Chapter 23
Matteo
Classes drag. I should care, but all I can think about is the next trial.
Leo called it the Trial of Loyalty.
“Words are your weapon. And your ruin. What do you say when silence is betrayal? What do you protect, and who do you sacrifice?”
Marco sits on the bed, peeling tape from his knuckles. Training’s over. No sign of Aoife; she should’ve been there. Maybe I’ll text her later.
“Are you ready for the trial?” Marco asks.
“As ready as I can be, since I have no idea what the hell’s coming.” My knuckles sting, still raw from drills.
“It means someone’s about to find out if they’re expendable,” Milo says from across the room, flicking his knife open and shut.
I stay quiet. This trial won’t use fists. It’ll use hearts. And hearts break louder than bones.
Marco leans forward. “So… how long are we pretending there’s no problem?”
I lift a brow. “What problem?”
He laughs once. “Don’t play dumb. Aoife.” He’s always the first to remind me she’s off-limits.
Milo braces his elbows on his knees. “You’re in too deep, man. Step back before you drown.”
They’re right. What I’m doing puts everyone, especially her, at risk.
“I’ve tried,” I mutter. “I’m fucking trying, alright?”
“Not hard enough if she’s still in your bed,” Marco snaps.
I bite my lip and shake my head, drag a hand through my hair. “It’s not just sex.”
That shuts them both up and for Milo, silence means something. “I can’t explain it. Not touching her during the day. Not talking to her in public. Watching her walk past me like I’m nothing while I’m burning inside.” My voice cracks. “I hate it. I fucking hate it.”
“Then what?” Marco shoots back. “Are you ready to throw it all away for her?”
“I don’t know,” I snap. “But I can’t stop. I don’t want anyone else. Every other girl feels static. Even talking to them feels wrong, like I’m cheating on something that isn’t mine to begin with.” I think of the girl who touched my chest the other day. My skin burned like it was warning me off.
“You’re not supposed to have anything to betray,” Milo mutters. “That’s the problem.” His knife clicks again, sharp, steady, like he’s tapping my guilt.
I nod once. “Yeah. Too late for that.”
Silence stretches.
Marco exhales. “You’re an idiot.”
And then it hits me there’s something I want more than power. More than revenge.
Her.
But if I choose her… a war will begin.
“I take it you’re heading to the roof?” Marco rolls his eyes already knowing the answer. “You keep sinning, we’ll all end up in hell with you.” He heads out through Rosa’s room, muttering under his breath.
“Why don’t you hate me?” I ask.
Milo shrugs. “Because I see how you look at her. The way Father looks at Mother. He risked everything for her and she did for him. You’ll do the same. The question is, will she?” He claps my shoulder and smiles. “If the answer’s yes, I’ll fight beside you.”
He leaves. I sit there for a beat, then shower and head for the roof.
The wind cuts sharper tonight. Cold. Mean. The clouds churn like something alive, and the lighthouse cuts through the dark like a blade.
Something’s off.
Aoife sits on the ledge like part of the storm. Arms wrapped tight around herself. Wind tearing through her hair. She looks carved from heartbreak.
“Don’t jump yet, little lamb.” My voice cuts through the wind. She doesn’t turn.
I move closer. She’s too still. My gut twists, something’s wrong.
She glances down, and that’s when I see the tears.
I don’t even think, I jump up onto the ledge and stand next to her. Fuck that winds got a bite to it tonight.
“What’s wrong?” My voice softens. She’s already breaking, and I won’t add to it.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just breathes. Shallow and hard. I wait for her to speak, or not.
“My life’s not mine.” The words tear out of her. “My parents didn’t want a daughter. They wanted a deal. A chess piece to trade into the right marriage. Every part of my life’s been written in backroom deals and signed by men who never loved me.”
My hands clench. She’s still talking, spilling truths she’s never said out loud, but the sounds of it. Her voice sounds like confession and surrender all at once.
Her voice shakes but doesn’t stop. “My mother taught me to be polite. Obedient. My father taught me to keep secrets. Liam taught me to kneel.”
A bitter laugh breaks out. “Now they want to rush the wedding. Because an engagement isn’t enough.
Because nothing ever fucking is.” Lightning cracks above.
“I can’t breathe, Matteo. Every day it closes tighter.
This cage. Everyone thinks it’s gold, so they expect me to smile.
” She turns. Eyes wide. Voice shaking. “I don’t want to marry him. ”
“You shouldn’t have to.” The words leave before I can stop them.
“I was made for it,” she whispers. “Not born. Made.”
Something in me cracks. I know that cage, that weight of legacy. My family built one too, only they left the door open.
I take her hand. It trembles, but she doesn’t pull away. The sea hammers the rocks below. We stand there, two ghosts on a ledge.
“The man I want, I can’t have. And the more I’m near him, the more I hate the space between us.”
“You’re not a pawn, Aoife,” I say. “You’re the fire on the board, the kind which burns both sides.”
She looks up. Her lips tremble. Then she leans in, pressing her forehead against my chest.
“I wish I could believe that,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “I’ll believe it for both of us.”
The world falls away. The storm. The waves.
Just us, caught in the in-between.
Wanting the same thing, terrified of the war it’ll start.
Incense hangs heavy in the air, clinging to the rafters like old secrets. The church is full of them.
We’re back at Hollow Edge for the weekend. Mass comes first. Mother’s rule.
Granddad preaches at the altar, a room full of sinners dressed in power and guilt before him. My brothers flank me in the front pew.
And me? I don’t hear a damn thing.
Not over the pounding in my chest.
The confessionals sit in shadow. Dark wood. Carved crosses. They watch me. Beckon. Judge. They know I have sins to spill.
I stare at the booth. The cross on my chest feels heavier this week. Maybe it’s time to tell the old man the truth.
Father taps my leg. Everyone’s standing. When did Mass end?
I nod to him, he knows I’ll be out soon. That’s the advantage of Granddad running the church. If we stay behind, Father assumes we’re with him.
Today, I will be. I’ll tell him I’m falling for a girl from the enemy’s side.
Something stirs a war between guilt and truth.
When the church empties, I walk to the confessional.
Not for forgiveness. For honesty. I need to say it out loud.
The wooden door creaks as I slide inside the darkness.
Silence. Then the soft scrape of Granddad shifting behind the grate.
He never starts. So I do.
“Forgive me, Father, for I’ve sinned.”
Silence. My hands shake.
“I’ve touched someone I shouldn’t have. More than once. I think about her all the time. Dream about her. I’ve kissed her. I’ve sinned with her. And I’m drowning in her.”
A pause.
“She’s not one of us.” I close my eyes. “She’s an O’Brien.”
The words split something inside me. Saying them makes it real.
Granddad says nothing. Maybe he knows I’m not done.
“I thought I could stop. Get her out of my system. But it’s not power or sex anymore. It’s something else. She changes who I am.”
The air chills.
“She hates her family, but she’s still one of them. If anyone finds out…” My voice drops. “I don’t know how to stop.”
Silence.
Then Granddad’s voice, calm and cutting. “Do you love her?”
My heart stumbles. “I don’t know,” I whisper and it’s the truth.
“You will,” he says. “And when you do, you’ll know what must be done.”
The curtain slides shut. I stay there a moment, unsure if he’s waiting.
Then I step out and he’s right there, smiling.
“Nothing will be said to my son,” he says. “But remember, when the time comes, I’ll stand with you, the same way I did for your mother.” His hand lands on my shoulder. “I see the answer in your eyes. Make sure it’s a war worth starting.”
I nod as the church bells toll. We walk out together. My brothers’ eyes find mine.
They know. They always know. But they won’t say a word.
Back at Messina House, the garden smells like home, old stone, cigars, and history. Laughter drifts from the terrace. Marco and Milo grab drinks and vanish toward the tables.
Aunt Camilla spots me first, red lips, silk scarf, same perfume as always. She hugs me like I’m eight again, kisses both cheeks, and calls over her boys, Armani and Raf.
Armani’s too polished for this world. Raf looks like trouble wrapped in leather. They’ll join Blackstone soon. They’ll learn the same lessons.
“Matteo!” Armani grins. “Still breaking hearts and noses?”
“Mostly noses.”
Uncle Luca shows up next with his twins—Enzo and Vito. Smirking. Mirrored menace. We grew up side by side and learned to shoot with the same gun. They’re the same age as Raf.
“Look who finally shows up,” Vito says, slapping my back. “The golden son himself.”
“I had sins to pray for.”
Enzo grins. “Did you confess?”
“Would you?”
No one confesses in this family. And if we do, no one ever hears about it. Everyone here’s got blood or sin buried somewhere.
The garden feels like a pause, a breath before the next war. A reminder that once, before all the blood and vows, we are family.
Even surrounded by blood and bond, she’s still in my head, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I’m not already hers.