Matteo
I could feel Cat following me for the last few blocks. Still, I kept walking, going about my daily routine on my way to Gemini Tower. I even got her a damned coffee. Because somehow, I knew. I knew she wouldn’t shoot me in the back. Not when I’ve given her every opportunity to pull the trigger right in my face.
But I’m not stupid, and I know this game of cat and mouse can’t go on forever. So I lead her into a quiet alley, torn in two, between loyalty for my family and the woman who could have been. I have no plan, no idea what I’ll do next. My gun rests in its holster at my hip, but I know I won’t use it. Not against her.
When I finally spin around to face her, my world crumbles all over again.
She’s there with her hood up and hair escaping in damp copper threads, the rain bringing out the familiar golden hue. The sight of her hits me lower than the ribs. She looks wrecked. Hollowed. Eyes bruised by a night that didn’t let her blink. There’s something about the way she’s holding herself like she’skeeping her own bones together by will alone that breaks me in a place I didn’t know was still soft.
“Kitty Cat,” I whisper, and it lands like a prayer I’m not proud of. Then I offer the cup because I don’t know what else to do. “Coffee?”
“Don’t,” she mutters. Her voice is as sharp as glass. “And don’t call me that.”
We stare at each other across ten feet of damp concrete and four years of ruin. I slowly place the two cups of coffee on the ground, then straighten. My hand is close to the gun at my hip, but it may as well be welded to the wall. I’m not drawing on her. Not today. Not ever.
“Say whatever it is you came to say,” I finally murmur.
Her throat works. The wind grabs a paper bag and skates it between us, nearly knocking down the coffee. “My brother’s coming for you.”
I blink. That’s not what I expected. I didn’t expect mercy again, but a warning is close enough to make something in my chest lurch. “Donal,” I mutter, his name resurfacing from the depths of my memory. “When?”
“He just landed at JFK.” Her mouth twists. “He’ll come straight for you. He doesn’t play games. I failed so he’ll clean up my mess.”
There’s no tremor on the word failed, but I hear the cut underneath. Her anger flares, stupid and misdirected, because the world that made her say that is the same one that keeps pointing her at my heart.
A shadow shifts at the mouth of the alley. Black hoodie, black mask, and gun already up. Pointed ather. My body answers before my brain. I draw and sight over Cat’s shoulder, the barrel steady through the notch of her hood. For half a second, she thinks I’m aiming at her. I can see it in her eyes, and fuck, it hurts. Her breath hitches. I tip the muzzle a hair and squeeze.
Brick spits dust over her shoulder and an inch from the intruder’s temple. He jerks back, staggers, and I line up the real shot.
“Touch her and I put you in the ground,” I hiss, calm as a clock. “Try me, asshole.”
The man freezes, eyes slitting through the mask. The set of his shoulders is familiar in a way I cannot place. Is he a Gemini? Alessandro is going to have my ass for this if it is. But I can’t… I can’t let him kill her.Merda, I won’t let anyone touch her.
“Get out of here,” I growl. “I’ve got this.”
The man cocks his head, eyeing me then Cat. Then he bolts, slapping a hand against the corner, feet hammering into daylight.
Maybe he’s not Gemini?
I go after him, three strides, then four, with no idea what I’ll do if I actually catch him, until Cat’s fingers hook around my wrist. “Don’t,” she snaps, voice low and fierce. “If it’s one of Quinlan’s men?—”
“He had a gun on you.”
“And you scared him off. If you chase him, you bring the whole city down on us.” Her grip tightens. “Please.”
I hold her gaze, breathing hard, then holster. The alley hums with sirens far off and the coffee cooling at our feet. Somewhere beyond the corner a door slams, and the shooter is gone.
“I guess we’re both out of time then.” I watch her eyes narrow the slightest bit. “Thatcoglionewill only be the first.”
She waits.
I heave out a breath. “Alessandro has every Gemini, every friend, every favor combing Manhattan. They’re all looking foryou.”
Her shoulders lift, a tight, quiet flinch. “Of course he does.”
“You shot at hiswife,” I grind out, purposely leaving out the pregnant part this time. “What did you expect, Cat?”
She takes that like a slap, and it makes me hate my own mouth. She looks past me for a breath, up at the sliver of washed-out sky. When her gaze returns, it’s clean and dangerous. “I expected to be dead by now,” she says simply, pressing her hand over her heart. “Either by your hand or theirs.”
