Page 46 of Ruined

I set the glass down hard enough that it nearly shatters. My own weakness disgusts me. I'm not some lovesick teenager. I'm Il Fantasma. I don't feel. I don't break. I don't fucking kiss prisoners I'm supposed to be protecting.

I've been sitting on this sofa for two hours, staring at nothing, my mind a battlefield of thoughts I don't want to have. The whiskey bottle sits half-empty on the coffee table. It hasn't helped.

Behind that closed door, Evelyn hasn't made a sound. No movement. Nothing. Just silence that's louder than any scream.

My phone buzzes. Matteo.

On my way up. Got news.

Fuck. I'm not in the mood for company, but Matteo wouldn't come unless it was important. I down the last of my whiskey and set the glass aside, trying to look like a man in control instead of someone who's just had his entire world flipped upside down by a single kiss.

Three sharp knocks at the door. I unlock it to find Matteo leaning against the wall, eyebrows raised as he takes in my appearance.

"You look like shit," he says, pushing past me into the apartment.

"Thanks." I close the door behind him.

Matteo's eyes scan the room, landing on the whiskey bottle. "Started the party without me?" He picks up the bottle, examining the label. "The good stuff too. Must be serious."

"What do you want, Matteo?"

Matteo's expression shifts, the humor vanishing. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small metal box, setting it on the coffee table with a dull thud.

"We got a delivery at the mansion an hour ago."

Something in his tone makes my blood run cold. I stare at the box, already knowing I don't want to see what's inside.

"What is it?"

Matteo's jaw tightens. "A finger. Cut clean. Man's finger."

My stomach turns but I keep my face blank. "Whose?"

"Don't know yet. Alessio's running the prints, but..." He pulls a folded note from his pocket and hands it to me. "This came with it."

I unfold the paper. Three words, written in neat block letters: BRING HER BACK.

"Ivan," I say, crumpling the note in my fist.

"Has to be. This is his style—dramatic, public." Matteo glances toward the bedroom door. "Where is she?"

"In there." I don't elaborate. Don't need to explain the tension hanging in the air or why she's hiding behind a closed door.

"She needs to know, Noah. This isn't just about you and her anymore." Matteo lowers his voice. "Ivan's sending body parts to the Feretti mansion. That's a declaration of war."

I run my hand down my face, feeling the stubble I haven't bothered to shave. "Who delivered it?"

"Some kid. Paid cash. Said a man in a black car gave him fifty bucks to drop it off."

Matteo eyes the box again. "We need to figure out whose finger that is."

I pick up the box, feeling its weight. Someone's pain, someone's terror, all packaged up as a message to me. This is the consequence of my selfishness. Of taking what I wanted instead of thinking clearly.

"Did Damiano see this?"

Matteo nods. "He's furious. Wants to meet with you tomorrow morning. Early."

"Tell him I'll be there."

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