Page 56 of One Kill

MyentirelifeI’veonly had to take care of myself and follow the Mancini orders—to be executed as I please. I’ve come and gone as I pleased, fucked who I chose, and lived where I felt best at home.

It’s been barely twelve hours since we lost Murphy and my entire existence is now focused on this little girl—teenage girl—wrapped around me like a baby monkey, refusing to let me go. I should be out there chasing down Ronan, thinking of a million ways to peel the skin off his bones and feed it to him, but anytime I think about moving, Hallie just hangs on tighter.

No matter what is happening outside this room, I can’t deny her. It’s impossible to even think about it.

A soft knock at the door has me shifting on the bed, Hallie’s arms and legs pinning me down so that all I can do is crane my neck to see who it is.

Stefano—the do-it-all man for the Mancini family for as long as I can remember—slowly opens the door, his kind face peeking in and mouthing for permission to come in. I don’t bother whispering, Hallie’s awake, has been for a while. As far as everyone living in this Upper East Side, old money mansion is concerned, we’re not to be disturbed unless it’s life threatening or life sustaining. Marco and River’s home has become our haven and I don’t think I could ever thank them enough for their generosity.

“Come on in, Stefano.” My voice is unrecognizable, like I’ve been drinking and singing at the top of my lungs all night long. I haven’t, of course, but stranger than that, I’ve been crying right along with Hallie. I’m not sure if my tears are from losing Murphy or because my baby girl’s suffering is so bone deep. Her wails are such pure and unadulterated agony, that I can feel them straight to my core. Either way, I know exactly what she’s feeling. The only difference is that when my parents were killed, I ran. I ran to save myself. I ran from the vision. I ran from the devastation of losing my baby.

I ran, but Hallie is staying and dealing with her loss. The least I can do is be there, for once.

“I’ve brought you both some breakfast. Signorina Hallie needs to eat or hunger will feed her pain.” I know he means well but I don’t think her lack of food is feeding her pain. I’m pretty sure her lack of a father is the cause, but I just nod and thank him for being so thoughtful.

Placing one hand on Hallie’s forearm, he pats her like a grandfather would, then looks down at me and smiles a sad, sad version of his usually bright grin. His empathy knows no bounds, and in my vulnerable state, I feel the pricking of tears welling up all over again as he nods his understanding to me.

As he walks away, I realize something important, something I’ve probably known this whole time but was too focused elsewhere to notice; I have a family.

River and Marco, Stefano, Lina and her crazy trio of possessive men, my Reapers.

Hallie.

They are all my family and I have to make sure they know that I’ll be okay. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything but wander alone, but I’m pretty sure family worries about family, and Stefano making sure my daughter is well fed is his way of showing me how much he cares.

“Hallie, sweetheart, we need to eat.” I don’t move except for a hand stroking her head, over and over again.

“Idon’twantto.” Her answer is a mumble into my neck and I only understand because it’s the same answer she’s given me for every question I’ve asked.

“We have to stay strong for him, baby girl. I have things I need to get done and I’m hoping you’ll help me, if you can.” I figured including her in Murphy’s funeral preparations will help her to say goodbye to him, but what the fuck do I know?

For the first time in hours, Hallie’s limbs untangle from me and her head rises from the crook of my neck. The sight of her makes my heart sink all over again. Red-rimmed eyes that make her hazel irises seem dull and muddy, her usually flawless skin is blotchy from her cheeks to her chin, but worst of it all is her perfectly pert nose, raw from rubbing at it like she’s had the flu.

Despite all this, when she meets my gaze, there’s a spark there I hadn’t noticed at first. A hardness I’ve never seen before, ever. Something has changed and it’s the opposite of healing.

“Can I help you kill the man who murdered my dad?” The breath in my lungs whooshes out, her words having the same effect as a punch to the gut.

“What?” I can barely whisper that one word because her request feels blasphemous coming from her innocent lips. God, no. I can’t be the reason she turns out like me.

“I want to kill him. Ronan. I don’t know if he’s the one who actually shot Dad but I want to kill him.” Her words end on that broken last syllable and all pretenses of being capable of ending a life die on a sob.

My poor baby… how am I supposed to help her heal if my own veins are screaming for retribution?

“I won’t betray him, Hallie, and letting your hands get dirty would be the greatest treason to his memory.” At my words, Hallie’s arms and legs go back to monkey mode, making herself comfortable in a position I’m sure she associates with safety. It’s then I remember Murphy’s ritual and even though I still don’t understand it, I reproduce it… for him, for his memory.

My lips on the top of her head, I whisper, “Sweet dreams full of fictional book boyfriends, baby girl.”

Then I suffer like only a parent does as she cries herself to sleep for the next couple of hours.

I, however, stay awake the whole time, planning the greatest hit of my life. I only wish I could kill Riley all over again for stabbing his so-called best friend in the back.

For two days, we don’t leave the room, or the bed for that matter, except to pee. We pick at Stefano’s food, eating in silence as we both stare out the window into the gray Manhattan winter sky.

It’s snowing again, which seems fitting. Snow always quiets The City down like a white blanket sucking away all the sounds. I appreciate it, thankful that Murphy would have this moment of peace with his soul.

“He was Catholic.” I turn at the sound of Hallie’s broken voice but don’t interrupt her. “We never went to church, though. He said his faith was all around him and he didn’t need to bow to any man to show his love to God.” I nod because it sounds so like Murphy. Unlike him, I don’t believe in anything but myself and, well, my love for Hallie.

“Do you know where he’d like to be buried?” I figure there’s a plot somewhere with his grandparents, maybe.

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