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"With the Ferettis, it's different. Even when they're arguing, you can tell they care. Alessio told me stories about when they were kids—how Damiano would beat up anyone who picked on him or Enzo."
I think about Noah, taking a bullet meant for Matteo. The loyalty these men have for each other is something I never understood before.
"Must be nice," I say softly, "having people who'd do anything to protect you."
Jessica gives me a long look. "You have that now too, don't you? With Noah."
I don't answer right away, my mind flashing to Noah's face when he found me in that cell. The raw emotion there. The willingness to die for the people he cares about.
"Maybe I do," I finally admit.
Jessica shifts in her seat, her expression growing serious. "So, what are you going to say to Dad?"
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, the steady rhythm matching my heartbeat. "I'm not really sure," I admit. "Part of me just wants to tell him to go to hell."
"Evie!" Jessica's eyes widen, though I can see the hint of a smile playing at her lips.
"What? It's true." I shrug, checking the rearview mirror. Noah's security detail is keeping their distance as promised but I know they're there. "After everything he put us through, all those years of... of being locked in practice rooms, of being told I was nothing without the violin, of having every minute of my life controlled... I just want to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what I think of him."
Jessica is quiet for a moment. "I never had it as bad as you did."
"Because you weren't the prodigy," I say, my voice softer now. "He put all his expectations on me."
"And Mom just let him."
"She always did." I sigh, remembering our mother's blank stare whenever Dad dragged me back to practice. "But that doesn't really matter right now, does it? I mean, telling him to go to hell won't change anything. It won't give me back those years."
Jessica reaches over and squeezes my hand. "But maybe it will help you move forward."
I nod, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation building in my chest. "Maybe. Or maybe I just need to see himface to face to remind myself that I'm not that scared little girl anymore."
We drive in silence for a few blocks, the familiar streets of our childhood neighborhood coming into view. I realize I'm gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have turned ghostly.
"You know," Jessica says suddenly, "you're different now."
"Different how?"
"Stronger." She looks at me with something like admiration. "The old Evelyn would never have gone to Ivan's by herself to save me. And she definitely wouldn't be driving back to face Dad like this."
I think about Noah, about Ivan, about everything that's happened in the past weeks. "I guess facing deathly danger a few times changes your perspective."
"It's more than that," Jessica insists. "It's like you finally found your voice."
I smile slightly, thinking how ironic it is that after spending my life letting my violin speak for me, I'm finally learning to use my own voice. "I just hope I don't lose it when I see him."
We pull into the familiar driveway and I cut the engine. The Anderson family home looks exactly as it always has—pristine white Colonial, perfect landscaping, not a blade of grass out of place. Just like the image my father has always wanted to project.
"We're here," I say unnecessarily.
Jessica doesn't move. Neither do I.
"Are you ready?" she asks.
I stare at the front door, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No. But I don't think I'll ever be ready."
We sit in silence for another minute, gathering courage. Finally I open my door.
"Let's get this over with."