Twenty-four hours. The world narrows until it’s a pinhole and the only thing I can see is Matteo’s face. Those green eyes, the way they fixed on me the night in the office with an emotion I couldn't name. The image rattles me worse than any threat.
“Twenty-four hours.” I echo the dreaded words out loud, tasting each syllable as if swallowing glass.
Sean’s jaw tightens. “I’m not babysitting you,” he mutters. “But I’ll be close.”
“You will not come near the hit.” It comes out sharper than intended. He blinks at me like I’ve surprised him.
He snorts once. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’s your mess, McKenna. Donal and I are just the clean-up crew.”
I think of Donal in the cellar all those years ago, the gun cold in my palm, and the bottles shattering under my first shots. I imagine Da’s face when he thinks of the family’s honor being trampled. I think of Tiernan’s grief twisted into hatred and vengeance like a hand reaching into other people’s lives.
And then I think of Matteo. It’s an overpowering feeling I’d spent years trying to strip away. A stupid, impossible tenderness that sits wrong in my throat.
“I already said I’d handle it,” I repeat. Maybe more for myself than him.
The words are thin, but they land. Sean watches me for another heartbeat, then nods once like a soldier saluting. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one, the flare of the match briefly bright. He exhales and the smoke curls up toward the ceiling. “Good. Don’t fuck it up.” For some reason the words sound harsher than the threat.
When the door clicks shut behind him, I am alone with the buzzing in my ears and the countdown. The family’s breath on my neck.
My own reflection in the blackened window stares back: tight jaw, gold locket catching the light. I feel the old girl beneath the assassin, the one who once let herself fall in love with the wrong man. I feel both of them, braided and impossible, and I don’t know which one will win.
I sit down, pull the new mask I acquired from my pocket, and press the black fabric to my face like a benediction or a confession. The fabric smells faintly of something bright, lemon,maybe, and for one tiny second, I can see Matteo with warm rays of sunshine on his skin and the smile that broke me.
Then I stand, shoulders straight, hands steady, and I begin to plan.
CHAPTER 14
MY WORLD FUCKING ENDS
Matteo
The revolving doors of my Upper West Side building spit the three of us out into the cool night air. Ale is at Rory’s side like her shadow, one hand firm against the small of her back. Something tightens in my chest at the tender gesture. I couldn’t handle another night alone in my empty apartment and since I still couldn’t get myself to dial one of my typical late night booty calls, I opted for a movie night out with my cousin and his wife.
Pathetic, I know.
The old Matteo would be laughing his ass off at the shadow of the man I’ve become in the last week. Funny how a ghost from the past can inflict such damage. Suddenly, I’m questioning everything, my life choices, my flirty playboy ways, my career… nothing seems good enough anymore.
Rory giggles, catching my eye. She’s glowing, Alessandro too, and I wonder how much longer they’ll wait before breaking the news to the rest of the family. They’re going to go nuts. The first grandchild in the Rossi-Valentino family. The first new member of the cousin crew.
A crack splits the night. Sharp. Echoing.
A bullet screams past my ear, clips my shoulder and buries itself in the concrete pillar behind us.
“Down!” I roar, shoving Rory before Ale can even move. She shrieks as she stumbles, her knees hitting the pavement before she keels over to her side and hits her head on the sidewalk. Fuck. Ale loses his goddamn mind. He’s already on the ground with her, shielding her belly with his entire body, eyes wild and murderous.
“Rory, Rory, talk to me,” he stammers. “Dio, are you hit?”
“I—I’m fine,” she gasps, but her face is ashen, her hands clutching her stomach like she can hold the life inside steady by sheer will.
Ale’s head snaps toward me, scarred face twisted in rage that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the bullet that dared come close to his wife. He looks like he’s one heartbeat from burning Manhattan to the ground.
And it’s my fault.
Because this is about me, damn it. I should have told him my assassin was still out there. I never should have invited them out tonight.Merda, how could I have been so stupid to put Rory in danger like this?
After a quick glance at my shoulder—it’s only a flesh wound, thankDio—I scan the suddenly silent streets. I see her before the guards do. She’s nothing but a flicker of black against the edge of the alley. Mask. Blonde hair escaping the edge like flame. Trigger.
“Matty!” Ale barks, but I’m already moving, despite the twinge in my shoulder.
