Page 42 of Ruined

"We're done with this conversation." I push off from the counter. "Just find out what Ivan's planning."

"Whatever you say, boss." Matteo's smirk doesn't fade.

I walk Matteo to the door, keeping my voice low.

"Just find out what you can. I need to know what Ivan's planning."

"Will do." Matteo glances back toward the bedroom door. "Try not to get too attached."

"Get the fuck out," I mutter, shoving him through the doorway.

I close the door and punch in the security code, my mind racing with everything Damiano said. When I turn around, Evelyn is standing there, arms crossed over her chest..

"I heard all of it," she says, chin tilted up in defiance.

"Of course you did." I walk past her toward the kitchen. No point denying what she already knows.

"So I'm the reason you're in trouble with your boss." She follows me, keeping her distance. "The reason you might start a war."

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "You're not the reason. Ivan is."

"But if you'd just left me?—"

"You'd be with Ivan right now." I twist the cap off with more force than necessary. "Trust me, you wouldn't prefer that alternative."

She stares at me, those blue eyes calculating something. "What does he want with me? You said it's not just about my playing."

"I don't know yet." I take a long drink. "But I intend to find out."

Evelyn shifts her weight, glancing toward the shopping bags I left by the couch. The conversation feels too heavy, too loaded with things neither of us wants to address.

"I brought your stuff," I say, nodding toward the bags. "Check if there's everything you need."

She hesitates before moving toward the couch, pulling the bags closer. I watch as she rifles through them, pulling out clothes, toiletries, books.

"You actually got everything on the list," she says, sounding surprised.

"I can follow instructions." I lean against the doorframe, watching her.

She holds up a paperback copy ofJane Eyre. "This wasn't on my list."

"You said you wanted books. That was in the classics section."

A small smile plays at her lips before she catches herself and forces it away. "I've read it before."

"Then you know if it's any good."

She continues sorting through the items, her fingers lingering on the soft fabrics of the clothes I picked. Nothing fancy or revealing—just comfortable things she can move in. Things that won't make her feel more trapped than she already is.

"Thank you," she says quietly, not looking at me.

The words hang in the air between us. It's the first time she's thanked me for anything.

"Don't mention it. Why don’t you go change, see if I got your size right?"

I'm halfway through a glass of whiskey when I hear the bedroom door open. I don't turn around, keeping my eyes fixed on the city lights through the window. The amber liquid burns a path down my throat as I take another sip.

Soft footsteps pad across the hardwood floor. Then silence.

---