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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 nearlyexploded 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."