Chapter 25
Matteo
Words are your weapon and ruin.
What do you say when silence is betrayal?
Who do you protect, and who do you sacrifice?
It’s done. No warning.
Leo woke me at two in the morning, dragged me to the trial room without a word.
By the time the sky turned gray, it was over.
I leave the stone room clean, no blood, but something darker crawling under my skin.
Boots echo on the stone as I walk back to the dorm. The silence isn’t suffocating this time. I didn’t break. I walked through fire and kept every word buried where it belongs.
They tried.
Whispers about my parents. Hits about my brothers.
Promises of pain. The kind of psychological knives that twist just slow enough to make you believe you’re cutting yourself.
The things they were saying made me grip the chair, to stop me from killing someone for talking about my family the way they were.
The bright light in my eyes the whole time they wanted information about my family, the loud banging noise made me lose focus on the task.
But I never spoke. Because no matter what, I don’t betray blood.
When I step into the courtyard and see Marco and Milo sprawled across a bench like they own the sunrise, the weight slides off my shoulders.
“You look like hell,” Marco says, tossing me a protein bar.
I catch it, half-smiling. “Feel worse.”
Milo leans forward, eyes sharp. “They try to break you again?”
I sit, jaw locked, rubbing the back of my neck. “Of course. That’s the point.”
“What’d they ask?” Marco’s tone stays casual, but his eyes don’t. He’s looking for cracks. He’s been watching since the first trial. We all know they’re there it’s only a question of when I split.
I shrug. “If I’d give either of you up or hold out through torture.”
“Which did you pick?” Milo asks, grinning, but the edge in his voice gives him away.
“I didn’t,” I say. “Didn’t give them a thing.”
Marco whistles. “Brutal.”
“They said if I stayed quiet, Mom would vanish. Said you two were already bleeding. Said I’d walk out to ashes. Kept a light on me the whole time, feels like my eyes are burning still.”
“And you didn’t break?” Milo asks, quieter now.
I shake my head. “One rule. Never betray the family. Not for love. Not for pain. Not for anything.”
Marco claps my shoulder. “Then you passed.”
“They didn’t get me to flinch. Leo said everyone else did. Out of the three, this one was the easiest.”
Truth is, it was. Not because I wasn’t afraid because loyalty’s my spine. The thread that keeps me whole. Even when I lose my grip, I don’t let go.
“I’d do it again.”
“That’s why you’ll lead us one day,” Marco mutters.
Milo nods. “It’s in your blood.”
I rub my eyes and look at them. “I might be doing the trials because I’m older by a few minutes, but when I lead, you lead too. This family gets three heads, not one. We move together. Always.”
They know I mean it. Without them, I’m nothing, my strength, my weapon, is them.
“The three of us together are chaos,” Milo says, grinning. It pulls a real smile out of me.
My gaze drifts to the academy windows. Somewhere inside, she’s pretending her world hasn’t split apart. I haven’t seen her on the roof in two days. Conor’s glued to her side. When he’s not, Cillian is.
Why the sudden leash? What’s happening in her family?
The night on the roof, she looked like she had nothing left. Her family was using her like a pawn.
I wanted to hold her. Tell her I was there.
But the truth is, I can’t save her without betraying my own.
“Ready for the Ball tomorrow?” Milo asks.
I roll my eyes. The Heir’s Ball, an old tradition. Happens when one heir graduates and another steps in. Last year, we skipped it. No heir enrolled. After me, there won’t be another until I have a kid.
“I think it’ll be fun,” Marco says. “All the criminals in one room.”
I snort. He’s not wrong.
Milo groans. “We already know who the heirs are. Why the parade?”
“Tradition,” I say. “Grandfather said it’s older than the school.”
“We own the room,” Milo says. “Everyone’s been watching you since we got here.”
I shake my head. “No. They’re watching us. They might see my face, but they fear the three of us together. Start remembering that.”
My tone lands harder than I mean, but they need to hear it.
“Yeah, we know,” Milo says, glancing at the other side of the garden.
“You’ll still have to stand up there alone,” Marco says.
“I will,” I reply, lighting a cigarette. “And I’ll look every family in the eye while I do. Show them I’m here to stay.”
The smoke burns in my lungs, grounding me.
They both start bickering about something, Milo calling Marco a coward for never making a move on Rosa.
I lean back and close my eyes, letting their noise fade.
But she’s there anyway, walking the halls, pressed against the wall, whispering my name.
Then the warning cuts through it: She’s the enemy. Don’t start a war. They killed your grandmother.
Every instinct I have says she’s a sin. And I can’t forget it.
The ballroom drips gold and blood.
My brothers flank me. Father and Grandfather lead the line. Behind us, Armani, Raf, Remo, Ricci. Leo follows quiet, sharp, all steel.
Legacy clings to us in every stitch, every step.
This isn’t a ball. It’s a battlefield dressed in glass and gold and we came to win.
My suit’s black, pressed sharp enough to cut. The Messina crest gleams silver at my cuff.
No mask tonight.
I want every enemy here to see my face when their reckoning comes.
None of them matter the moment she walks in.
Aoife.
Pale dress. High neck. Sleeves like chains.
Her family dressed her like an offering, pure, untouchable, breakable.
But her eyes burn. Fire still lives under all that silk.
She sees me.
Across the marble floor, her gaze locks on mine.
Conor’s glued to her side. Rory stands too close, hand on her back like he owns her, well he does. It’s his ring on her finger.
Her mother smiles for the cameras. Liam scans the crowd like he smells blood.
And Aoife? She’s drowning in beauty.
Milo leans in. “She looks ready to scream.”
“She won’t,” I mutter. “They trained her too well.”
I can’t look anywhere else but the girl dressed like an innocent ghost.
We move through the room like it’s smoke. Rosa appears at my side with a drink.
Every heir waits. Cameras flash. Council members circle. Every major family along the coast sent someone.
This isn’t a celebration, it’s a show of ownership.
I should look away. Let her be.
We take our seats, watching the room fill.
She slips away from her circle of captors, vanishing through a curtain toward the side gallery.
“Smoke break,” I mutter to whoever’s listening.
The side hall’s empty, with only columns, candlelight, and a silence thin enough to break on a breath.
She stands in the middle, hands clenched, shoulders tense, pulse screaming beneath her collarbone.
“Hello, little lamb,” I say softly. She doesn’t turn.
“Careful,” she whispers. “If someone sees us—”
“I don’t care,” I lie. “You look like you want to disappear.”
“I do.”
“Tell me where. I’ll take you.”
She turns. Rage, fear, heartbreak, all of it burns through the silk she wears. Something inside me splits, and she owns the part that breaks.
“They moved the wedding,” she whispers.
My jaw tightens.
She won’t meet my eyes. The girl I kissed in the storm, the one who begged for freedom is gone, buried under chain and duty.
“You’re not surprised,” she says.
“I’m not,” I answer. “Doesn’t mean I accept it.”
Silence hangs between us, thick with everything unsaid.
I reach for her. My fingers graze the skin beneath her ear, too soft for a world like this.
Her lips part. Her body leans.
The curtain moves. Footsteps.
We both freeze.
“Matteo—” she breathes.
“Shh.” I step back, close enough to feel her breath, far enough to survive it.
The end’s coming for us.
“We won’t get many more moments like this, little lamb. The countdown’s started.”
I walk away before I do something I can’t undo.
I don’t make it far before a voice cuts through the hall.
“Presenting the O’Brien Family heirs and the brides-to-be who will carry their legacy.”
Light shifts. Cameras flash.
I stop.
She steps under the arch, hand in hand with the man they chose.
My fingers grip the back of my chair until it scrapes against the floor. I sit before I break something.
At the next table, my aunt whispers. Couldn’t they find someone older? Does she even want this?
I don’t hear the answer.
Because the next time I touch her, it might be the last.