Her Final Blade

chapter three

Sunday mornings were meant to be rest days. It was a universal truth Rosa had clung to for as long as she could remember. A day of ease, both mentally and physically—a day where the weight of the world could wait. There was nothing like sinking into your bed, wrapped in soft blankets, or settling into a comfy chair in the front yard, book in hand, accompanied by the warmth of a fresh cup of coffee. Peaceful. Simple. Predictable.

Yet here she was, in Sandy's coffee shop, staring out the window like the answer to her unspoken questions might be scrawled across the gray skies outside. Rosa sighed deeply, her fingers tapping the table absentmindedly. She wondered, for the hundredth time, why she hadn't chosen that tranquil option instead of this.

The far corner of the café offered her a sense of anonymity, hidden enough to be forgotten but visible enough to be found—should she want to be. Sandy’s was always busy on Sunday mornings, filled with locals and tourists alike. People-watching used to be a comfort, an escape from her own thoughts. Today, though, it did nothing but amplify the quiet dread building in her chest.

Why was she here? What spirit had convinced her this was the right choice? She’d been battling that question all week. Her gut told her to run, but her curiosity—and something darker, perhaps—kept her planted firmly in her seat.

Rosa glanced at her watch. He was late. She hated that. It gave her more time to doubt, more time to wonder what the hell she was doing. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe she should get up and leave, just walk out and never look back. After all, she had promised herself—moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to bury the version of herself that once thrived in the shadows.

The bell over the door chimed, followed by the low murmur of conversation and footsteps, but Rosa kept her eyes on the window. She wasn’t ready to face him yet,. And then, without a word of warning, the seat opposite her creaked as it became occupied.

"Glad you came to your senses," his now familiar voice said, slicing through the tension like a knife.

Her heart clenched involuntarily. Slowly, she turned away from the window, her gaze locking with his. His presence had that effect on her—unnerving, commanding, unsettling in its confidence. He was dressed casually today, in stark contrast to the immaculate suit he'd worn the night he’d shown up at her apartment. Back then, he had been all business, cold and direct. Now, he seemed relaxed, like this meeting was just another casual affair.

Rosa’s throat tightened. She had agreed to meet him. She had agreed to work with him. But now, sitting across from him, it all felt too real, too tangible. And the job he’d given her… the task she was expected to carry out—it still haunted her thoughts.

Killing someone. Not just someone. People.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into a fist under the table. She had never imagined herself going this far. The idea of taking a life—no, multiple lives—was something she'd sworn off a long time ago. Her past was riddled with regrets, but this? This was a new level, even for her.

"So," he said, his voice breaking through her internal spiral, "you’ve had time to think. Are we on the same page?"

She bit her lip, her skepticism rising to the surface. Was she really about to go through with this? She knew his kind—ruthless, unforgiving, always ten steps ahead, he is her mother's brother after all, And she knew that once she crossed this line, there was no going back. The weight of it pressed down on her chest, threatening to suffocate her.

"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "This... this isn’t what I expected when I came to New York."

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint but undeniable. "What did you expect? An easy life? Clean slate? That’s not how it works, Rosa. You know that better than anyone."

Her jaw clenched, the bitterness of his words gnawing at her. He was right, in a way. She had been naive to think she could outrun her past, that she could reinvent herself so easily. But this—working for him, killing for him, or anyone—wasn’t what she had in mind.

"I agreed to help you," she said, her voice steadier now. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not questioning it."

His smile faded, replaced by a calculating look. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowing as if he were trying to read her mind. "Questioning it, or questioning me?"

Rosa held his gaze, refusing to flinch. She didn’t trust him—not fully, not yet. "Both," she replied.

For a moment, the silence between them stretched thin, taut with tension. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned back, crossing his arms as if he’d heard exactly what he wanted to hear. "Good," he said, his tone approving. "Doubt keeps you sharp. And you're going to need that."

Her stomach churned.

Rosa's breath hitched as a sly grin creeping across his face, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. The casual way he handled their conversation unsettled her, but what came next felt like a punch to the gut.

“You know,” he began, voice low but edged with steel, “this mission wasn’t supposed to fall to you. It was supposed to be your mother’s. She had every intention of seeing it through, until...” He paused, his gaze hardening as he leaned in slightly. “Well, until you put a bullet in her.”

Rosa’s stomach dropped. The memory surged to the surface—the gun in her hand, her mother’s eyes wide with disbelief, and the cold, deafening silence that followed the shot. The room around her seemed to shrink, her vision narrowing until all she could focus on was his face, twisted in that cruel smirk.

“You want to question this, question me, that’s fine,” he continued, his voice soft, almost mocking. “But let’s not forget—you’re only cleaning up a mess you started. After what you did, this is the least you can do.”

Her blood turned to ice, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

“I... I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, her voice shaking. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they sounded hollow.

“No choice?” He chuckled, dark and low. “There’s always a choice, Rosa. You made yours that night. And now you’re just paying the price.”

Rosa clenched her fists beneath the table, nails digging into her palms. There was no escaping this. No undoing what had been done.

And bringing back the demon of her past was just the start

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