Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
I smooth down the wrinkles in my dress as Noah pulls up to the Feretti estate. The massive iron gates swing open without prompting, like they're expecting us. Maybe they are.
"You okay?" Noah asks, his eyes never leaving the winding driveway ahead.
"I'm fine," I lie.
After everything—Ivan, the kidnapping, Noah getting shot—I should be falling apart. But something's changed in me. I'm harder now. Stronger.
The car stops in front of the mansion and I spot Jessica waiting on the steps with Alessio hovering nearby. She looks different—still my sister, but with shadows under her eyes that weren't there before.
I step out of the car and Jessica flies into my arms before I can even close the door.
"Evie!" she cries, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe.
I clutch her back just as fiercely, burying my face in her hair. The scent of her familiar shampoo—vanilla and something floral—brings tears to my eyes. After all our texts and calls while Noah was in the clinic, nothing compares to holding her.
"I was so scared," she says against my shoulder. "When they took me?—"
"I know," I say, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Jess. This is all my fault."
We both break then, tears flowing freely as we cling to each other. All the fear, all the horror of the past days crashes over us like a wave. I hear the car door close behind me and sense Noah stepping away, giving us space.
"I'll be inside," he says quietly.
I nod without looking at him, grateful for this moment alone with my sister. Jessica pulls back just enough to look at my face, her eyes red and puffy.
"Are you really okay?" she asks, scanning me for injuries. "Your texts said you were but…"
"I'm fine," I assure her, wiping tears from her cheeks. "What about you? Did they hurt you?"
Jessica shakes her head. "Just scared me. Locked me up." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I kept thinking about what happened to Michael's finger and?—"
"Don't." I cut her off, pulling her close again. "It's over now. Ivan's dead."
We stand there holding each other, two sisters crying on the driveway of a mafia mansion. If someone had told me a month ago that this would be my life I'd have thought they were insane.
I hold Jessica at arm's length, studying her face. The shadows under her eyes tell stories she hasn't shared yet. We'll have time for that later.
"I need to go home, Evie," she says suddenly, her voice small. "I need to see Mom and Dad."
The mention of our parents sends a jolt through me. My first instinct is to argue—to remind her how controlling our father is, how our mother stands by and lets it happen. But the desperation in Jessica's eyes stops me.
"After everything that happened..." she continues, her voice breaking. "I just need something familiar, you know? Something normal. I need to feel home again."
I understand, even if I don't agree. Home was never the sanctuary for me that it was for Jessica. She didn't face the same pressure, the same expectations. But right now she needs comfort, not my baggage.
"I'll go with you," I say, squeezing her hands. "We'll go together."
Relief floods her face. "Really? You will?"
"Of course. I'm not letting you out of my sight." I manage a small smile. "Besides, I have a few things I need to say to Dad."
Jessica's eyes widen slightly. She knows what that means—knows I've never stood up to Alexander Anderson before. Always the perfect daughter, the obedient prodigy.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
I nod, more certain than I've ever been about anything. "It's time."
Jessica hugs me again, this time with gratitude rather than desperation. "When can we leave?"
"Soon," I promise.
Noah approaches us, his movements still stiff from his injury. "Everything okay?"
"Jessica wants to go home. I'm taking her."
His jaw tightens. "To your parents' house? In Connecticut?"
"Yes."
"I'll drive you."
"No." The firmness in my voice surprises even me. "This is something I need to do alone, Noah."
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "After everything that happened with Ivan…"
"Ivan is dead," I remind him. "And I need to do this. For me."
We stare at each other, locked in silent battle. Finally he nods once.
"Take my car. But you call me when you get there, and you call me before you leave."
"I will."
Jessica looks between us, eyebrows raised. "Should I give you two a minute?"
"No," we say in unison.
I turn to her. "Pack your things. We'll leave in thirty minutes."
As Jessica heads inside Noah pulls me into his arms, his lips brushing my ear.
Noah's arms tighten around me, his breath warm against my ear. "I can't let you go alone, Evelyn. Not after everything that's happened."
I pull back, meeting his gaze. "I need space, Noah. I've spent my entire life being controlled—by my father, by Ivan, and now by you."
His jaw clenches. "This isn't about control. It's about keeping you safe."
"Is there a difference?" The words come out sharper than I meant them to.
Noah runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "Ivan may be dead, but his organization isn't. There are still people who could target you."
"I understand that." I soften my tone. "But I can't live in a cage, even a gilded one. I've done that my whole life."
"You will have two men on you," he says, his expression unyielding. "They'll follow at a distance but they'll be there if anything happens."
I look at the mansion behind him, at the guards positioned around the perimeter, at Alessio standing alert by the entrance. This is my life now—constant surveillance, constant protection. The realization settles over me like a heavy cloak.
"Is this how it's always going to be?" I ask quietly.
Noah's eyes soften slightly. "For now. Until we're sure it's safe."
I think about my sister, about my father, about the confrontation waiting for me. I need to do this on my own terms but I'm not foolish enough to ignore the danger.
"Fine," I concede. "Two men. But they stay back. I don't want them hovering over me, especially not at my parents' house."
"They'll keep their distance," Noah promises. "You won't even know they're there unless you need them."
"I'll call you when we arrive," I say, already turning toward the house to find Jessica.
Noah catches my wrist. "Evelyn."
I look back at him, at the man who kidnapped me, protected me, took a bullet for someone else while I watched. The man I've somehow come to care for despite everything.
"Be careful," he says simply.
I nod. "I will."
I head inside, leaving Noah to his arrangements. The Feretti mansion feels different in daylight—less intimidating, more like an actual home. Sunlight streams through tall windows, catching dust motes in golden beams.
"She's upstairs packing," Lucrezia says, appearing from a side hallway. She's wearing a simple sundress, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Without her makeup and designer clothes, she looks younger, almost vulnerable.
"Thank you," I say, hesitating at the foot of the grand staircase. "For everything. For keeping her safe."
Lucrezia shrugs but her eyes are kind. "Family protects family."
"We're not your family," I point out.
"Noah seems to think you are." She gives me a knowing look. "And in this world that's enough."
I shift uncomfortably under her gaze. "Still, I appreciate it. Jessica's all I have."
"She's been good company," Lucrezia says, leaning against the banister. "It's nice having another woman around who isn't afraid to speak her mind."
I laugh softly. "That's Jessica. She's never had a filter."
"She told me about your childhood," Lucrezia says, her voice gentler now. "About your father."
My smile fades. "Did she?"
"Some of it. Enough to understand why you're going back there now." She crosses her arms. "Are you sure it's a good idea?"
"No," I admit. "But it's necessary."
Lucrezia nods, understanding in her eyes. "Sometimes the hardest conversations are the most important ones."
"Exactly."
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment. Despite our different backgrounds there's something about Lucrezia that feels familiar—a shared experience of growing up in worlds controlled by powerful men.
"Jessica mentioned you paint," I say.
Her face brightens. "I do. It's my escape." She pauses, studying me. "Like your violin is for you."
"Was it hard? Finding something that was just yours in all of this?" I gesture vaguely at our surroundings.
"Yes," she says simply. "But necessary for survival."
I hear footsteps on the stairs and look up to see Jessica descending with a small suitcase.
"Ready?" she asks, her voice falsely bright.
"Almost," I say, turning back to Lucrezia. "Thank you again. For keeping her safe, for the clothes, for..." I struggle to find the right words. "For showing her kindness when I couldn't be there."
Lucrezia steps forward and, to my surprise, hugs me briefly. "Take care of yourself, Evelyn. And remember—you always have a place here if you need it."
I watch Evelyn's car disappear down the driveway, a knot tightening in my chest that has nothing to do with the bullet wound. Fucking hell. This isn't right. She shouldn't be going alone.
"You let her go?" Matteo appears beside me, disbelief in his voice.
I don't answer, my jaw clenched so tight it might crack. Two of our men trail her at a distance—not close enough. Not fucking close enough if something happens.
"Since when does Il Fantasma let someone walk into potential danger?" Matteo presses.
"Shut up." The words come out like gravel.
I turn and walk back inside, each step a reminder of the hole in my chest. The physical pain is nothing compared to this new sensation—this fucking weakness spreading through me like poison.
For fifteen years I've lived by simple rules. Take what you want. Eliminate threats. Show no weakness. Feel nothing.
Now I'm standing here, feeling everything, and it's making me fucking insane.
"You know what your problem is?" Matteo follows me into the house. "You're in love with her."
I whip around, nearly tearing my stitches. "I said shut the fuck up."
But the words hit too close. This isn't just possession anymore. It's not just about keeping something beautiful for myself. It's about her smile. Her stubbornness. The way she challenges me when everyone else is afraid to.
"If you push her, she leaves for good," I mutter, more to myself than to Matteo.
"So the phantom has a heart after all." Matteo shakes his head. "Damiano won't believe this shit."
I grab him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. "One more word and I'll put a bullet in you myself."
Matteo doesn't flinch. He knows me too well. "You can threaten me all you want. Doesn't change what's happening to you."
"She needs to do this herself," I say, the words tasting strange in my mouth. Since when do I care what someone else needs?
My father's voice echoes in my head: Caring makes you weak. Weak men die.
But something fights against that voice now. Something that started the moment I heard Evelyn play. Something that grew when I saw her holding Damiano's baby. Something that nearly exploded when I took that bullet and thought I might never see her again.
I've spent my life taking. Taking lives. Taking power. Taking Evelyn.
But now, for the first time, I'm giving something. Space. Choice.
And it's fucking terrifying.
"Damiano's waiting," Matteo says, mercifully dropping the previous conversation.
I nod, straightening my shoulders despite the pain radiating from my chest. "Let's go."
Damiano's office door is open. He sits behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Italian. When he sees us he waves us in, wrapping up his call.
"Noah." He stands, studying my face. "You look like shit."
"I'm fine."
"Sit." It's not a request. I take the chair across from him, Matteo settling beside me.
Damiano slides a folder across the desk. "The Colombians are getting impatient. The Queens shipment needs handling."
I open the folder, forcing my mind to focus on the details—shipping manifests, dock numbers, payment schedules. This is what I'm good at. This is what I understand.
"Security's been doubled since Ivan's men showed up," I say, scanning the documents. "We'll need to change the route."
"That's why I need you on this," Damiano says. "No one handles these situations better."
I nod, trying to concentrate on the numbers, the logistics, the security protocols. But my mind keeps drifting to Evelyn—is she safe?
"Noah." Damiano's sharp tone pulls me back. "Are you with us?"
"Yeah." I clear my throat. "We'll need to bring in Russo's crew for additional coverage."
"Already arranged." Damiano leans forward. "I need your head in this, Noah. The Volkov situation may be handled but business continues."
"My head is in this," I snap, more harshly than intended.
Damiano gives me a long look. "Is it? Because I've known you since you were fourteen and I've never seen you distracted. Not once."
I clench my jaw, focusing on the pain to ground myself. "The shipment will be handled. I'll oversee it personally."
"Good." Damiano nods.
Work. This is what I need. Blood and business and danger—things I understand. Not the twist in my gut when I think of Evelyn facing her father alone. Not the emptiness of my apartment knowing she might not return.