She slid her hands down her hips, smoothing the material of her soft vintage blue jeans, a pair that were very comfortable because she’d had them for years. Since they were worn and ripped in places, she rarely wore them to work, wanting to appear a little dressier, but she’d woken up from one of her bad dreams with a headache because her skull felt too tight, her body ached, joints painful, and the familiar clothes always comforted her. Her jeans. The emerald green camisole that matched her eyes and had been a gift from her friend Saria back when things weren’t so good.

She had nice eyes. Her mouth was too . . . big. Pouty. She practiced smiling to relieve the pout that was there when she wasn’t thinking about it. But her eyes . . . She must have gotten them from her mother. They were large and shaped exotically, like a cat’s eyes. Most of the time they were pure, startling emerald, the color emphasized by her thick, dark lashes. Lately she’d noticed little gold flecks at times. She wasn’t certain what to think about that gold, but at least she liked her eyes.

The problem with her jeans and camisole was, they were old and she’d put on a little weight growing up. The denim clung to her hips and thighs, and the camisole emphasized her small waist and generous breasts. She couldn’t loosen the laces in the front because the camisole zipped and the lacing was for show. She sighed.

A fist banging on the door made her jump and her heart stuttered. “Get out of there, Evangeline.” There was pure steel in that voice. Timur was every bit as commanding as Alonzo. “I didn’t think you were the type of woman to hide.”

She threw the door open, hoping to hit him right in the face with it, but of course he wasn’t there. She sent him one look from under her long lashes. “Like I would ever hide from you or your brother.” She was terrified now and humiliated, but she’d spent her entire life hiding and she wasn’t doing it again. Not. Ever.

She positioned herself behind the counter as Timur went to the back door and let someone in. She stayed locked against the counter close to the espresso machine, and pasted a smile on her face when the first few men came through the kitchen. She recognized Elijah Lospostos. He was notorious. His family had been in the crime business for generations. He was a good-looking but very dangerous man, and she knew he’d recently married Siena Arnotto. That bit of information was in every single tabloid and magazine. Alonzo had taken over the Arnotto estate. For her. Siena.