Chapter 13 Twenty-Four Hours #2
Then the front door lock clicks, and the thick metal is thrown open.
Sean barges in before I make it halfway to the entry.
He moves like he owns the air in the room with his jacket slung over one arm and his hand wrapped tight around his phone.
The bruiser smile is gone, replaced with something thin and purposeful.
He drops the cell in front of me like a weapon.
“It’s him,” Sean barks. No greeting, no small talk. “Answer it.”
For a breath, I consider throwing the phone across the room. The hand that wants to do it twitches. Instead, I fold my fingers around the handset and pull it to my ear. Da’s voice is there before I press accept, a river in flood.
“Where the hell are you?” he spits. No hello. No softening. Only thunder.
I clamp my jaw. “Here.”
“A week. A fecking week, Caitríona. We gave you a week and you’ve made a mess.
You’re hanging around in Manhattan like some tourist. You’ve been seen, and people are talking.
” The words tumble like rocks. He doesn’t bother to lower his volume for Sean, who stands with his arms crossed, silent and unfazed.
“What are you doing over there?”
“Watching,” I snarl back.
Watching isn’t the whole truth, but it’s not a complete lie either. The truth is I watched him fall, and I didn’t pull the trigger. The truth is the memories came punching back into my chest and froze me right there. The truth is I am not the unfeeling machine they thought they built.
“Da,” I murmur. My voice is a thread. “I had a shot—”
“You had a shot, and you froze.” The hammer drops. “You froze and now Tiernan’s breathing down my neck and the Quinlans are itching for blood. They think we let Matteo walk free. They think we’re weak. Do you understand what that does? To the family? To our name?”
Sean’s jaw ticks. I can tell he’s not the kind to let family things slide either. His eyes flash with impatience and calculation. He leans against the window and watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to unlock before Tiernan gets the pieces.
“Donal says he’ll go himself,” Da continues.
“His bags are packed and ready. But you’re the one who made a promise to Quinlan.
He was your fiancé, damn it. Don’t make me send your brother, girl.
Kill Matteo Rossi in twenty-four hours or your brother will finish this, and it’ll bring shame upon the infamous Angel of Death and our entire family. ”
My brother’s name lurches in my chest like a fist. Donal with a rifle in his hands, with the cold eyes that never blink. My brother who would not hesitate a second longer than necessary. He would put a bullet through Matteo’s skull without blinking and take every shred of me with him.
My throat closes on all the words I can’t say. Twenty-four hours. That’s not a deadline. It’s a trap. It’s a countdown that begins the moment my father hangs up.
The apartment spins, my hand is shaking. “Da—” I try to push. Plead. Explain.
There’s a static rasp as someone speaks on the other end… Tiernan? Da’s growl swallows it down, but I can hear the blood in his words. This is bigger than me. Bigger than revenge. Bigger than whatever personal war I thought I was waging.
“It’s over.” He cuts me off, brief as a blade. “I don’t want to hear your voice again until it’s done.”
Click.
The line goes dead. The apartment suddenly feels too large, and the air presses against my lungs. Twenty-four hours. Donal. Tiernan’s threats like a shadow at the door. The weight of the locket at my throat suddenly feels like an anvil.
Sean stays for a beat longer, then steps closer. He lets the silence stretch until I look at him. “He said Tiernan’s threatening to turn this whole thing on us. If you don’t do it, he’s gonna come after the whole family and that trickles down to you, to me. He’ll take what he wants.”
His tone isn’t kind. It isn’t cruel either, it’s survival.
“I’ll do it,” I grit out.
Sean watches me for a long moment like he’s weighing my truth. Then he lets out a breath that could be a laugh or a curse. “You better. For all our sakes.”
I nod, lips pressed in a tight line.
“You don’t have to like it.” His words are low like an afterthought. “You just have to finish the job. Donal’s a machine. He will get it done, and he won’t care who gets smeared in the process. That’s your choice. His choice will get more people killed.”
He steps closer, invading the small space between us until I can smell the faint hint of tobacco on his skin. I take a step back instinctively.
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.