Chapter 21
Matteo
Two days since the box.
My voice is back, but the quiet inside me still cuts sharper than anything I could say. The arena smells like sweat and iron, like old fights that never left.
Leo stands at the far side, arms folded, eyes measuring. He’s not watching everyone, he’s watching me. Checking if I’m still cracked.
Marco hammers the speed bag, Milo spins a knife in his palm, the blade flashing like silver prayers.
I drive my fists into the sand dummy until leather splits under my knuckles. I keep my back to her. If I see her face, I’ll forget the trial, forget everything.
Leo’s voice cuts through the noise. “Enough.”
Every fist stops midair. The echo of it bounces off stone and dies slow.
He steps into the circle, boots striking against the floor. “Trial Three,” he says, and the way he says it makes the air tighten. “It’s time. This one isn’t about fists or fire, it’s about choice.”
Leo’s pacing again, slow and deliberate. “Trial Three isn’t physical. It’s psychological. You’ll face a scenario. Some truths. Some lies. You’ll be forced to speak or choke on what you don’t.”
Marco wipes sweat from his neck. “What’s the pass?”
Leo stops, eyes sharp. “You tell the right truth at the right time… without exposing the ones you protect.”
“And fail?” a Russian asks.
“Talk too soon or too soft, and someone you care about bleeds for it. Lose their trust, and you’re already dead.”
The air feels colder. My pulse doesn’t.
“You won’t know who’s watching,” Leo adds. “But you will be watched. Always.”
“Sounds like a trap,” Milo mutters.
Leo almost smiles. “It is.”
I exhale, stare at the floor.
Weakness.
I know mine.
She carries it in her last name, and it’s carved across my ribs.
I need to be sharper. Colder. Ruthless.
“Is this like… a confession scenario?” Marco asks, wiping sweat from his neck.
Leo nods. “Something like that. You’ll be presented with intel, and your reaction will be studied. How fast you talk. What you choose to protect. Whether you hold the line or sell someone out.”
“Can we prep?” I ask. Leo eyes me like he’s surprised I’m even engaging.
“Prep your mind,” he says. “Your instincts. Who you are in the dark is what this trial will pull out. You’ll be alone but not without consequences.”
He walks off and the air he leaves behind is heavy, as if I know what the fuck that is meant to mean.
Marco moves in close, voice low. “We need a plan.”
“Facts only,” I say. “No guesses, no bluffs. They’ll smell a lie faster than blood.”
Milo’s jaw works. “Then we set boundaries. Names we don’t touch. If they ask about Rosa, about each other—”
“We protect our own,” I cut in. “Always. No test changes that.”
Marco studies me. “Even if the intel’s fake?”
“Especially then.”
We nod once. Brothers. Soldiers. Sons of war.
But never traitors.
Across the room, she moves—Aoife, arguing with Conor again. Her hands slice the air, her jaw locked tight.
I shouldn’t look, but I do.
“Focus,” Marco warns.
He’s right. She’s the one weakness I can’t afford.
The rooftop waits like it knows I’ll come.
I tell myself I need air. Space. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s because I knew she’d be here.
My cigarette burns low between my fingers. The sea throws back the city’s lights, restless and dark.
Then I see her.
Standing on the ledge again, hair pulled by the wind, toes close to the drop.
“You planning to jump tonight, little lamb?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even glance my way. Her voice drifts back, smooth, steady.
“Not tonight. But one night I will.”
Something in her tone freezes the air. No tremor. No plea for attention.
A fact, not a threat.
I step forward slowly. “How much have you learned with the knife?” I ask, because her comment about jumping is for another time, I don’t want her problems on me tonight.
Still, she doesn’t look over, but her answer isn’t about the blade. “Have you been ignoring me?” Silence stretches between us. Then she sighs. “I don’t blame you. We both know this is wrong.”
“After the trial,” I cut in, my voice lower now, “my head wasn’t in the right place. I needed to stay away from everyone.”
She finally turns. Her face hits me like a sucker punch I wasn’t braced for, the soft shadows under her eyes like bruises from the inside out.
“So?” I ask, forcing my tone back into something rough. “The knife?”
“I can handle it,” she says.
She jumps down from the ledge like it’s nothing, walks toward me, her boots hitting the stone with sharp little notes. She pulls the knife from her back pocket and holds it out, balancing it on her finger. Smiling, I take it from her, my fingers brushing hers.
I examine it then smirk. “Maybe you just need to get faster, little lamb.”
She laughs. A real laugh, and that sound twists something in my chest.
She reaches for the knife, quick and cocky, so I use the moment. I shift, grab her wrist, flip her back in one motion, and press her into the cold stone wall. Her gasp is soft, but her eyes burn.
“You need to protect yourself, little lamb,” I murmur against her cheek. “You need to learn that the wolf always wins.”
She doesn’t speak.
I lean closer until our mouths almost meet. The space between us hums. Then I kiss her. Rough. Real. A hit neither of us expects.
When I pull back, her lips are parted, eyes dazed. The air between us vibrates.
“You learn fast,” I say, voice rough. I slip her knife into my back pocket.
She begins to lower herself to the ground, shoulders rising with every breath. The light catches the curve of her throat, the pulse there wild and visible.
I should walk away. Tell her to go.
Instead, I reach down, fingers brushing her jaw, forcing her to look up.
Her eyes hold mine, steady and unafraid. It knocks every thought loose.
The wind slides between us, cold against skin that’s already burning.
Her hands move up my trousers to my belt. “Aoife,” I breathe, warning her. Warning me.
She doesn’t stop. “Let me, I want this.” Her voice is soft. Not unsure. And I cave.
Her fingers work the buckle with trembling boldness. The second the leather loosens, I suck in a breath, then she’s pulling me free, and my head tips back as her fingers wrap around me.
I grunt. Low. Rough. Her name is on the edge of it.
She’s never done this before, I can tell by the way her touch is cautious, exploring. But she watches my face, every reaction, every shift in my breathing.
And fuck if that doesn’t make it hotter. Knowing I’m her first for this too. I’m her first for everything.
Her lips touch the tip, and heat explodes down my spine. My hand fists in her hair on instinct, not pulling, just anchoring, because holy hell this is happening and I’m ready for it.
She takes me slowly, mouth soft, tongue unsure but eager, and as much I want to hold her there and fuck her mouth, I don’t. The warmth of her mouth makes my knees weak. I groan again, louder this time.
She learns fast. Every sound I make, she adjusts. Every twitch of my fingers in her hair, she adapts.
She pulls back, licking her lips, eyes wide and dark and wicked. “How am I doing?” she asks, breathless.
I stare down at her, chest heaving. “You’re gonna kill me, little lamb.” Because I think she might, and right now I’d die fucking happy.
She smirks, then goes back to sucking me, and this time I lose it.
My hips jerk hard, my jaw clenches as the coil tightens low in my stomach. I hiss her name through my teeth like a prayer and a warning.
I hold her head, because I want to be in control of this. I feel her sucking on me hard, then she stops as I thrust hard into her mouth hitting the back of her throat, and I hear her gag.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout, not caring if anyone hears me, because God this is fucking perfect. Her tight throat gripping the head of my dick, as I hold it there for a moment.
I feel her slapping my leg, I pull away so she can catch her breath, and then I thrust hard again, and again, and again. Fucking faster harder, but her mouth is working so well around me.
“Swallow,” I breathe, the word slipping out with the last of my restraint as pleasure crests and knocks the air from my lungs.
I lose my balance in the moment, her name breaking from me as her mouth draws me past thought and into sensation, leaving nothing untouched or held back.
She takes her time, slow and deliberate, finishing with a teasing brush of her lips that makes the aftermath linger longer than the release itself.
She pulls back, wipes her mouth, and stares at me like she’s daring me to say something. I grab her chin, tilt it up.
“You don’t know what you just did to me,” I whisper.
She smiles, just barely, then stands, silent, storm-eyed.
Her lips on mine, I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around me, turning fast, I slam her back into the cold stone wall.
I pull away from her, we breathe each other, stare at each other.
I want fucking more.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I hit the call and place it to my ear.
“What?”
“Get the fuck out of my room, and don’t come back in tonight.” I end the call and look at Aoife. “Time for some fun.” I open the door to the side, and she unwraps her legs from around.
“I don’t think—”
“My room is less than a minute away from here.” I grab her hand and move down the stairs not giving her time to fucking think. Hell, I’m not thinking.
The door slams shut behind us, the sound sharp, like the last thread of restraint snapping. My heart is already pounding, a heavy thud in my chest as I reach for Aoife. My hands find her waist, and I lift her.
She wraps her legs around me instantly, thighs squeezing my hips, the heat of her pressing right against me through our clothes.
I kiss her hard, tasting the faint sweetness, her lips soft and begging me to kiss her more.
Our teeth click once, awkwardly, and she makes a small sound against my mouth which shoots straight through me.