Page 47 of Ruined

"And what about her?" Matteo jerks his chin toward the bedroom. "You can't keep her locked in here forever, especially not now. Ivan's making his move."

I set the box down, hating the choice in front of me. "I know."

"So what's the plan?"

The plan. As if I have one beyond keeping her alive, keeping her close, keeping her from Ivan's grasp. But now there's a severed finger on my coffee table and the game has changed.

"I need to talk to her first," I say, staring at the bedroom door. "She needs to understand what she's in the middle of."

Matteo heads toward the door but pauses with his hand on the knob. "If you need me to be here with her tomorrow when you're at the Ferettis, just text me. I can rearrange some things."

The offer surprises me. Matteo isn't the type to volunteer for babysitting duty.

"Thanks," I say, meaning it.

He gives me a quick nod, then slips out, leaving me alone with the weight of decisions I'm not sure how to make.

I lock the door behind him and stare at the metal box on the coffee table. Inside is someone's pain, someone's blood—all because I decided to take Evelyn. All because I couldn't stand the thought of Ivan having her.

I pick up the box and tuck it into my jacket pocket. She doesn't need to see this part. Doesn't need to know how Ivan delivers his messages.

But she needs to know the rest. She needs to understand what's at stake.

I walk to the bedroom door and knock once, firmly.

"Evelyn." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "We need to talk."

No answer.

I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door. "Evelyn, please. Something's happened."

CHAPTER 14

Iopen the door, still feeling the ghost of Noah's lips against mine. The taste of whiskey lingers, his masculine aroma, and I hate that I'm already craving more.

Noah stands there, his face carved from stone. Something's wrong.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

"Ivan sent a message to the Ferettis." Noah's eyes never leave mine. "He wants you back."

The room tilts slightly. "What kind of message?"

Noah hesitates. That's when I know it's bad. Noah Rivera doesn't hesitate.

"Just tell me."

"A finger. He sent a severed finger."

The words hit me like a stab to the chest. I stumble backward, my hand flying to my mouth. "Whose? Whose finger, Noah?"

"We don't know yet."

But I know. I know in my bones because this is because of me. Every person I've ever cared about flashes through my mind—Jessica, David, my colleagues from the orchestra.

"This is my fault," I whisper, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "He's hurting someone because of me."

"Evelyn—"

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