Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
I push the Ducati harder than I should, the engine screaming beneath me as I weave through traffic. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Without slowing down I tap my earpiece.
"What?" I bark.
"Boss, it's Franco. A black sedan just pulled up. Two men getting out. They're not looking friendly."
Fuck. I'm still two minutes away.
"Hold position. Don't engage unless they make a move on the house."
"Too late. They're approaching the front door. Looks like they're—shit, they're going in."
My chest burns where the bullet tore through me days ago but I ignore it. Pain is just information. Useless right now.
"Neutralize them. I'm almost there."
I cut through an alley, nearly clipping a dumpster. The bike slides sideways as I take the corner too fast but I manage to control it, accelerating again. Evelyn's face flashes in my mind. Not afraid. Not broken. Standing up to her father like she was born to do it.
No one's taking her from me. No one.
I screech to a halt in front of the Anderson house, leaving the bike running as I jump off. My gun is already in my hand. The front door hangs open.
Inside, Franco stands over a man, blood dripping from his knuckles.
"One man went upstairs," Franco yells.
A woman's scream tears through the house from the second floor. Evelyn.
I don't think. I move.
Taking the stairs three at a time I disregard the fire in my chest. The stitches are probably tearing but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting to her.
Another scream, closer now. Down the hallway. Third door.
I hear a man's voice, thick with a Russian accent: "Ivan's brother sends his regards."
Fuck waiting. Fuck planning. I kick the door open, gun raised.
I burst into the room, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Time slows down as I take in the scene—Evelyn backed against the wall, Jessica huddled on the bed, and a masked man pointing a gun at them.
My vision narrows, focusing on the threat. Without hesitation I adjust my aim and fire.
The shot is precise, hitting the intruder’s right hand. His gun clatters to the floor as he howls in pain, blood spraying across the carpet. He clutches his mangled hand to his chest, his eyes widening as he registers my presence.
"You fucking—" he starts, but I'm already closing the distance between us.
I slam the butt of my gun against his temple with a sickening crack. He crumples to his knees, dazed but still conscious. Not good enough. I bring the gun down again, harder this time. His body goes limp as he collapses to the floor.
Blood pools beneath his hand, spreading across the pale carpet. I kick his dropped weapon away, never taking my eyes off him. My chest throbs with each breath but the pain is distant, unimportant.
"Noah," Evelyn whispers, her voice trembling.
I turn to her, scanning for injuries. She's pale, shaking, but unharmed. Jessica clings to her, eyes wide with terror.
"Are you hurt?" I demand, still gripping my gun.
Evelyn shakes her head. "How did you?—"
"Franco called me." I press my boot against the unconscious man's chest, making sure he stays down.
My focus shifts between him and Evelyn, making sure she's truly unharmed. There's another woman in the room I hadn't noticed before—older, with Evelyn's eyes but not her strength. She stares at me, mouth open in shock.
"Who—who is this?" she stammers, looking from me to the unconscious man on the floor.
Before I can answer Evelyn steps forward. Her voice is steady despite everything.
"Mom, this is Noah."
I pull out my phone and dial Matteo.
"I need a cleanup team at the Anderson house. Now." I keep my voice low, controlled. "One body downstairs, one alive up. And send someone for my bike out front."
"Shit, Noah. You okay?" Matteo asks.
"Fine. Just get here."
I hang up and turn to Evelyn. "Where's your father?"
She exchanges a look with Jessica. "He left right after our confrontation. Said he needed to make some calls."
"Any idea where he'd go?"
"His club, apparently. The Metropolitan on Fifth." Jessica answers, her voice small.
I nod, piecing it together. Alexander Anderson likely knew more about Ivan's connections than he let on. And now those connections are coming for his family.
"We need to find him," I say, finally taking my foot off the Russian's chest. "If they came here, they'll go after him too."
Her mother stares at us, at the gun in my hand, at the man on the floor. Her world is shattering and I see the moment when she realizes her comfortable life was built on lies.
"What's happening?" she asks. "Who are these people?"
I don't have time to explain the sins of her husband, or how her daughter ended up with someone like me.
I motion to Franco, who appears in the doorway behind me.
"Stay with this piece of shit until Matteo gets here," I tell him, nodding at the unconscious Russian. "If he wakes up, make him wish he hadn't."
Franco nods, moving into position without question. His face is splattered with blood from the man he took down downstairs but his eyes are calm, professional. That's why I keep him on my team.
"Ladies," I say, turning to Evelyn, Jessica and their mother. "Pack what you need. Five minutes."
I head downstairs, gun still in hand. The body Franco dealt with lies sprawled near the front door, neck at an unnatural angle. I step over him, scanning the entryway.
The Anderson house is exactly what I expected—a monument to respectability. Crystal chandelier hanging from a high ceiling. Marble floor in the foyer. Antique furniture that looks like it's never been sat on. Family photos line the walls— Evelyn in formal dresses at various ages, violin always in hand. Always performing. Always perfect.
I move through to what must be Alexander's study. Dark wood paneling. Leather-bound books that look unread. A massive desk with a single photo—Evelyn at some competition, trophy in hand. Not a family photo. A trophy photo.
The living room is just as cold. Everything matched and coordinated, like a museum display of how the wealthy should live. No wonder Evelyn grew up so controlled. This house offers no room for mistakes, or mess.
From upstairs, I hear movement—drawers opening and closing, voices murmuring. At least they're following instructions.
I watch Noah disappear down the stairs, his movements fluid despite the bullet wound that nearly killed him days ago. The room feels colder without his presence, though Franco stands guard by the unconscious Russian. My hands won't stop shaking.
"Evelyn," my mother says, her eyes wide with shock. "Who is that man? What have you gotten yourself into?"
I grab a handful of clothes from my closet, stuffing them into a bag without caring what I take. "He's Noah Rivera. He works for the Feretti family."
"The Ferettis?" Her voice rises an octave. "The mafia family? Evelyn, what?—"
"Mom." I stop packing and look at her. "Noah is the only one who's truly cared about me. Not for what I can do, not for who I know, but for me."
Jessica zips up her own bag, nodding. "It's true, Mom. He took a bullet protecting his friend. He came after Evelyn when she was taken."
My mother sinks onto the edge of my childhood bed, the same bed where I used to cry myself to sleep after Father's punishing practice sessions.
"Are you sure about him?" she asks quietly. "This world he's in... it's dangerous."
I close my eyes for a moment, seeing Noah's face when he burst into that concrete cell at Ivan's. The raw desperation in his eyes, the way he positioned himself between me and danger without hesitation.
"He risked his life for me, Mom. More than once." My voice catches. "No one's ever done that before."
"But is that enough?" She reaches for my hand. "For a life together?"
The question hits me hard. A life together. Is that what I want with Noah? The man who kidnapped me, who's killed people, who's part of a world I never chose?
"I think..." My throat tightens. "I think I might be in love with him."
The words hang in the air. I've never said them aloud before, never even fully admitted them to myself. But they feel right.
"I am in love with him," I say more firmly. "And it terrifies me."
Jessica stops packing and stares at me. "Wow, Evie. That's... big."
My mother looks at me with tears in her eyes. "Your father and I, we had love once. Before ambition poisoned everything. If you truly love this man..."
"I do." And it's true. Despite everything—how we met, what he's done, what I've become since knowing him—I love Noah Rivera. I just don't know if I can tell him yet. If I'm brave enough to be that vulnerable.
"Then we need to hurry," my mother says, suddenly practical. "These men came. Others might follow."
We hurry downstairs, bags in hand. Noah stands in the foyer, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in rapid Italian. His eyes never leave the front door, body coiled tight, ready for any threat. When he sees us something in his expression softens.
"Matteo's five minutes out," he says, ending the call. "We need to move. Franco will stay with our friend upstairs until cleanup arrives."
Mom flinches at the clinical way he discusses what just happened. I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her. This is Noah's world—efficient, dangerous, direct.
He opens the front door, scanning the street before ushering us towards a black SUV parked at the curb. "Mrs. Anderson, Jessica, get in the back. Evelyn, passenger seat."
Mom and Jessica climb in without question. I pause on the sidewalk, overcome by the weight of everything—the confrontation with my father, the Russian gunmen, the realization that I love this dangerous man.
"Noah."
He turns to me, alert for any sign of danger. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my cheek.
"Thank you," I murmur. "For coming for me. Again."
His arms encircle me, one hand cradling the back of my head. For a moment we remain locked together. Then he tilts my chin up and kisses me—not desperate or demanding, just with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
When he pulls back his eyes are dark with emotion. "There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you, Evelyn. Nothing."
The certainty in his voice should frighten me. Instead it feels like coming home.
I slide into the passenger seat next to Noah, my heart still racing from our brief intimacy together on the sidewalk. His profile is sharp as he scans the street one last time starting the engine. The SUV purrs to life.
"Mrs. Anderson," Noah says, meeting my mother's eyes in the rearview mirror. "I need you to call your husband."
My mother clutches her purse tighter. "Alexander? Why would I?—?"
"He might be in danger as well," Noah cuts in, his voice firm but not unkind. "Those men came for a reason. If they knew your daughters were at the house, they likely know where he is too."
I turn in my seat to face her. "Mom, please. Whatever Dad did, whatever his connection to Ivan was... he's still Dad."
Her hands tremble as she pulls out her phone. "He's at the Metropolitan Club. That's where he always goes after... after difficult situations."
Noah nods, guiding the SUV smoothly into traffic. "Call him. Tell him to stay where he is, somewhere public. We'll come get him."
"You want to help him?" I ask, surprised by Noah's willingness to rescue my father after everything.
Noah's eyes remain fixed on the road but his jaw tightens. "I want to keep you safe. That means making sure no one uses your father as leverage against you."
My mother dials, her fingers hesitating over the screen. "What do I tell him about what happened? About you?"
"Just tell him to stay put," Noah instructs. "Tell him it's not safe to come home. Nothing more."
While my mother makes the call I reach for Noah's hand resting on the gearshift. He turns his palm up, interlacing our fingers without taking his eyes off the road.
"Alexander? It's me," my mother says, her voice steadier than I expected. "Are you at the club? Listen to me carefully. Don't come home. It's not safe."
I realize from my mother’s tone that Dad didn’t pick up and she’s speaking to voicemail.
"The girls are with me," she continues. "We're safe, but there were men at the house. Russian men.Just stay there," my mother finishes. "In public. We're coming to get you."
She ends the call and meets my eyes. "Let’s hope he picks up the message”"
Noah squeezes my hand once before releasing it to make a turn.