Chapter 7 Someday
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 back soon or I’ve got it handled and 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.
“Prove it, lil sis.”
So I lift the gun, arms trembling, and pull the trigger. The crack splits the air, my ears ringing as shards of glass explode across the floor. One bottle down.
It isn’t the first time I’ve fired a gun.
Donal lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, Cat. Not bad at all.” He steps behind me, adjusting my grip, his hand firm over mine. “But you’ve got to steady your breathing. Aim with your eyes, not your anger.”
I swallow hard, line up the next shot, and fire. The second bottle shatters, then the third. With every crack, something inside me shifts. The fear, shame, and grief it all turns sharp, controlled.
“See?” Donal’s voice is almost proud. Almost. “You’ve got ice in your veins. That’s what it takes. One day, you’ll thank me for this.”
I don’t thank him. I just keep shooting until all the bottles are gone, glass littering the stone floor like stars. And when the last echo fades, I realize I’m not the same girl who left the sandy beaches of Italy all those years ago.
Or at least I wasn’t then. But one encounter with Matteo Rossi, and he cracks me open like it’s four summers ago all over again.
The phone buzzes, drawing my thoughts to the present.
Da: Don’t make me ask again.
My pulse spikes. I force my fingers to move, tapping out the words.
Me: I’m watching him. Waiting for the right moment.
The reply is instant.
Da: It’s been almost a week. There’s no more waiting. The Quinlans aren’t messing around. You don’t handle this soon, I’ll send Donal to finish it.
My breath hitches. My brother, Donal, who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t miss. If he comes, Matteo won’t get another day.
My fingers clench tight around the phone, so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.
For a split second, I imagine telling my father the truth, that I’m hesitating, that I can’t reconcile the target with the boy who once held my face like it was fragile glass.
But that truth would be the end of me. Of both of us.
I force the lie through gritted teeth.
Me: No need. I can handle it.
Handle it. Kill him. Bury what’s left of me in the process.
The phone goes silent. My father believes me. For now.
I shove the cell onto the nightstand, collapsing back onto the mattress in Sean Murphy’s sterile guest apartment. The ceiling stares down at me, blank and white, as if daring me to crack.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Because if I falter now, Matteo Rossi isn’t the only one who’ll end up in the ground.
The city hums with restless energy as I step onto the streets again, my hood pulled low and my stride steady.
My plan is simple: find Matteo, watch him, and learn more.
This time, I’ll pick up where I left off.
Study the patterns, the people around him, the guards he doesn’t think I notice. Every detail brings me closer.
To killing him.
The dark voice roars across the back of my mind, each word like a knife to the heart.
Shoving the traitorous sensations down, I quicken my pace, determined in my mission.
But halfway down Sixth Avenue, the hairs at the back of my neck rise.
A whisper of footsteps, just a breath too consistent follow behind me.
I slip my phone from my pocket and angle it like I’m checking a text, the black screen reflecting the blur of movement just behind my shoulder. Broad frame. Leather jacket. Purpose in his walk.
Shite.
Not Rossi men. Not yet.
Sean Murphy.
I cross at the light, then slide into a narrow side street.
The moment I turn the corner, I move fast, looping wide through a service alley, scaling a low fence, and circling back.
My pulse is steady, my months of training kicking in.
When his silhouette turns the corner after me, I’m already there.
In two strides I’ve got him. Despite his much larger frame, I catch him off-guard and shove him into the brick wall, the echo of the impact rattling down the alley. My forearm presses hard against his chest, pinning him, while my other hand slides the cold steel of my pistol under his chin.
His smirk doesn’t falter. “Feckin’ hell, lass. You’re quick.”
“Why are you following me?” My voice is low and dangerous.
He chuckles, even pinned. “Relax, gorgeous. I’m not here to stop you. Just making sure you actually do the job.” His eyes glitter, sharp despite the lazy grin. “Tiernan doesn’t trust you. Told me to keep an eye on ya.”
My jaw locks. Of course, Tiernan wouldn’t wait patiently. Of course, he’d send his hound.
Sean leans in a little despite the gun at his throat. “You’ve been here a week, Caitríona, and Rossi’s still breathing. Why is that?”
“I’m waiting for the right moment,” I bite out, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears.
“Right moment, huh?” He tilts his head, grin widening. “Sounds more like you’re hesitating.”
I press the gun harder, fury bubbling in my chest. “Careful, Murphy.”
He drops his voice, the grin fading just enough to show the steel beneath. “Careful yourself. Tiernan doesn’t give a shite about your excuses. Neither does your da. If you don’t do it soon, they’ll send Donal to finish the job, and we both know he won’t blink.”
The threat is clear. And worse, it’s true. Da already confirmed as much.
If Donal comes, I’m dead.
Sean studies my face, and for a second, something softer flickers there. Then it’s gone, replaced with a sly smirk. “I’d really hate to put a bullet in a pretty girl like you. So do us both a favor, McKenna. Get the job done.”
I shove him back one last time, hard enough to make his skull crack against the bricks, then spin away, my blood burning hot.
Because the truth? He’s right. I am hesitating. And if I don’t figure out how to end this soon, hesitation’s going to kill me long before Matteo Rossi ever gets the chance.