Chapter 3 His Fiancé
HIS FIANCé
Caitríona
One Week Earlier
The rain hasn’t stopped coming down for days in Belfast. It reminds me why I left this dreary city all those years ago.
I’d tried to put all of it behind me, to escape my past, the soft girl I was, all of it.
The incessant drops drum against the windows of my father’s study like a ticking clock, each one a reminder that time is running out.
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting orange shadows on the oak-paneled walls, but the warmth doesn't reach me. I sit on the edge of a stiff leather chair, spine straight, hands clasped in my lap like the dutiful daughter I’m expected to be. But inside, I’m nothing but ice.
Across from me, Da, the infamous Seamus McKenna, nurses a tumbler of single malt.
His weathered face is carved from granite.
My older brother, Donal, lounges to his right with his legs spread wide, fingers absently flicking the hilt of the knife at his belt.
He’s the one who taught me how to be a killer.
And next to him sits Tiernan Quinlan, Eoin’s father, draped in black like he’s still in mourning.
But this isn’t a condolence visit to his grieving betrothed. It’s an order.
“She was his fiancée,” Tiernan spits, his voice soaked in smoke and spite. “If anyone deserves to put a bullet in the bastard’s head, it’s her. It’s time to put the girl’s mettle to the test.”
“She will.” My father’s voice is flat. Final. “Won’t you, Caitríona?”
I meet his eyes, steady. “Yes, Da.”
Donal snorts under his breath. “You sure? The Rossis and Valentinos are nothing like the scum you’re used to handling on this side of the Atlantic.”
I don’t flinch. My brother is just bitter because the student has surpassed the master.
I’ve been training for this very moment for over a year.
No one suspects a sweet, pretty girl would have the balls to be an assassin.
But for the past year, I’ve been putting my father’s enemies down one bullet in the head at a time.
They call me the Angel of Death. I’ve become quite a legend in our circles.
“Then it’s time I move onto bigger and better. ”
A flicker of pride, or maybe approval, passes through my father’s eyes.
But it’s brief. “This is about blood. Vengeance. Loyalty. You’re not going over there to ask questions, Caitríona.
You’re going to finish what the rest of us can’t.
And you don’t come home until he’s dead. Do you understand me?”
Or I am. The threat is clear. I’m not welcome home unless I bring Matteo Rossi’s bloodied corpse with me. Nausea crawls up my throat at the vivid image I’ve conjured in my mind.
“Yes, Da.” My reply is quieter this time. Because anything louder might betray what I’m really feeling.
Not grief. Not fear. Shame.
Because what none of them know, what I’ve buried deeper than any grave, is that I loved the man they want me to kill. He was my first…everything.
Not Eoin. God rest him. He may not have been my choice, our engagement was a business transaction, but when I was young, I thought maybe… And who knows, perhaps over time I could have really loved him.
Matteo, on the other hand.
Matteo fucking Rossi.
The playboy prince of the Gemini mafia.
The boy who kissed me under Sicilian moonlight and whispered things no one had ever dared to say to me before. Who left me on a dock in Taormina with a hand over my belly and a secret I never told a soul.
I didn’t even know he had been the one to kill Eoin. Not at first. Not until I saw the reports from the Quinlan estate, the photos, the names. The bodies.
My thoughts flicker back to the day I found out it was him.
I unfolded the Quinlan brief on my kitchen table. The photo of his face sat in the middle like a dare. My thumb traced the corner until the paper softened. Matteo Rossi. My throat closed. Someone had resurrected the name of the ghost I’d kept in my belly.
Eoin Quinlan was dead. And Matteo Rossi was the trigger man.
What are the damned chances?
I couldn’t breathe when I saw it. It was the first time I’d seen a picture of him in years. I stared at the dossier for an hour, trying to find some mistake. Some alternate truth. But there was no denying it. That cocky smile. Those green eyes. Older, harder, but still him.
I swallowed the scream that rose in my throat. And I’ve kept swallowing it ever since. I’ve kept my head down, training hard, focusing on everything I’ve learned over the years since I decided to join the McKenna ranks.
“Don’t let us down,” Tiernan growls, voice hoarse with grief. “That piece of Italian shite took my son from me. It’s only right his death come from you.”
I nod again.
He’s right. I was his fiancée. It’s my duty… then why does it just feel like another collar? Another punishment, another threat…
Something changes in Tiernan’s expression, the grief gives way to something darker. “You owe Eoin this, girl. It’s blood for blood.” There it is. He snatches my wrist, squeezing. “And if you fail, I’ll make sure the debt is closed another way.”
My chin dips but in my head, I’m somewhere else.
I’m eighteen again, standing barefoot on a hot stone sidewalk.
Matteo’s lips are pressed to my collarbone, his whisper searing my skin.
The sea breeze carries his laugh, and I was young enough to believe it meant forever.
I mourned Matteo’s loss more deeply than I have Eoin’s. And that guilt tears through me.
“You’re unforgettable, Kitty Cat.” Matteo’s voice, deep and warm, echoes through my mind.
Liar.
“Your flight is at dawn,” Donal says, rising to his feet and clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ll be met in Manhattan by a contact from the Murphy clan. They’ll keep you off the radar while you work.”
“Where will I find Rossi?”
“He spends most nights at some nightclub his fecking cousin Alessandro owns. The Velvet something.”
I already know the name. I’ve known for weeks. I just wanted to hear it spoken aloud. To make it real.
The Velvet Vault.
The same place I saw him laughing last week in a security camera still. Alive and whole. Not a single crack in that golden-boy armor of his.
“I still can’t believe you’re letting Alessandro Rossi go free and clear,” my brother hisses at Tiernan. “He’s the one who stole Conall’s woman. He deserves a bullet in the head just like his cousin.”
“That’s not our business,” Da snarls.
Tiernan remains silent for a long minute. “Eoin was my son,” he rasps. “Conall dug his own damned grave.”
Besides all of Conall’s immediate family is dead. There’s no one left to call for his vengeance. Clearly, Tiernan is too distraught over his own son to care about avenging his nephew for now. But if I succeed… who knows whose life they’ll demand next.
“Don’t come back unless his blood is on your hands,” Da growls, draining the last of his whiskey.
I stand, give a respectful nod to Tiernan, and leave without another word.
Outside, the wind howls and the rain cuts sideways across my cheeks. I welcome the sting. Let it sink in. Let it remind me.
This isn’t a job. It’s penance.
And when I put Matteo Rossi in the ground, it’ll be for Eoin.
But also for the girl I used to be.
The one he left behind.
I step through the automatic doors of JFK airport, my boots silent on the polished floor.
A wisp of my new bottle-blonde hair falls across my forehead, and I quickly push it behind my ear.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the new color, even though it’s already been months I’ve been dyeing over the brilliant ginger.
An assassin shouldn’t stand out, shouldn’t call unnecessary attention…
I was trained to be a ghost. My eyes are hidden behind oversized sunglasses, my slim figure beneath baggie sweats, my locket tucked under my shirt.
Not that anyone’s paying attention. In a city of millions, a girl like me disappears fast.
A blacked-out SUV idles at the curb, engine purring like a well-fed panther.
I don’t have to guess, I know it’s my ride.
The man leaning against the driver’s side door clocks me instantly.
Young, maybe mid-twenties, just a few years older than my twenty-two.
Dark hair cropped short, leather jacket open over a tight black tee, sleeves rolled to reveal ink winding up his forearms. One brow lifts as I approach, a lazy grin curling his lips.
“You must be McKenna.”
I nod. “Caitríona.”
He pushes off the car and opens the passenger door for me like a gentleman. “Sean Murphy. But you can call me whatever you want, gorgeous.”
Throwing him a scowl, I throw my duffle in the back and slide into the seat without a word.
He shuts the door behind me and climbs into the driver’s side before he shifts into gear and pulls into traffic.
We drive for a while in silence, and I take it all in.
With the jet lag, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I persevere all the same.
If I want this mission to succeed, I have to be on my game at every moment. Even the slightest slip-up could mean my life. Just because Matteo and I have history doesn’t mean he won’t kill me when he discovers why I’m here.
It’s his life or mine.
A hint of unease coils through my insides, expanding with each labored breath, but I shove it down just like I have been every day since I was tasked with the mission to assassinate the man I once loved.
Closing my eyes, I remind myself I don’t give two shits about Matteo Rossi. Drawing in a breath, I refocus on the present instead of dwelling on the past that keeps trying to drag me under.
Even in early spring, the air is thick with car exhaust, hot dog water, and something faintly floral from a nearby bodega.
It’s a far cry from the green hills of Belfast or the Sicilian salt air that still haunts my dreams. But the city’s grit is familiar in a way I hate to admit. It’s raw, electric, and alive.
It matches the storm inside me.
It’s not the first time I’ve been here, and I certainly hope it won’t be the last.
“So,” Sean finally says, “you’re really the one who put a bullet through Conor Ward’s skull last year?”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Is that what they’re saying?”
He smirks. “They’re saying a lot of things. Pretty, deadly, a ghost when you need to be. Bit of a legend for someone who disappeared after Eoin died.”
My jaw tightens. “You talk too much.” How much intel did Da give this guy about me anyway? It’s not like him.
Sean laughs, not offended in the slightest. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be so quiet. Or pretty. I thought you’d be more bloodthirsty.”
“Wait ‘til I’ve had my coffee.”
Another bark of laughter. “You’re staying at my place,” he adds after a beat, more serious now.
I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I hold my tongue for now. Da wouldn’t have put me up with the guy if he didn’t trust him.
“It’s on the top floor, West Village,” he continues. “It’s safe, quiet, and under the radar. You’ve got a burner, the lock codes, and everything you’ll need. You hungry?”
“No.”
“You’re gonna be. You’re too skinny to be pulling hits.”
I shoot him a glare that could kill a lesser man.
“Easy, lass.” He chuckles. “Just an observation.”
The rest of the drive is silent except for the low hum of the engine and the sharp staccato of horns in traffic. Outside, Manhattan blurs past. It’s all glittering towers, flashing billboards, and steam rising from manhole covers. Beautiful chaos. Just like I remembered it.
“You’ll like it here,” Sean says after a while.
I don’t find it necessary to tell him this isn’t my first visit. It’s better if he underestimates me, like they all usually do. That’s what makes me so good at my job.
“Just watch your back. The city’s crawling with Rossi men, and most of them are too cocky to look over their shoulder. Especially Matteo.”
I don’t answer, but my hand curls into a fist in my lap.
He glances sideways at me. “You’re gonna kill him, right?”
Is this guy testing me or is he just sizing me up? I meet his gaze through my sunglasses. “That’s the plan.”
His smile fades a little. “Good.” There’s something hard in his voice now. Something personal.
“You got a problem with Matteo Rossi?”
“My cousin was caught in that shootout at the Quinlan estate. One of Matteo’s or maybe one of the other Rossis’ bullets clipped his spine. He’ll never walk again.”
That makes my pulse stutter.
Because as much as I’ve built Matteo up as a monster in my mind, I know damn well that the blood spilled that night wasn’t one-sided. The Rossis lost people, too. It was Conall who kidnapped the girl anyway, and she nearly died. It was war.
A war I never asked for, but one I’m now expected to finish. Like a good soldier.
Sean pulls into a narrow brick alley then into a private garage, the iron gate clanging shut behind us. The building above is sleek and quiet, tucked away on a block of brownstones and boutique cafés.
“Top floor’s yours,” he says, leading me up a narrow stairwell. “I’m on the floor just below you. You’ll be safe here.”
He unlocks the door and steps aside. The apartment is minimalist and modern, all steel, slate and shadows. Clean. Quiet. Cold.
I like it. It’s the complete opposite of my warm, cozy and colorful apartment in Sicily that summer.
“Anything you need, you call me.” He hands me the burner phone. “And when you’re ready to hit the Vault…”
“I’ll let you know.” Lie. I work solo. I have no intention of taking Sean with me when I make my move. But lying to men like him is what keeps me alive.
He lingers in the doorway, gaze raking over me like he’s trying to crack a mystery. “Just don’t fall for the guy.”
My eyes snap to his. “What did you say?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just don’t get too close. He’s not on Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor list for nothing. Those Rossi boys have a way of making even trained killers hesitate. They’re all charming words and quick grins.”
I force a smile. “Trust me, it won’t be a problem. I won’t hesitate.”
He nods once and disappears. And when the door shuts behind him, I finally let myself breathe. Because he’s right. One mistake is all it takes.
And I’ll never let Matteo Rossi be mine again.