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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.