Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
I pour whiskey into a glass, not bothering to measure. The amber liquid sloshes against the sides as I drop onto the sofa and grab the remote. The TV flickers to life, some mindless show filling the silence of my apartment.
I don't give a fuck what's on. I just need noise. Something to drown out the sound of running water from the bathroom where Evelyn's been for the past twenty minutes.
She's crying. I know she is.
I take a long swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn down my throat. It doesn't help. Nothing helps the weight pressing against my chest when I think about Jessica being in Ivan's hands. About what that sick fuck might do to her.
About how it's my fault.
If I hadn't taken Evelyn... if I'd just watched from a distance like I had for months...
"Fuck," I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.
The shower's still running. Too long for just washing up. One thing I know about women is the difference between showering and hiding.
I turn up the volume on some cookery competition. The judges are yelling about undercooked fish. I stare at the screen without seeing it, the glass dangling from my fingers.
I should be planning. Making calls. Finding Jessica before Ivan can hurt her. But all I can think about is Evelyn behind that door, shoulders shaking, trying to muffle her sobs so I won't hear.
It makes me feel fucking awful.
I've killed men without blinking. Tortured them without losing sleep. But the thought of Evelyn crying tears me apart inside.
When did I get so fucking soft?
I down the rest of the drink in one go, set the glass on the coffee table with more force than necessary. On the screen someone's crying over a collapsed soufflé. I change the channel.
The water finally shuts off. I strain to hear movement behind the door, wondering if she'll come out or stay hidden in there all night.
Not that I can blame her. Her sister's missing because of me. Because I couldn't keep my distance, couldn't leave her alone.
I pour another drink, hoping it might dull the unfamiliar ache in my chest. It doesn't.
I switch channels restlessly, my thumb pressing the button over and over. Sports. Reality show. Documentary about penguins. News.
I'm about to keep going when the CNN headline catches my eye: "RENOWNED CELLIST MISSING."
The remote freezes in my hand as the blonde reporter speaks into the camera, her face appropriately solemn.
"—whereabouts of acclaimed cellist Michael Chen remain unknown after he failed to appear for his performance with the New York Philharmonic last Saturday. Chen, 29, was last seen leaving his apartment in Manhattan three days ago. Police are asking anyone with information to?—"
"NO!"
The scream behind me is so raw I nearly drop the glass. I whip around to see Evelyn standing there, hair still wet from the shower, wearing the clothes I bought her. Her face has drained of all color, eyes fixed on the TV screen where they're showing a photo of the missing musician.
"Michael," she says, one hand covering her mouth. "Oh God, no."
I mute the TV, setting my drink down. "You know him?"
"He's my friend." Her voice breaks on the word. "We went to Juilliard together. We performed together last month at Carnegie Hall."
The pieces click together instantly in my mind. "Ivan."
Evelyn nods, her whole body trembling. "First Jessica, now Michael. He's going after everyone I care about." Her eyes lock with mine, wild with panic and rage. "He's doing this because of me."
I stand, moving toward her, but she backs away.
"Don't you see? This is how Ivan works. He doesn't just hurt you—he takes everything you love first. He makes you watch." Her voice rises with each word. "Michael has nothing to do with any of this! He's just a cellist. A brilliant musician who's never hurt anyone."
"Evelyn—"
"I need to call the police. I need to tell them?—"
"Tell them what?" I step closer, keeping my voice steady. "That a Russian mafia boss took your friend? That you know this because you're currently being held by another mafia enforcer? Think about what you're saying."
She slams her fist against the wall. "I can't just do nothing! First Jessica, now Michael—who's next? How many people have to disappear before this stops?"
The tears she hid from me start flowing freely now, her shoulders shaking with the force of them.
"It's my fault," she chokes out. "All of this is my fault."
I move toward her, hands out like I'm approaching a wounded animal. The pain in her eyes cuts deeper than any knife.
"Evelyn—"
"Don't touch me!" she screams, backing away until she hits the wall. Her voice cracks with raw emotion. "Don't you fucking touch me!"
I freeze, watching her chest heave with each ragged breath. Tears streak down her face, her wet hair plastered against her cheeks.
"All of this is happening because of you," she spits. "You took me. You started this war with Ivan. And now innocent people are paying for it."
Her words hit like bullets, each one finding its mark.
"I hate you." Her voice drops to a whisper, more devastating than her screams. "I hate what you've done. I hate that I let myself feel anything for you."
I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my face blank. "You don't mean that."
"I do." She wipes her tears angrily with the back of her hand. "This is my mess. I signed that contract with Ivan. I'm the one who should face the consequences—not Jessica, not Michael, not anyone else."
"That's not how this works."
"Then make it work that way!" She pushes off the wall, getting right in my face. "Call Ivan. Tell him you'll trade me for Jessica and Michael. End this before anyone else gets hurt."
I shake my head. "Not happening."
"Why? Because I'm your property now?" She laughs bitterly. "You're no better than Ivan. You both think you own me."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't want your protection!" She slams her palm against my chest. "I want my sister back! I want my friend safe! I can't live with myself knowing they're suffering because of me."
Her shoulders collapse inward as a fresh wave of sobs overtakes her. I reach for her again, unable to stop myself.
"I said don't touch me." She steps back, wrapping her arms around herself. "If you cared about me at all, you'd let me go. Let me face Ivan myself."
"So he can kill you?"
"If that's what it takes." Her eyes meet mine, resolute despite the tears. "Their lives are worth more than mine."
I stare at Evelyn, her words slicing through me like shrapnel. My chest tightens with each accusation she hurls. The whiskey in my system does nothing to dull the sting.
"You're not even close to the truth," I say, keeping my voice low and controlled despite the storm raging inside me. "Ivan doesn't give a fuck about your friend or your sister. He cares about power. About showing everyone he can take what he wants." She shakes her head, tears still streaming down her face. "They're missing because Ivan is a sadistic piece of shit who?—"
"Shut up!" She slams her hands against my chest, shoving me back. "Just shut up! You don't get to stand there and act like you're the hero in this story!"
I grab her wrists before she can hit me again. "I never claimed to be a hero."
"Let go of me." Her voice drops dangerously low.
I release her immediately, watching as she rubs her wrists, glaring at me with hatred burning in her eyes.
"You think you're protecting me?" She laughs bitterly. "You're just another man trying to control me. My father, Ivan, now you—different cages, same prison."
"That's not?—"
"I'm done listening to you." She cuts me off, backing away. "I'm done pretending that any of this is okay."
Before I can respond, she turns and storms toward the bedroom, her footsteps heavy with rage.
"Evelyn, wait?—"
The bedroom door slams shut behind her. I hear the lock click into place.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room, the muted TV still showing images of the missing cellist. The sound of Evelyn's muffled sobs filters through the door, each one like a knife twisting in my gut.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and dial Damiano. He answers on the second ring.
"What is it, Rivera?"
"We have another problem." I keep my voice low, glancing at the bedroom door. "Michael Chen, a cellist. Works with Evelyn. He's missing too."
"Fuck." Damiano's voice is tight. "When?"
"Just hit the news. Ivan's not waiting for the deadline. He's collecting everyone she cares about."
I pace across the living room, tension coiling through my body like a spring ready to snap.
"We need to move faster," I say. "We still have two days left on his ultimatum, but Ivan's unpredictable. Who knows what he'll do next?"
"He's sending a message," Damiano says. "Making it personal."
"It's already fucking personal." I grip the phone tighter. "He's going to hurt them to get to her."
"How's she taking it?" Damiano asks.
I glance at the bedroom door, remembering the hatred in Evelyn's eyes. "How do you think?"
"Keep her there, Noah. No matter what. If she tries to go to Ivan?—"
"She won't." I cut him off, though I'm not as confident as I sound. "I won't let her."
"Good. I'll call when we have something solid. Be ready to move."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. In the bedroom Evelyn's sobs have quietened, which somehow feels worse.
I walk to the door, pressing my palm against it.
"Evelyn," I call softly. "I just spoke to Damiano. They might have a lead on Jessica."
Silence.
"I know you hate me right now. You have every right to." I rest my forehead against the door. "But I promise you, we're going to get them back."
More silence.
"I didn't want this war. But I'm going to end it." I close my eyes. "And I'm going to keep you safe while I do it."
I wait at the door, listening for any response from Evelyn. The silence stretches between us like a living thing, heavy with accusation.
"Evelyn," I try again. "Say something."
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face flushed with anger and tears.
"You want me to say something?" Her voice is menacingly quiet. "Fine. This is all your fault. You started this war, Noah. Not Ivan. You!"
I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my voice level. "I didn't start anything. Ivan was already coming for you."
"You killed his men!" She's shouting now, all composure gone. "You took what he wanted! And now innocent people are paying for your fucking ego!"
"It wasn't about my ego?—"
"Bullshit!" She's inches from my face now. "You wanted me, so you took me. Just like every other controlling asshole in my life. And now Jessica might die because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants!"
Something snaps inside me. I whirl away from her, my fist connecting with the wall before I can stop myself. The drywall cracks under the impact, pain shooting up my arm.
"Fuck!" I pull my hand back, knuckles bleeding.
Evelyn flinches but doesn't back down. "Did that make you feel better? Breaking things when you don't get your way?"
I turn to face her, breathing hard. "You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to put people in danger? I saw a chance to keep you safe and I took it."
"And look where that got us." Her voice drops to a whisper, somehow more devastating than her shouts. "If anything happens to Jessica or Michael, their blood is on your hands. And I will never, ever forgive you."
She steps back into the bedroom and slams the door. The lock clicks into place.
I stare at my bleeding knuckles, at the hole in the wall, at the closed door between us. Everything I touch turns to shit. Everything I try to protect gets destroyed.
And the worst part is, she's right.
I stand in the hallway, staring at the closed bedroom door, my hand throbbing with each heartbeat. The pain feels right—deserved. I fucked up. Not by taking Evelyn, but by not being prepared for Ivan's response.
My phone is still in my hand. I dial Matteo's number, pacing the hall to the living room as it rings.
"What's up?" Matteo answers, sounding distracted.
"I need you to come over. Now."
"What happened?" His tone shifts immediately, alert and focused.
"Ivan took Michael Chen too. Evelyn's friend. It's on the news." I lower my voice. "She's losing it, man. Blames me for everything. I can't leave her alone but I need to do something."
"Like what?" Matteo asks cautiously.
"Like find out where Ivan's keeping them." I glance at the bedroom door. "Or put a bullet in his head. Either works."
Matteo sighs. "Noah?—"
"I'm not asking for permission. I'm asking you to come watch her while I'm gone."
There's a pause on the line. "You realize if she wants to leave badly enough, I can't stop her without hurting her, right? And I'm not going to do that."
"Just... keep her here. Talk to her. She listens to you." I run a hand through my hair. "I need to move on this, Matteo. I can't just sit here while Ivan picks off everyone she cares about."
Another pause. "Alright. I'll be there in twenty. But Noah?—"
"What?"
"Don't do anything stupid. Damiano has people looking. You going rogue isn't going to help."
"Twenty minutes," I say, ignoring his warning. "Thanks."
I hang up and walk to the bedroom door again, resting my palm against it.
"Evelyn," I call softly. "Matteo's coming over to stay with you. I need to go out."
No response.
I pace the living room, checking my watch every thirty seconds. Each minute feels like an hour as I wait for Matteo. My knuckles have stopped bleeding but the skin is split and raw. Good. The pain keeps me focused.
When the doorbell finally rings I nearly rip the door off its hinges.
"About fucking time," I mutter as Matteo steps in, looking me over with raised eyebrows.
"What happened to your hand? Never mind. I can guess."
I grab my jacket from the back of the couch. "She's in the bedroom. Hasn't come out since she saw the news about Chen."
"And you're going where exactly?" Matteo blocks my path to the door, arms crossed.
"Damiano's first." I check my gun, tucking it into my waistband. "He might have something on Jessica's location by now. After that, I'm going hunting."
"For Ivan?" Matteo shakes his head. "That's suicide, Noah."
"I don't care." I grab my keys from the counter. "Someone has to end this and I'm not waiting around for Ivan to grab more leverage."
Matteo sighs, glancing toward the bedroom. "She's really gotten to you, hasn't she?"
I don't answer. I don't need to.
"Just... talk to her," I say instead. "Make sure she eats something. And Matteo—" I lower my voice. "Don't let her leave. No matter what she says."
"I'll do my best." He runs a hand through his hair. "But if you're not back by morning, I'm calling Damiano."
"Fair enough." I pause at the door. "If anything changes with Jessica or Chen, call me immediately."
"Will do." Matteo settles onto the couch. "Try not to get yourself killed, asshole. I'd hate to have to explain that to your girlfriend."
"She's not my—" I stop myself. What's the point? "Just watch her."