Chapter 9
Aoife
My legs shake as I step out of the library. The hallway feels too polished, too clean for what just happened behind that door. I don’t think I can breathe, I’m trying, but it’s hard, the music still thunders through the school.
My body feels wrecked. Between my legs, an ache, a brutal reminder of what I’ve done. I’ve never felt more alive, or more ashamed.
What the fuck did I do?
He gave me an out. Why didn’t I take it? Why did I hand him something I swore to keep until I was married? Is he so in my head that I want everything he can give me?
I press a hand to the wall and inhale slowly, trying to gather pieces of myself from the floor. He wasn’t soft, he wasn’t slow. It wasn’t how anyone dreams their first time should be.
It was war, and I surrendered.
The light hits my finger reminding me of the weight upon it, the death ring and it only makes me think again, what did I do?
Did I bleed, and that's how Matteo knew it was my first time, or did he just know? When I marry, how will I explain I’m no longer pure? I blink, and a tear escapes. There is nothing I can do now. I shove the thought aside. I have four years to figure out that problem.
I need to work on the problem I have now.
The man in black, who has more sins than I can ever count. Matteo Messina.
I smooth my dress and walk back toward the ballroom. Step by step, the noise grows louder, the music, laughter, the clinking of glasses.
I pass through the archway smiling at students, pretending nothing happened.
I’m not even surprised Conor finds me within seconds. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks, leaning in close. His voice is low. Stern. Suspicious.
“Toilet,” I say without missing a beat.
He eyes me.
I don’t blink.
In a mafia family, you learn to lie with your face, not your mouth.
Conor steps back, watching me closely. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
I’m not, I’m so far from fine. All I want to do is run outside and let the cold wind hit me, punish me, for the sin I just committed.
I feel him on me, his breath, his hands, his teeth, the burn of him inside me. It hurt, but I didn’t want it to stop.
I scan the ballroom. He’s gone, and I don’t know if I feel relieved or disappointed.
The truth, I let the enemy touch me. I let him inside.
And now he’s under my skin. He broke me open.
And worst of all, I liked it.
Conor doesn’t believe me, I can see it in the way his eyes narrow, in the way he hovers like a bodyguard who’s ready to kill. His hand comes to rest at my lower back. It makes my skin crawl, not because it’s Conor, but because it isn’t him.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks louder, the string quartet playing something eerie and elegant.
I nod. “Just a little too much champagne,” I lie again. “Yes, just needed to step away.”
“You were gone awhile,” he says, not pushing it, but not dropping it either.
I turn to face him fully, trying not to flinch. “Are you going to start acting like my fiancé now too?”
The words land hard; he straightens. “You know I didn’t want this arrangement.” His words are soft, but they mean nothing to me.
“Then stop pretending you care.” I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, to make me feel as if I have someone on my side, when I know I don’t.
He looks at me like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just sighs and steps back. “Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s dance.”
I don’t want to. Every bone in my body is screaming to run, to disappear back into the dark corners of the academy and never come out, but I let lead me to the dance floor.
As much as I don't want to be here right now, I dance with my cousin, because there is nowhere else for me to be. Yet my mind is on Matteo. Can he dance like this, would he hold me close, would he protect me from the world, would he hold me tight so I forget everything.
The weight of him, the rage in his hands. The way his kiss felt like war. I’m losing my mind.
The song ends and the applause echoes around us.
Conor pulls back, eyes scanning the room again. “Come on,” he says, voice gentler. “Let’s go back. It’s late.”
I nod, relieved. The night needs to end before I rip my own skin off.
We make our way through the ballroom, and I glance over my shoulder one last time.
Still no sign of him. No dragon-winged mask. No red vest. No shadow watching from the edge of the room.
Just emptiness, and somehow, that hurts more than anything else.
When we finally step out into the night air, I exhale, but it doesn’t make anything better, because I can still feel him everywhere and I don’t know if I’ll ever be clean again.
At sunrise, Conor banged on my door like the world was ending. It wasn’t. Unless you count being summoned home to sit like a well-dressed hostage at a dinner I never asked for.
I didn’t want to go. I would’ve stayed locked inside Blackstone's cold stone walls if it were up to me. But nothing ever is. Conor said they asked for me specifically. That only meant one thing.
I had to see him. My future husband.
Twenty years older. Balding crown. Fingers like claws. Eyes of a debt collector.
Dinner is worse than I imagined it would be.
He's already here. Rory, my loving husband to be.
He stands, pulls out my chair, I roll my eyes as I sit. The moment my legs are under the table, his hand is on my thigh, moving it up and down as they talk about business. Shipment routes, ports, numbers. His thumb moves, and I nearly snap the wine glass in my hand.
I hate the stench of cigars and expensive failure clinging to him. I hate how he grins like I’m already gift-wrapped.
“Alliances mean power,” Uncle Liam says, swirling his drink. “And with this marriage, we seal more than deals. We seal blood.”
I say nothing. My lips pressed tight until they hurt. I don’t look at him. Don’t acknowledge the hand still on my thigh. Don’t even put on a fake smile.
After what feels like hours of misery, the business talk finally ends and Rory turns to me.
“How was the first week of school?” he asks, like he cares, he’s probably got a countdown on his phone, when he gets me.
My mother told me the wedding is set for the day after I finish school. That’s how much freedom they’re giving me. Not even a fucking day.
“Okay,” I reply, not in the mood to talk to him.
I hear my father laughing behind me, probably annoyed with my cold tone, but I don’t care, nothing is going to change. I can be a bitch; he’s still going to marry me.
“You know, school can be a little much at first, and Blackstone is an intimidating place.” My father puts some humor in his tone to lighten the mood.
“Yes, I remember,” Rory jokes, and I look at Conor walking over.
Finally, time is here for Rory to leave. My father asks Conor to walk him out. Conor throws me a tight glance, before they leave.
The moment the door clicks closed, my father’s voice turns to ice. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” I ask, trying to play it cool, even as my heart beats loud in my ears, because now I’m going to be reminded why I was born in the first place.
“Don’t play stupid,” Uncle Liam snaps. “You ignored him. You acted like a goddamn child.”
I glance at my mother, who stands in silence, always does. Married into this world and drowned inside it. I don’t even think she knows how to fight anymore. Maybe she never did.
“I don’t want to marry a man barely younger than you,” I spit out.
Uncle Liam’s eyes darken. “You don’t want to?” He laughs, cruel and cold. “You think this is about what you want?”
My father steps closer. “This is about the family. You’re a daughter of the O’Brien bloodline. Your duty comes before desire.”
I clench my fists. “My duty? To obey? To smile? To spread my legs for a man who smells like death?”
Their silence echoes as my words hit hard. Uncle Liam can't control his rage and slaps me hard. I feel the blood trickling down my lip.
“That’s exactly it,” Uncle Liam shouts. “You’re a pawn, Aoife and if you’re not useful, you’re replaceable.”
Rage and nausea churn in my stomach. I want to scream, to tear the house down.
Conor walks back over to us, and stares at me for a moment. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone clipped, unreadable.
Uncle Liam turns toward him. “Is she acting up? Are you keeping an eye on her?”
I laugh, low and bitter. “He can’t even enjoy school without babysitting me.”
Conor’s face doesn’t change. “Yeah. I’m watching. There’s a boy sniffing around,” he adds.
My breath catches in my throat.
No. No. Please, don’t say his name.
“You know who?” Uncle Liam asks, voice dropping like a blade.
“Not yet,” Conor lies. It takes me by surprise that he’s done it, but still relief and terror twists together inside me.
Uncle Liam turns back to me. “Aoife.” I look up just as his hand wraps around my arm like a vise. “Don’t bring shame to this family,” he growls, nose inches from mine.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper.
“You think this is pain?” he snarls. “I’ll show you pain if you ruin this.” Then he slaps me for the second time. Sharp. Stinging. Then again, harder. He’s making sure I understand.
I stumble, pain bursting across my face. My lip tears, my head snaps sideways.
“Enough!” Conor snaps, stepping in front of me. “She’s got the message.”
Not a defense. A warning.
Uncle Liam fixes his collar, adjusted his cuffs, and gives me a look colder than any winter.
“That’s just a taste of what you’ll get,” my father says, “If you cross this family.”
Then they both leave.
Conor doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak, just stares at me.
And I can’t stop thinking, if they knew the truth?
The boy who touched me…Was Matteo fucking Messina?
They wouldn’t just hit me. They’d bury me.