Page 82 of Ruined

I take a step back, lifting my chin in what I hope appears as confusion. "Noah Rivera? I don't know anyone by that name."

Ivan's smirk stretches into a full grimace. Those eyes remain cold, calculating—like a predator watching its prey make a fatal mistake.

"Oh, Evelyn." He laughs, the sound echoing through the elegant room. "I never thought you would be so stupid." He stands, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate slowness. "Did you really think such a childish trick would work? That I would believe you?"

My heart hammers against my ribs but I manage to keep my expression neutral. "I came here of my own free will."

Ivan circles me slowly, like a shark. "Let me explain something to you. I have men watching Rivera's building. I know exactly when you left. I know which taxi you took." He stops directly behind me, his breath on my neck making my skincrawl. "And I certainly know that you've been his little pet for days now.

"How did you know I was with Noah?" I ask, hating how my voice wavers.

Ivan's smile widens as he walks to a small bar cart in the corner. The clink of crystal against crystal fills the silence as he pours amber liquid into two glasses.

"You think I wouldn't keep tabs on Rivera?" He extends a glass toward me, which I don't take. He shrugs and sets it on the coffee table. "I've been watching him for months. Just as he's been watching you."

My stomach drops. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come now." Ivan takes a sip from his glass. "Did Rivera tell you he's been obsessed with you since Damiano's wedding? Following you to performances, learning your routines?" He studies my face. "Ah, he did mention it. How romantic."

The memory of Noah's confession burns through me—six months of surveillance, knowing my favorite foods, my habits. Things I'd found both disturbing and oddly touching when Noah admitted them.

"My men have been following Rivera for weeks," Ivan continues. "When they saw him take you naturally I knew exactly where you were."

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to shift away from him. "Where is my sister?"

"Your sister is fine. For now." He moves to stand in front of me again. "Michael, on the other hand... has been less cooperative."

The blood drains from my face. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing compared to what Rivera will face when he comes charging in here to reclaim what he thinks belongs to him." Ivanreaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I flinch away from his touch.

"Noah doesn't know I'm here," I say, hating how my voice wavers. "I left while he was out."

Ivan's laugh is sharper this time. "Do you think I don't understand men like Rivera? Men who take what they want and destroy anyone who threatens their possessions?" His eyes narrow. "He'll be on his way soon, little bitch. And when he arrives?—"

Ivan's words make my chest heave. Noah is coming here? No, no, no. This is exactly what I was trying to prevent.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I demand, my voice rising with panic despite my efforts to stay composed. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Why are you doing this? Taking Jessica, Michael... sending men to grab me from my apartment? What is this about?"

Ivan circles back to his chair, sitting down with the casual grace of a man who has all the time in the world. That smirk never leaves his face.

"It's quite simple, my dear. Our contract."

"The performance contract?" I shake my head in disbelief. "This is about violin concerts? You're kidnapping people and threatening war with the Ferettis over a music contract?"

"Don't be naive," Ivan says, his voice hardening. "It was never just about music."

My mind races back to concerts I have played during our contract. I remember playing at his private party in St. Petersburg. The room filled with men whose names I never learned but whose eyes followed my every movement. I remember the whispered conversations that stopped when I walked by.

Then there was Vienna. The concert hall where half the audience seemed to be there for reasons other than music. Theway Ivan introduced me to businessmen who seemed more interested in my connection to him than my playing.

"I fulfilled every performance," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I played every venue you scheduled."

"And you played beautifully," Ivan agrees, his eyes never leaving mine. "But surely you realized you were providing more than entertainment. Your presence—an American virtuoso under my patronage—opened doors. Created opportunities."

The realization hits me like a striking gong. I was never just a musician to him. I was a front. A respectable face for whatever criminal dealings he conducted under the guise of cultural patronage.

"You used me," I whisper.

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