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"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" I pull back, scanning her face, her arms, looking for injuries. Her wrists are raw and red from restraints and there's a bruise forming on her cheek, but she's alive. She's alive and breathing and in my arms.
"I'm okay," she sobs, clinging to me again. "I thought—I thought I'd never see you again. When they took me they said—they said they were going to kill you after they got what they wanted."
"Shh, I'm here. I'm here now." I stroke her hair, my own tears falling freely. "Did they... did they do anything to you?"
Jessica shakes her head against my shoulder. "Just scared me. Locked me up. But Michael?—"
"Michael?" My heart lurches. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know. I heard him in another room but then they moved him. I don't know where they took him."
I hold her tighter, guilt washing over me in waves. This is my fault. All of it—Jessica, Michael, Noah bleeding out—all because I signed that contract with Ivan without understanding what I was getting into.
"I'm so sorry, Jess. This is all because of me."
Jessica pulls back slightly, wiping tears from her face with shaky hands. "Evie, you can't blame yourself for this. Ivan is a monster. This isn't your fault."
"Was," I correct her, my voice hollow. "He was a monster. He's dead now."
The words feel strange on my tongue. Ivan Volkov, the man who haunted my nightmares for months, who took my sister and my friend—is gone. Just like that. A bullet to the head and the boogeyman ceases to exist.
"Good," Jessica says, surprising me with her vehemence. "I hope it hurt."
I stare at my sweet sister, the one who used to cry when we found dead birds in our garden, now wishing pain on a dead man. But I understand. I feel it too—this dark satisfaction curling in my chest.
And that's what terrifies me.
When did I start wishing death on another human being? When did I become someone who could feel relief—even happiness—at the news of someone's murder?
A week ago I was just a normal woman. I played concerts, I practiced scales, I worried about tempo and intonation. Now I'm sitting in the back of an SUV with blood drying under my fingernails, grateful that a man is dead.
What's happening to me? What's wrong with me?
"Evie?" Jessica's voice pulls me from my thoughts. She's looking at me with concern, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Where did you go just now?"
I shake my head, forcing a smile. "Nowhere. I'm just... processing. It's been a long day."
That might be the understatement of the century. In the span of hours I've been kidnapped, fallen for my captor, escaped, been recaptured, and witnessed a murder. And somewhere in all that chaos, I've changed into someone I don't recognize.
I wipe the tears from my face as Jessica rests her head on my shoulder, our bodies swaying with the motion of the SUV. My mind keeps replaying Noah's body crumpling to the floor, the blood spreading across his shirt. Is he even still alive?
The car slows at an intersection and I notice Alessio in the front passenger seat with his phone pressed to his ear. His voice is low but urgent. "Yes, Damiano. The doctor insisted on taking him to the clinic. The bleeding—" He pauses, listening. "Understood. So Matteo and Enzo are taking him to St. Vincent's?"
My breath catches. Noah must be alive if they're taking him to a clinic. The relief that floods through me is so intense it makes me dizzy.
"We're about fifteen minutes out," Alessio continues. "I have both girls with me. Evelyn and Jessica."
Jessica squeezes my hand, her fingers cold against mine.
"Yes. I'm heading straight to the estate with them." Alessio nods at whatever Damiano is saying. "Dr. Romano is already there? Good. The younger one seems physically okay but they both need to be checked."
I press my lips together, swallowing hard. Being discussed like this—like property to be inspected—makes my skin crawl. But I'm too exhausted to protest.
"Will you be joining us or staying at the clinic?" Alessio asks, then nods again. "Understood. We'll see you there."
He ends the call and meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Noah's being taken to St. Vincent's. Matteo and Enzo are with him."
"Is he—" My voice breaks. "Will he make it?"