Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
T he sound of gunshots is deafening, echoing off the cement walls like thunder trapped in a box. Before I can process what's happening Noah's body jerks backward, a dark stain blooming across his shirt.
"NOAH!" My scream tears through my throat, raw and primal.
He's falling, crumpling to the floor in that horrible slow-motion way that doesn't seem real. Noah took the bullet meant for Matteo. He just... jumped in front of it without hesitation.
Ivan falls too, hit by Noah's return fire, but he's not finished. Even wounded he's raising his gun again, this time pointing it directly at me. His eyes lock with mine for a split second—cold, enthralled, devoid of humanity.
A third shot cracks through the air. Matteo fires and Ivan's head snaps back. The light leaves his eyes as he collapses, finally still.
I don't care. I don't care about Ivan or revenge or anything else. I'm already scrambling across the floor to Noah, my knees scraping against concrete.
"Noah. Noah, please." My hands hover over his body, afraid to touch him, afraid to make it worse. The blood is everywhere, soaking through his shirt, making it impossible to see where he's been hit.
I press my hands against his chest, trying to find the source, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood is warm and slick between my fingers. "Noah, look at me. Open your eyes."
But he doesn't respond. His face is slack, eyes closed. The man who always seemed indestructible now looks fragile under my trembling hands.
"He needs a hospital. Now." Matteo's voice comes from somewhere above me but it sounds distant, underwater.
"Is Jessica safe? Did you get her out?" I ask, not taking my eyes off Noah's face.
"She's with Alessio. They're already heading to the car."
I nod, my tears falling onto Noah's chest. "Don't you dare die on me," I whisper with a ferocity I could not have planned, leaning close to his ear. "Not after everything."
Matteo is pulling at my arm. "We need to move him. Evelyn, we need to go."
I can't let go. My hands are still pressed against Noah's wound, staunching the blood flow, as if I'm the only thing keeping his life from slipping away.
I can't move. I can't breathe. My hands are still pressed against Noah's chest, his blood squelching warm between my fingers. Everything feels distant, like I'm watching myself from outside my body.
Suddenly Noah's weight disappears from beneath my hands as Matteo lifts him with a grunt. Noah's head lolls back, lifeless. My hands hang suspended in the air, stained crimson.
I should follow. I know I should follow but my legs won't work.
"Evelyn, move!" Matteo shouts, already heading for the door with Noah in his arms.
My body responds on autopilot. I'm walking, stumbling really, behind Matteo through gray stone corridors. The walls seem to pulse and contract around me. Is this what drowning feels like? I can't pull enough air into my lungs.
Black spots dance across my vision. The corridor stretches impossibly long. Noah's blood is drying on my hands, turning sticky and dark.
"Breathe." A firm voice cuts through the fog. Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.
I blink, focusing on the face in front of me. Not Matteo. Another man—Alessio. I recognize him from the Feretti mansion.
"Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth," he instructs, his eyes locked on mine. "That's it."
I hadn't realized I was hyperventilating until he pointed it out. I try to follow his instructions but my chest feels too tight.
"Jessica—" I manage to gasp.
"She's safe. Already in the car. But we need to move."
He keeps one hand firmly on my shoulder as we walk, faster now. The world slowly comes back into focus when fresh air hits my face. We've reached outside. The night air fills my lungs, cold and sharp, cutting through the fog in my brain.
"He's going to die," I say, the reality of it shattering me.
"Not if we get him to the hospital on time," Alessio says, guiding me toward a black SUV where Matteo is loading Noah into the backseat.
I don't remember getting into the car. One moment I'm outside the townhouse with Alessio's hand on my shoulder and the next I'm sitting in the backseat of an SUV, my blood-stained hands trembling in my lap.
But then I see her.
"Jessica!"
My sister's tear-streaked face comes into focus across from me.
"Evie!" Jessica throws herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck so tightly I can barely gasp. But I don't care. I hug her back just as fiercely, burying my face in her hair that smells of sweat and fear but still somehow like home.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" I pull back, scanning her face, her arms, looking for injuries. Her wrists are raw and red from restraints and there's a bruise forming on her cheek, but she's alive. She's alive and breathing and in my arms.
"I'm okay," she sobs, clinging to me again. "I thought—I thought I'd never see you again. When they took me they said—they said they were going to kill you after they got what they wanted."
"Shh, I'm here. I'm here now." I stroke her hair, my own tears falling freely. "Did they... did they do anything to you?"
Jessica shakes her head against my shoulder. "Just scared me. Locked me up. But Michael?—"
"Michael?" My heart lurches. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know. I heard him in another room but then they moved him. I don't know where they took him."
I hold her tighter, guilt washing over me in waves. This is my fault. All of it—Jessica, Michael, Noah bleeding out—all because I signed that contract with Ivan without understanding what I was getting into.
"I'm so sorry, Jess. This is all because of me."
Jessica pulls back slightly, wiping tears from her face with shaky hands. "Evie, you can't blame yourself for this. Ivan is a monster. This isn't your fault."
"Was," I correct her, my voice hollow. "He was a monster. He's dead now."
The words feel strange on my tongue. Ivan Volkov, the man who haunted my nightmares for months, who took my sister and my friend—is gone. Just like that. A bullet to the head and the boogeyman ceases to exist.
"Good," Jessica says, surprising me with her vehemence. "I hope it hurt."
I stare at my sweet sister, the one who used to cry when we found dead birds in our garden, now wishing pain on a dead man. But I understand. I feel it too—this dark satisfaction curling in my chest.
And that's what terrifies me.
When did I start wishing death on another human being? When did I become someone who could feel relief—even happiness—at the news of someone's murder?
A week ago I was just a normal woman. I played concerts, I practiced scales, I worried about tempo and intonation. Now I'm sitting in the back of an SUV with blood drying under my fingernails, grateful that a man is dead.
What's happening to me? What's wrong with me?
"Evie?" Jessica's voice pulls me from my thoughts. She's looking at me with concern, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Where did you go just now?"
I shake my head, forcing a smile. "Nowhere. I'm just... processing. It's been a long day."
That might be the understatement of the century. In the span of hours I've been kidnapped, fallen for my captor, escaped, been recaptured, and witnessed a murder. And somewhere in all that chaos, I've changed into someone I don't recognize.
I wipe the tears from my face as Jessica rests her head on my shoulder, our bodies swaying with the motion of the SUV. My mind keeps replaying Noah's body crumpling to the floor, the blood spreading across his shirt. Is he even still alive?
The car slows at an intersection and I notice Alessio in the front passenger seat with his phone pressed to his ear. His voice is low but urgent. "Yes, Damiano. The doctor insisted on taking him to the clinic. The bleeding—" He pauses, listening. "Understood. So Matteo and Enzo are taking him to St. Vincent's?"
My breath catches. Noah must be alive if they're taking him to a clinic. The relief that floods through me is so intense it makes me dizzy.
"We're about fifteen minutes out," Alessio continues. "I have both girls with me. Evelyn and Jessica."
Jessica squeezes my hand, her fingers cold against mine.
"Yes. I'm heading straight to the estate with them." Alessio nods at whatever Damiano is saying. "Dr. Romano is already there? Good. The younger one seems physically okay but they both need to be checked."
I press my lips together, swallowing hard. Being discussed like this—like property to be inspected—makes my skin crawl. But I'm too exhausted to protest.
"Will you be joining us or staying at the clinic?" Alessio asks, then nods again. "Understood. We'll see you there."
He ends the call and meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Noah's being taken to St. Vincent's. Matteo and Enzo are with him."
"Is he—" My voice breaks. "Will he make it?"
Alessio's expression softens slightly. "If anyone can survive a bullet, it's that stubborn bastard."
It's not exactly reassurance but I cling to it anyway.
"We're taking you both to the Feretti estate," he continues. "Dr. Romano will be waiting to examine you."
"I don't need—" Jessica begins.
"It's not optional," Alessio cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Damiano's orders."
I turn to Jessica, who's staring at me with wide, confused eyes. "Who's Damiano?" she whispers. "And why does he get to decide what happens to us?"
I glance at Alessio, hoping he'll ignore the question. Thankfully he keeps his attention on the road, pretending not to hear.
"Jess," I say softly, squeezing her hand. "For now we need to do as they say. I'll explain everything later, I promise."
Jessica looks like she wants to argue but something in my expression must convince her to hold back. She nods reluctantly then leans against the window, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
I lean forward in my seat, addressing Alessio directly. "I need to go to the clinic. To see Noah."
Alessio's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, meeting mine briefly. "I have orders to take you both to the mansion."
"I don't care about your orders," I say, my voice stronger than I expected. "Noah took that bullet because of me. I need to be there."
"That's not how this works," Alessio replies, his tone firm but not unkind. "Damiano's instructions were clear."
"Please," I say, hating the desperation in my voice. "I need to know if he's okay."
Alessio sighs, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "Look, we go to the mansion first. Dr. Romano checks you both out. If he says you're okay I'll take you to Noah myself."
It's not what I want, but I recognize it's the best offer I'm going to get. I sit back, nodding my acceptance. "Thank you," I whisper.
Jessica looks between us, confusion written across her face, but she stays silent. I'll have to explain everything to her soon—about Noah, about Ivan, about the dangerous world I've dragged her into. But right now all I can think about is Noah lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life because of me.
The SUV pulls up to the Feretti mansion and I feel Jessica tense beside me. I can't blame her—the sprawling estate with its imposing gates and armed guards must look like something from a nightmare to her.
"It's okay," I say, though nothing about this situation is remotely okay.
As we approach the main entrance I spot a slender figure waiting in the doorway. Lucrezia Feretti stands with her arms crossed, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. When she sees our car she steps forward, her face etched with genuine concern.
Alessio helps Jessica out first, then offers me his hand. My legs feel wobbly as I stand, the events of the past hours catching up with me.
"Are you okay?" Lucrezia asks, rushing toward us. Her eyes scan us both for visible injuries. "Either of you hurt?"
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. This woman barely knows me, has never met Jessica, yet her concern seems completely genuine.
"We're not injured," I say, my voice hoarse. "Just... shaken."
Lucrezia nods, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "Of course you are. Come inside. Dr. Romano is waiting, and I've had rooms prepared for both of you."
Jessica looks at me questioningly and I give her a small nod of reassurance.
"Thank you," I tell Lucrezia as she guides us inside.
"Women need to look out for each other in this world," she says simply. "Especially in our world."
Something about her words and the protective way she ushers us inside makes my throat tighten. Growing up, I never experienced this kind of female solidarity. My father constantly pitted me against other young musicians, creating an environment where every girl was a competitor, never an ally. The other girls responded in kind—sabotaging practice sessions, spreading rumors, hiding my sheet music before performances.
I learned early that I couldn't count on support from other women. My mother remained passive, watching from the sidelines as my father molded me into his perfect musical prodigy.
Seeing Lucrezia's genuine concern for two women she barely knows stirs something in me—a sense of admiration for her solidarity, but also a wistfulness for what I never had.