Page 99

Memory comes back in fragments. Ivan. The cell. The gun. Matteo. I took a bullet. For Matteo.
My eyes crack open, vision blurry at first. White ceiling. White walls. The steady rhythm of machines tracking my heartbeat. I try to swallow but my throat feels like sandpaper. I want to speak but can't remember how.
Then I see them. Those eyes. The same ones that have haunted me for months.
Evelyn's eyes.
Dark, deep, watching me with an intensity that cuts through the fog in my brain. She's here. Not with Ivan. Not dead.Here.
"You're awake," she says, leaning forward in her chair. Her face is pale, dark circles under her eyes. Her hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders. She looks exhausted. Beautiful.
I try to speak but only manage a grunt. My throat burns.
"Don't try to talk," she says, reaching for something. "Here."
Cool water touches my lips as she holds a cup with a straw. I drink, the liquid soothing my parched throat.
"How long?" I rasp when I can finally form words.
"Two days," she says. "You've been unconscious for two days."
Two fucking days. The bullet must have done more damage than I thought.
"Ivan?" I manage to ask.
"Dead," she says simply. "Matteo shot him after you went down."
Good. That's fucking good. I close my eyes briefly, relief washing over me. When I open them again she's still watching me, something unreadable in her expression.
"You shouldn't have done that," she says quietly. "Taken that bullet."
I try to laugh but it comes out as a pained cough. "Wasn't planning to."
I try to sit up but pain rips through my chest. Fucking bullet. Evelyn's hand presses gently against my shoulder, easing me back down.
"Jessica?" I ask, my voice still rough. "And Michael?"
Something flickers across Evelyn's face—relief mixed with something darker.
"Jessica's fine. She's staying at the Feretti mansion. Lucrezia's looking after her." Evelyn pauses, her fingers absently smoothing the edge of my blanket. "They found Michael too."
My muscles tense despite the pain. "And?"
"His finger was missing but besides that, he's okay." Her voice catches slightly. "Physically okay, at least."
The missing finger. Ivan's fucking message. I close my eyes briefly, processing this information. No more music but at least the cellist is alive. One less death on my conscience.
"Where was he?" I ask, opening my eyes to study her face.
"They found him in a warehouse in Red Hook," Evelyn says, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Ivan had him moved there before we arrived at the townhouse. Apparently it was some kind of... backup location."
I nod slightly, making a mental note to have Matteo check if Ivan had other properties we don't know about. The Russian bastard might be dead but his network isn't. We need to make sure there are no more surprises.
I notice something shift in Evelyn's expression as she looks at me. Her eyes soften and before I realize what's happening, she leans forward and presses her lips against mine. The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, but I feel the warmth of her tears falling onto my face.
When she pulls back I see wet streaks glistening on her cheeks, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Something twists in my chest that has nothing to do with the bullet wound.
"You know," I rasp, trying to lighten the moment, "there are easier ways to get me into bed than having me shot."