Chapter Five: Mask Cracks
I dreamed of him that night.
Not the way I should've. Not with a gun pressed to his chest or blood on his hands. I dreamed of his mouth, the curve of his jaw, the quiet way he studied me like he'd already read the truth in my bones. I hated him for it. Hated myself more for letting it affect me.
When I woke, the sheets were tangled around my legs, my pulse racing. I dragged myself into a cold shower, trying to wash away the heat still clinging to my skin. But it didn't work.
Killian Moretti was under my skin.
I needed to remember why I was here. My father's body. The blood. The silence that followed.
Revenge. That was all.
So why the hell did I keep seeing his face when I closed my eyes?
I arrived at the Black Rose that night earlier than usual. Luca handed me a burner phone without a word. It buzzed the moment it hit my palm.
A message.
"Follow the black car. Don't get seen."
That was it.
No signature. No explanation.
I stepped outside. The car was already idling at the curb. Sleek. Silent. I hopped onto the back of a motorcycle Killian had given me two nights ago for "speed and silence." I thought it was a bribe. Now I realized it was preparation.
I followed from two blocks back, engine low, lights off. The car moved fast through narrow alleys and city backroads, like whoever was inside knew they were being watched. I kept pace, careful not to close the gap.
After thirty minutes, it stopped outside an abandoned cathedral near Eastport.
The doors opened.
Three men climbed out. One of them—Anton Ricci. High-level courier. Loyal to the Blackthorn name—or so everyone thought.
I watched him hand off a suitcase to a woman in leather and heels. Same one from the warehouse.
Natasha.
So she was still playing. And now we had a traitor.
I recorded everything. Took photos. Logged license plates. And just when I thought I'd seen enough—
"Move and I'll blow your head off."
The voice was behind me.
Shit.
I turned slowly, hands raised.
It was one of Natasha's men. He looked young. Nervous. Trigger-happy.
"I'm just a lost girl," I said coolly.
"Bullshit."
He reached for his radio, and I knew I didn't have time.
I dropped to the ground as he turned, kicked his leg out, and punched the knife from his hand. He stumbled, but I didn't wait—I slammed his head against the bike frame and grabbed my gun.
Too loud to shoot. I needed to disappear.
So I ran.
I didn't stop until I was in the car with Killian—uninvited.
He looked at me once, then glanced at the blood on my hand.
"You weren't supposed to be made."
"I was," I said. "But I got what you needed."
I handed him the phone. He scrolled through the pictures in silence. Then handed it to Luca.
"Anton?" he asked.
"Anton," I confirmed.
Killian leaned back in his seat. "You want to pull the trigger?"
I blinked. "What?"
"He trusted you. We all did. You want to make an example of him?"
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"I'll do whatever the job requires," I said.
He studied me. Long. Hard.
"That's not an answer," he said. "That's avoidance."
I didn't respond.
Because part of me wanted to say yes.
Part of me wanted to pull that trigger, not because Anton betrayed us, but because I needed to remind myself what I came here to do.
I wasn't here to feel.
I was here to kill.
But Killian saw through me.
That night, he didn't ask me to do it. He handled it himself. Quietly. Ruthlessly. And when he returned, blood on his cuffs, he looked at me like he saw everything I was trying to hide.
We didn't speak.
But something cracked.
Later, back at the club, he cornered me in the hallway near the back offices.
"You hesitated," he said softly.
"In the alley?" I asked. "I didn't."
"Not there," he murmured, stepping closer. "With Anton. You wanted to say yes. But something stopped you."
I didn't deny it.
"I don't hesitate with traitors," he said, his voice lower now. "But you… You're different."
"I'm not."
"You are," he said, now inches from me. "And I don't know if that's going to save you or kill you."
I felt the heat rise in my chest.
"I don't need saving."
"No," he said. "But you might need to save yourself—from me."
He was close enough to kiss me now.
I didn't move. Neither did he.
But everything inside me screamed.
Pull the trigger.
Or cross the line.
Instead, I walked away.
And the echo of his voice followed me all the way home.