he intercepts Maisie when she asks about Eva and Leon and whether we’ll ever see them again.

He gives me extra hugs, makes my coffee in the morning, handles the little crises that used to fall to me.

Like he’s trying to take care of me, give me time to grieve.

It should be comforting.

But it just makes it worse.

A few nights later, I’m taking the garbage out after dinner—a mundane domestic task that still feels pleasant after years of living in an apartment where the dumpster was two flights down and frequently overflowing.

Our suburban street is quiet except for the soft hum of air conditioners.

It’s been a warm spring so far in Vegas.

The black sedan is in its usual spot, about a hundred yards down the street. I’ve grown accustomed to its presence, the way I might grow accustomed to a barking dog next door. It’s part of our new normal now—the price of Eva’s continued protection.

But tonight, something’s different.

Instead of maintaining its usual distance, the car starts up and drives closer. Much closer. It stops right in front of our house, and for the first time ever, the driver gets out.

He’s middle-aged, wearing a plain black suit. “Ms. Rivers?”

My heart stops. In all my time under surveillance, either here in Vegas or when I was overseas with Eva, none of the guards has ever spoken to me. They watch, they protect, they maintain their distance. They don’t engage.

This seems…wrong.

I walk closer despite every instinct screaming at me to run back inside and lock the door. “Yes? What is it?”

“It’s Ms. Novak,” he says, and my world tilts sideways. “She’s in Vegas again and she wants to see you.”

Joy and terror spar inside me, leaving me breathless. Eva wants to see me? But…she would never contact me unless something was wrong. We were making a clean break. Had to. Unless?—

“Is she alright?” The words come out strangled.

“All I got is my order,” the man says with a shrug. “She just called, told me to pick you up and take you right over. She’s staying at the Golden Sands.”

I glance back at the house, where warm light spills from the windows and my siblings are probably arguing over what to watch on TV tonight. Normal family sounds from a normal family life that I owe all to Eva.

So if she needs to see me, I can’t refuse. Won’t.

Don’t want to.

“I can’t be gone too long,” I hedge, and turn to head back to the house. “Let me just get my coat and tell my brother?—”

The world goes dark before I can finish the sentence.