Chapter 20
WITHOUT A TRACE
Caitríona
I wait until Sean leaves the building wearing his gray hoodie, baseball cap, and the same sloppy stride he uses when he thinks he’s invisible.
And there’s something familiar about it…
Could he have been the man in the alley?
Had he been trailing me again? Shaking my head, I dismiss the thought for now.
It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. I count to sixty, twice, then slip from the rooftop stairwell and ghost into the apartment.
The silence sits heavy. The blinds throw prison-bar shadows across the floor.
I keep my breath shallow and my steps lighter than thought.
If one of Tiernan’s boys is already watching me parked somewhere across the street, they’ll see a light flick on and start climbing.
So I don’t touch the switch. I move by memory.
I go for my duffel bag first. Clothes rolled tight to fit.
Then I search for the knife sheath taped under the dresser and tuck it into my boot.
There’s the cash from beneath the wobbly brick in the kitchen windowsill.
The old passport I can’t use and the photo of my brother, sister and I when we were happy that I shouldn’t keep so both go in the trash. Sentiment weighs more than any weapon.
Then I go for the extra burner phone, the main reason I came back.
The last one died a cruel death crushed beneath my boot in that alley with Matteo.
I pry off the bathroom vent cover with a butter knife and fish out the taped bundle: phone, SIMs, and a thumb drive.
Good. I pocket all three, then open the toilet tank and dump the contents of my pockets inside.
My entire stay in Manhattan is gone without a trace.
Now, the ferry to Jersey. Matteo’s voice ghosts through my head, go downriver.
I hate that the plan calms me. If he meant it, he’ll pull his family north and give me a window.
If he didn’t, I’ll be running into a net, and I deserve what waits there.
Either way, it’s not the Rossis I’m worried about. It’s my family.
I pull on the black windbreaker, cinch the hood, and slide the gun beneath. Safety off, finger indexed, and muzzle down. The familiar weight steadies me.
I sling the duffel over my shoulder and pause at the door, listening. Street noise. A radio two floors down. The elevator’s tired cables ticking. Nothing on this landing. So I go.
The knob turns under my palm and the door kicks inward, hard enough to slam the chain against the jamb. I leap back, gun up.
Sean fills the frame. Fuck. His hoodie is dark with sweat at the collar, eyes too bright, and jaw tight. He shoves the door the rest of the way open with his shoulder and grins like a dog about to bite.
“Well, well.” His gaze skims the duffel, the gun, then my face. “Look who decided to come home.”
I don’t lower the weapon. “Move.”
“After last night?” He laughs, a thin, jittery sound. “News travels, Cat. You missed. Twice. Donal’s in the city and Tiernan’s on my ass.”
Ice crawls up my spine and settles at the base of my skull. I keep my mouth shut, because talking gives men like Sean ideas.
He steps in and kicks the door shut with his heel, casual as an old friend. The man is anything but casual. His right hand is in his pocket, and it isn’t because he’s cold.
“Careful,” I growl. “You walk toward me with that look, and you’re going to limp back out of here. If I decide you get to walk at all.”
He pulls his hand out, showing me his empty palm, but the other one stays where it is. “Relax. I’m not stupid.” His gaze flicks to my gun. “You’re not going to shoot me. If you were going to, you’d have done it already.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter, and it sounds like something else I don’t want to examine.
He smirks. “Tiernan wants you on a leash, sweetie. He says you’re too soft in the middle. He thinks you need handling.”
Anger snaps bright and clean. “Open your mouth like that again, and I’ll redecorate the wall behind you in a nice crimson hue.”
He lifts both hands now in mock surrender, eyes gleaming. “Easy. I’m here to help you help us. You’re in trouble, Cat. The kind that ends at the bottom of a river. But there’s a way to fix it.”
I don’t breathe. “Speak.”
“Simple. You finish the job. Today.” He shrugs like he’s offering me a cigarette.
“I tell Tiernan you’re back on track, and Donal stands down.
You and me take a ride to Matteo’s fancy building, and we get you close.
With that pretty face, you should have no problem walking right up to the guy.
Then you do what you should’ve done on the roof. ”
My thumb tightens on the backstrap. The room tilts, just a fraction. He thinks he can steer me; he thinks saying “you and me” makes him part of any plan that doesn’t end with me in a body bag.
“No.”
He blinks. “No?”
“I’m leaving.”
“To where? The ferry?” His smile shows too many teeth. “You think the Rossis won’t have eyes on every pier from here to Bayonne after what you just did? You shot at both of their heirs.”
“Step away from the door, Murphy.”
He plants his shoulder against it and tips his chin toward my duffel. “You run now, and they’ll call it what it is. Desertion. You know what Tiernan, hell, even your brother, does to deserters.”
I do. I see it in flashes: the cellar stairs, the smell of bleach, a black bag like a punctuation mark. I keep the gun steady and my face cold. “What the hell do you want, Sean?”
He wets his lips, grinning. “I want a cut when you get the job done, and I want a favor when you’re back in. Most of all, I want to be the one who calls Donal to say I kept you from doing something stupid.”
A favor. A cut. Ownership dressed like aid.
“You want to live,” I translate.
“I want us both to.” He takes a slow step away from the door as if he’s being generous. “Put the bag down, sweetie. We go now. You take another shot and end this, and we’re golden.”
He believes it. He truly believes the path back is through Matteo’s chest. I wish it were that easy.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a single buzz, the new burner coming alive with a number that used to mean safety.
It was stupid, so stupid. I never should have done it, but I couldn’t help myself as I scrawled out those digits and slid them into Matteo’s pocket right before he passed out.
I don’t check it. I can’t. And now, the sound is proof I waited a beat too long.
“Who’s that?” Sean tilts his head.
“None of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business today.” He nods at the gun. “If you were going to shoot me, you would’ve done it when I opened the door. You’re out of time, McKenna. Make the smart choice.”
The thing about smart choices is they usually look like surrender at first. I slide my trigger finger to the frame and lower the muzzle an inch. His shoulders loosen. Men see what they want to see.
“Fine,” I say, voice flat. “We’ll do it your way.”
His mouth splits into a grin that’s going to get him killed someday. “Good girl.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You call Tiernan and tell him you’ve got me with you. Put him on speaker. Now.”
Suspicion flickers, then greed burns it away. He fishes his phone out with his right hand, no weapon there, and scrolls with his thumb.
I move while he’s looking down.
Two steps, and I’m inside his reach. My left hand takes his wrist and folds it back until he screams, my right brings the gun up under his jaw, tilted to the soft skin. He grunts and drops the phone. It skitters across the floor and lights up with a name that curdles my stomach: Donal.
“Try to scream again,” I murmur, “and I’ll make sure the last sound you ever hear is your own teeth breaking.”
His breath shudders across my knuckles. “Jesus, Cat—”
“You’re going to walk backward and open that door. Slowly. You’re going to take the stairs with me, not the elevator. Then when we reach the ground floor, keep walking. If you turn left or go for your pocket, I’ll end you, and your buddy Tiernan can fish your corpse out of the East River.”
He swallows, eyes glassy. For the first time since he walked in, he looks like a man who understands physics: a soft throat, a hard barrel, and zero margin for error.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
“Good boy.” I ease him toward the door, gun never leaving his skin.
We hit the hallway. I shove him through the metal door of the trash room and slam it shut behind him, pulling the deadbolt closed. That should hold him for a while. My hands shake for three seconds. Then I force them to stop. My burner buzzes again.
Unknown: Ferry schedule changed. Don’t go south.
Matteo saving me or a trap. My pulse hammers.
I shoulder the duffel, holster the gun, and head for the emergency exit.
With my head down, I quicken my stride as the cool spring air hits my heated skin.
The city is a maze, and I’ve run it blind before.
If the Rossis are hunting smoke, good. If Donal is in Manhattan, better to move before he finds his way here.
At the corner I pause and draw in the cool air, giving myself an instant to consider my choices. Matteo’s face materializes in my mind’s eye, not the exhausted, wary version I saw earlier today, but the one from that summer. The one with a soft smile and bright green eyes filled with hope.
And then I turn north.