How the hell do I explain that to a seven-year-old? That his big brother’s being hunted by a woman who might be the most dangerous thing to ever walk into my life?
I force a crooked grin, ruffling his hair. “She… uh, owed me money.”
He frowns. “She didn’t look like the type.”
“Trust me, kid, no one ever looks like the type.”
Before he can press, I loop an arm around his shoulders and steer him back toward the car. “Come on. You said something about Nutellagelato?”
His face lights up instantly, all worries forgotten. “With sprinkles!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want.”
My heart finally stops punching my ribs once we’re both settled in the back seat of the car. As the driver pulls away, I stare out the window at the blur of pedestrians, searching for a glimpse of blonde hair. But all I see is my own reflection in the glass, jaw tight and eyes hard.
She’s out there. And next time, I swear I won’t let her slip away.
CHAPTER 7
SOMEDAY
Caitríona
Da: What’s taking you so long, girl?
I stare at the words on the burner screen, thumb hovering over the keys. The message blares at me like a loaded gun pressed to my temple.
It should be easy. I should type backsoonorI’ve got it handledand move on. That’s what the assassin in me, the one I’ve built, trained, and sharpened, would do. No hesitation. No weakness.
But the girl under the mask won’t let me move.
Because they say you never forget your first, right?
And now, every time I close my eyes, I see Matteo at the playground. Not the cocky cyber prince. Not the ruthless Rossi my father and Tiernan have painted him to be. Just a man in a leather jacket crouching low so a seven-year-old could clamber up his back and squeal with laughter. His hand is steady at the small of the boy’s back, protective even in play. Patient and warm.
And damn me, my mind does the rest. It swaps the boy’s red hair for a dark chocolate. His green eyes for blue like the Mediterranean. A child who would’ve had my freckles and his grin. A child who might’ve been ours, if he hadn’t abandoned us.
The memory claws at me… the island, salt air heavy on the night, his lips brushing my temple as his hand drifts lower, pressing softly, reverently, against my belly.
“Someday,”he whispers, voice raw with a hope I’d been too young to understand.“Someday, Kitty Cat, it’ll be us. A family.”
My throat burns. That promise shattered before it had a chance to live, and here I am, years later, ordered to end the same man who once swore I’d never be alone.
I press the heel of my hand hard against my chest like I can shove the ache back down where it belongs. I wanted numbness. I trained endlessly for it. I bled myself into numbness until I believed I was the Angel of Death, untouchable and unfeeling.
The year after Matteo left was the hardest of my life. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, hell, I could barely breathe. I lost myself. I lost everything. I didn’t want to be Caitríona McKenna anymore because she was a part of him and the child we would never raise together. My hand moves unbidden to the ink over my heart. Squeezing my eyes, I banish the dark thoughts of the past.
I spent the next year erasing every sign of me, traveling across Europe, taking online college courses and working odd jobs to survive. By the time I returned to Belfast, nearly three years had passed since that summer in Sicily. Da insisted I couldn’t keep running, and for once I agreed. It was then that my father struck the marriage agreement with Tiernan Quinlan. And shortly after when Donal offered to train me.
The memories surge, the familiar odor of the old cellar filling my nostrils.
The space smells of gun oil and damp stone, a place Da always said was for men’s work. But Donal waves me down the steps anyway, a wicked grin splitting his face as he shoves a pistol into my hands.
“Go on then.” He nods at the line of glass bottles on the far wall. “Squeeze the trigger. Show me you’re not just Da’s pretty little princess.”
The weight of it shocks me, heavier than I expected. Cold. Real. My palms are slick, but Donal’s eyes are on me. They’re mocking, daring and I refuse to back away.
“You think I can’t?” I snap.
