5. Cora
CHAPTER FIVE
cora
The late afternoon light in Dublin was softer than I expected. It seemed to settle like a gentle haze over the brick buildings and narrow cobblestone streets. When I lifted my camera, I spotted one of my favorite kinds of prey—a pair of young lovers parked on a side street, wrapped up in themselves.
I was fascinated. Each desperate grab and clutch was another click until the clothes started coming off, and then I felt like a creep.
I probably was a creep anyway.
Photography was my solace, the one place I could escape all of this—my family, the mob, the weight of expectations I never asked for. I’d always been the quiet watcher with a lens to hide behind. My brother, Conall, said I could capture a ghost if I set my mind to it. I’m not sure that he was complimenting me.
I ducked into a quieter street, my boots echoing softly on the damp cobblestones. The shadows were longer here, stretched by the dimming light as the sun dipped behind the horizon. I raised my camera again, framing an abandoned storefront with graffiti scrawled across its glass. Through the lens, I saw layers: the bright, chipped colors, the empty alley, and the flicker of streetlights beginning to warm up for the night.
I adjusted the focus, moving slightly to get a better angle, and that was when I saw them.
Two men, just across the alley, their faces partially hidden in the shadows. One of them had his hand gripping the other’s collar, and even from this distance, I could see the sheer force of his hold.
Click.
The second man, smaller and looking like he was on the wrong end of a miserable evening, sputtered and stumbled as he was pulled up against the wall.
Click.
They were too far for me to hear what was being said, but I could read the menace in the posture, the hard glint in the taller man’s eyes, and see the knife as it was raised and lowered over and over.
Click.
Then, the blood on the cobblestones—too much blood. I knew what that meant.
Click.
My pulse quickened immediately, the gravity of what I’d done sinking in as I pulled the camera away from my face. The shutter’s click felt too loud, an accidental flag waving in their direction. I turned, hoping they hadn’t heard, but just as I did, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
The man’s head jerked in my direction.
Run.
It was the only thought I managed before my legs responded, propelling me back toward the main street. My footsteps were quick and light, but I could feel him picking up behind me, the sharp sound of someone else’s boots closing in. I clutched my camera to my chest, my breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed my worst fear: the man had followed me, his face hard and eyes narrowed like a predator who’d caught the scent.
Dublin was a maze of alleys and side streets, and I slipped down the first turn I saw, hoping to lose him. My heart pounded as I ducked past an overturned trash can. My pulse roared in my ears. If I could make it to the next block, I could disappear into a crowd, blend in, and vanish.
Shit. I’d been stupid before, but this was really stupid.
I nearly tripped as I rounded a corner, the cobblestones uneven beneath my feet. My lungs burned, but I couldn’t slow down. I knew how these things went; Conall made sure I understood from the time I was small. He’d been a thug even then. Stealing food and working in low-level gangs to put food on the table. Some people witnessed things and lived to tell the tale. And then, there were the others that didn’t live at all.
If you could, you should run.
Another turn, another empty street. The sky was dimmer now, casting deep shadows that seemed to swallow everything whole. I couldn’t hear him anymore, but I was not foolish enough to think I’d outrun him. I ducked into a recessed doorway, pressing my back against the cold, damp stone as I tried to catch my breath. My grip tightened on my camera, my only weapon, the evidence that could get me killed.
I waited, willing myself to stay still and blend with the shadows. But a flicker of movement near the end of the street made my stomach drop. He was there, his face half-lit by a weak streetlight, his eyes scanning the alley like a wolf sniffing out prey.
For a moment, I thought he’d missed me. That he’d keep walking, but then his gaze snapped to my hiding spot, his expression hardening. He’d found me.
My body reacted instinctually, pushing off the doorway and sprinting in the opposite direction. I could hear him behind me, closer this time, his footsteps pounding against the stones. The alley opened onto a broader street, busy enough that people glanced up at me with idle curiosity as I dashed past, but no one stopped me or intervened.
Up ahead, I saw the faint glow of neon and the hum of a pub alive with chatter. I veered toward it, slipped inside, and pressed myself against the wall by the door, heart racing. The noise, the warmth, the crowd—it was a sharp contrast to the cold terror that had been chasing me.
I scanned the room, looking for somewhere to hide and blend in. Just as I started to move, the door swung open, and he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room, searching.
For fuck sake. Why wouldn’t he just give up? A back alley murder. Who cared? I wasn’t going to the Guards or anything. I shouldn’t have been taking pictures in the first place.
I held my breath, ducking my head and hoping he’d pass me by, but he was too close, and I could feel his eyes lingering, his footsteps slowing as he looked in my direction.
I pressed myself further against the wall, trying to disappear into the dimly lit corner. The pub’s noise swelled around me—a shield of voices, laughter, and clinking glasses. He was scanning the room with the intensity of a predator. I saw his eyes flicking over each face, searching, calculating.
Desperation coursed through me. If he found me now, if he knew what I saw…
Stupid. Of course, he knew.
The man stepped further inside. His shoulders tensed, his sharp gaze narrowing as he caught sight of the camera strap slung across my shoulder. For a split second, our eyes met, and my stomach dropped. His expression shifted, a flicker of recognition like he’d caught me in the act. He knew.
I didn’t wait. Before he could react, I pushed through the crowd, elbowing past people with mumbled apologies. I could hear him moving after me, the subtle disturbance he left in his wake as people looked back, confused by the tension simmering beneath his steady, deadly pace.
I spotted an exit door toward the back, marked for staff. It was a gamble, but I didn’t have a choice. I burst through it, finding myself in a narrow, damp alley lit only by a flickering light above the door. The smell of stale beer and garbage filled the air, and I resisted the urge to gag, pulling my coat tighter as I raced down the alley.
There was a pounding in my ears, a drumbeat of adrenaline and fear. My shoes slapped against the wet pavement, and I fought to keep my balance as I navigated the slick cobblestones. Behind me, the door swung open, and I knew he was still relentlessly following me.
At the end of the alley, I spotted a wrought-iron gate. Without thinking, I leapt for it, hoisting myself over the bars, my fingers scraping against the cold metal as I pulled myself to the other side. I landed with a jolt, knees buckling slightly, but I forced myself upright, glancing back just in time to see him stop on the other side of the gate.
He stared at me, a flicker of irritation passing over his face as he realized the obstacle I’d put between us. The following look was even worse—a cold, calculated amusement. Like this wasn’t over. Like he was just getting started.
I took a shaky step backward, unable to tear my eyes from his. The message was clear. I wouldn’t be able to outrun him forever.
I forced myself to turn, bolting down the narrow street. I didn’t stop until I reached the open plaza, my lungs screaming, my heart slamming against my ribs. Only when I was among the scattered evening crowd did I let myself slow, blending in with the people milling around the square. I turned my head, peeking back the way I’d come.
He was nowhere in sight. I exhaled shakily, barely daring to believe I’d lost him.
I slipped into a café on the corner and sat by the window. I clutched my camera tightly, its familiar weight grounding me amid the fear still coursing through my veins. I turned it on with trembling fingers, scrolling through the photos, praying they were not blurred.
The shots were clear. Crisp. Damning.
I’d captured everything—the tension in the tall man’s stance, his iron grip on the other man’s collar, the cold fury in his eyes as he delivered what I now realized was a death blow. Holy shit. Murder.
The pictures were great, though I thought with satisfaction.
I bit my lip, struggling to piece together what I’d just witnessed. Whatever it was, it landed me in a shitstorm. I didn’t think the man who chased me would stop until he found me. That was a problem. The last thing I needed was for some rando to chase me around Dublin.
The barista approached, startling me from my thoughts. I ordered a coffee, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage, and then took a shaky sip as I thought through my options.
I could delete the photos and erase everything, and I hope he didn’t find me, but I didn’t think that would do me any good. Conall always said information was power. The photos contained information and proof. If I had to, I could use them. Right?
A soft chime broke the café’s quiet, and I looked up, my heart in my throat. A figure stood just outside the window, looking in.
It was him.
And he was watching me with that same cold gaze.
Weighing my options, I knew one thing with certainty. I didn’t think that I had the tools to run from this guy if he was chasing me around Dublin. I was bored here anyway. Maybe it was time to go home. With shaking fingers, I sent my brother a text.
Me: I need to come home. Now. Urgent.
Conall: OK. I’ll be there for you at midnight. Pin your location. I’m sending a car.
Dropping a pin as he instructed, I watched the door until two competent men walked in thirty minutes later. I breathed a sigh of relief when one of them said, “O’Kelly sent us to escort you to the airport.”
Nodding, I followed them, keeping one eye on the periphery of the building, but I didn’t see any sign of the man. I still felt the tingle on the back of my neck. It wasn’t until we were in the car and gone that I felt somewhat safer.
?
The plane shuddered with the force of the gangway touching the pavement, and I could already see Conall’s broad shoulders in the doorway. Typical Conall, sharp, intense, always a little too much in everyone’s face. He waved me over, and his impatience was as visible as the suit jacket that stretched tight over his shoulders. I hadn’t seen him in over three years, but he didn’t look much different. Sterner maybe.
There was a concern there, though. I’d never doubted that my brother loved me with every particle of his being.
“Thanks for coming, Conall.” He wrapped me in a fierce hug, kissing the top of my head.
“What happened?” he said, voice low, as we settled into the plush leather seats. The jet hummed to life as the pilot readied for takeoff back to New York.
I shrugged, trying to keep my face neutral. “Just… felt like it was time.” I wondered if I’d been hasty when I asked him to come. Maybe it would have blown over if I had just gone back to Uncle Tommy’s.
He didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed as they studied me. “Don’t be an eejit. You texted me that it was urgent. That was the word you used.” He tilted his head, a frown forming. “Cora, you’ve never been one to run unless you’re being chased.”
“I was bored.”
His lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I had them collect your things from Uncle Tommy’s since you wouldn’t go back.”
“Thanks.”
I busied myself looking out the window, watching Dublin shrink below us as we climbed into the clouds. I was not ready to tell him about what I saw in the alley or the strange man who had nearly caught me. I could feel Conall watching, waiting for more than I gave him, but it wasn’t really important. Was it? That guy wouldn’t be following me to New York.
“Are you being chased?” he pressed, and I glanced at him, feigning innocence. His gaze searched my face. “Did something happen?”
I met his eyes, forcing a small smile. “Nothing happened that could follow me here.”
He didn’t look satisfied, but he dropped it. Instead, his expression softened a fraction, and he leaned back. “It was time for you to come home, anyway.”
The way he said it, like a loaded gun just waiting to go off, sent a chill through me. “Why do you say that?”
He hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough to make me wary. “The family has been… adjusting. There’s been a lot going on. We need everyone in place.”
It was deliberately vague, and I felt a growing unease twisting inside me. Conall didn’t leave things up to interpretation, not like this. He was always deliberate in his words. Meticulous. If he was dancing around the truth, it meant there was something big he was trying to shield me from. Conall always had big plans — grand schemes. If I was being included, I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Are we in trouble?” I asked quietly.
“No,” he said, a little too quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. “But you’re not going back to Dublin. It’s time for you to be where you belong.”
I didn’t push further, but his words didn’t bode well.