Chapter 28
Matteo
The second I step into the trial room, I know this isn’t a puzzle. It’s a war.
A war with myself, not to kill him. My focus isn’t on winning. It’s on getting out before I lose control. The mood I’m in I’m not sure it will take long for me to lose it.
Stale air. Tight walls. One table. Two chairs. A dead bulb hanging like a noose from the ceiling.
Conor’s already here, slouched in his chair like it’s a normal day. The bastard doesn’t care what his family’s doing to Aoife, but I wonder how much does he really know about what’s happening to her?
What I don’t get is why? What’s worth letting your cousin live through hell?
I know our world. Deals, blood, arranged marriages, they’re part of it. But when someone’s ready to die rather than live that life, you see it. He has to see it.
He doesn’t look up when I walk in, but I feel his smirk.
I sit. Silent. Still. My eyes lock on the mess of metal and glass spread across the table. A puzzle, yeah, but not one of pieces. A test of patience.
The screen on the wall flashes red. Begin.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” he adds, voice low and smug.
We sit in silence, I need to block him out, he’s going to try to get under my skin. Then, the moment I tell myself to calm down, Conor leans forward, picks up a piece, and mutters, “Stop looking at her.”
My hands curl into fists under the table.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” he repeats, voice low and smug. “You touch her again,” he says, voice cutting through the air. “And I’ll make sure there’s not enough of you left to bury.”
I lean back and laugh. He thinks he can kill me. He’s not that good.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, voice flat as stone. He’s playing some game. My gut tells me I might lose this one.
Conor snorts. “Sure. Keep pretending. Like your family didn’t already fuck one of ours. Your mother—”
That’s it. I snap. Never talk about my mother.
The chair scrapes hard against the floor as I stand, slamming it into the wall behind me.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He stands. We’re toe to toe, fists clenched.
“You gonna hit me?” he sneers. “Go ahead. Prove everyone right. Rage wrapped in money.”
He’s not wrong. Rage is the reason most people stay away from me.
“Your mother might be married to scum, but she’s one of us,” he spits and I know he’s not talking about my mother. He means Aoife. “We’ll decide what happens to her.”
“Yeah?” I growl. “She looked real happy when you shoved her against a wall.”
That lands. His jaw tightens, eyes flare, then the mask slides back on.
“Watch it, Messina,” he hisses, shoving me.
I step back, only enough to stay balanced.
“She’s not yours,” he says again, softer now. “She never will be.”
I stare at the puzzle scattered between us.
If I speak, the storm breaks.
This isn’t the end. It’s the start of a fire neither of us will survive.
I wonder what he’d do if he knew what Aoife did. Help her or hand her over? He wouldn’t care. His family wants power, and they’ll bleed anyone to get it.
Conor’s eyes gleam like he’s been waiting to snap the chain.
“But she’s not yours to touch either,” he whispers. “Is it a Messina thing? Your father took one of ours, now you want to fuck your way through the rest?”
“Who said I ever wanted one of you?” I snap. The words taste like poison, but I can’t put her in more danger.
“Then why are you looking at her?”
I ignore him and start picking up the pieces. Focus. Anything but his voice.
“I see you,” he says. “Don’t think I don’t watch.”
I almost laugh but keep my eyes on the card. Anything to shut him up.
“Your family thinks they own—”
“Because we do,” I cut in. “And you’re scared we’ll find out what you’re doing in our towns.”
“You go near Aoife again, and I’ll rip your fucking hands off.”
I laugh, full and raw. He thinks he can take me. Funniest thing I’ve heard all week.
Red floods my vision. My fist cracks against his jaw before I even feel the movement.
He stumbles back, grinning through the blood. “There it is. The Rage.”
The moment Conor’s fist crashes into my jaw, the world tunnels into red. Pain cracks across my face, but it only feeds the fire already burning inside me. I lunge at him, shoving him backward hard.
He recovers faster, faster than I expected. His shoulder drives into my stomach and we crash to the floor in a heap of fists and rage. My elbow slams into his ribs. He grunts. My knuckles scrape bone as I swing again, landing another punch right below his eye.
He claws at my side, twisting us. We’re rolling on the ground now, dirt and blood mixing, the puzzle long forgotten. He gets on top, tries to land a blow to my temple, but I block it and retaliate with a punch to his throat that makes him cough.
He lands one on my cheekbone. It fucking stings, burns. I elbow him in the gut, slam him sideways, and roll. Growling. Spitting. Throwing.
“No rules now, huh?” he snarls.
“No bloodline’s saving you,” I spit, cracking him across the temple again. His bloods on my hands, and I don’t care.
Boots slam. Voices shout. Hands drag us apart.
Leo yanks me by the collar while an Irish handler grabs Conor.
“Enough!”
My chest heaves. Knuckles torn. He’s still glaring, still breathing. Shame.
“What the hell happened?” Leo shouts.
“They can’t finish a strategy puzzle without acting feral,” the Irish handler mutters.
Conor wipes his mouth. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
I shrug off Leo’s hand and take a step forward. “Or what?”
Silence answers. Louder than any threat.
The fourth trial is done. The fire’s lit.
Conor’s dragged out. Leo studies me, shaking his head.
“Tell me you don’t love her,” he says.
The words hit harder than any punch Liam just hit me with. I flinch. Nothing comes out. No denial. No rage.
Leo sighs. “I’ve known you since birth, Matteo. Trained you. Watched you break men without blinking. But the way you look at her?” A short, bitter laugh. “Never seen that before.”
My jaw flexes. I run a hand down my face and try to breathe, try to think, try to pretend he’s wrong.
But he’s not.
“Then why haven’t you stopped me?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Leo’s brow lifts. “Because the way you look at her, it’s the same way your father looks at your mother, and I’ve seen what kind of war that love can survive. No one would’ve stopped that either.”
“I don’t know what to do.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
I sound wrecked. Like a boy who’s spent the last two hours remembering the way her face looked when she stepped off the cliff, and the way it felt when she fell into my arms. “I’m lost, Leo,” I mutter.
“If my father finds out, he’ll kill me,” I say it like it’s already a death sentence carved into my chest.
Leo folds his arms across his chest. “Have you told them?”
“No,” I admit. “But I don’t have to. She’s an O’Brien.” He studies me for a long moment.
He takes a step closer and speaks. “You want to know what to do? I think you already know. You just don’t want to admit it.”
I swallow, my throat dry and raw. “What if knowing breaks everything?”
Leo’s voice is quiet now, almost gentle. “Then you ask yourself one thing, Matteo, is she worth the risk?”
I look away, heart pounding, images of Aoife flickering like lightning through my head, her tears, her laugh, the way she whispered my name like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I whisper.
Leo claps a hand on my shoulder. “Then don’t waste time pretending you do.”
Leo’s words follow me down the hall. Tell me you don’t love her.
The truth cuts like wire around my throat. Love? Maybe. Probably. Fuck, I don’t know.
I just know I can’t breathe when she cries. And I’d kill any man who touches her.
He’s right.
I can’t balance between logic and obsession anymore. Between the war and her.
Each step back to my dorm feels heavier, but when I open the door, I already know I’ve made the choice.
Everyone’s inside, Rosa, Marco, Milo, Aoife.
Before anyone speaks, I shut the door.
“One trial failed.”
They freeze.
“What happened?” Marco asks.
I meet each of their eyes, then hers. The one I shouldn’t want. The one I’d burn for.
“It was a puzzle. We were supposed to work together. Words were said. Then a fight.” I pause. “Didn’t end well.”
I sit beside her. She doesn’t move.
“I’m only asking once,” I say, voice low. “Do you trust me?”
She stares for a long moment, then nods. “Yes.”
I exhale. “Go check on Conor,” I tell her. “He didn’t leave that room clean. But you, be strong. Smile. Lie. Play the game they want. I’ll fix this.”
She looks scared, and I get it. I’m sending her back to the people who broke her.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her jaw. “Trust me. For now, we pretend. Nothing happened. We’re enemies. Ghosts.” Her breath trembles. “If you jump, I jump,” I say. “You ready to jump with me, little lamb?”
Her voice cracks. “Yes.”
“Then go to Conor. Act normal. Wait for me.”
I kiss her once, soft and brief. “Roof. Tomorrow.”
She nods, and she leans her forehead on mine, and I feel her fingers moving over my broken knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” She whispers.
“For what?” I ask.
“For jumping.” The words barely escape her mouth, but I hear it, and I feel my heart stop beating for a moment.
“I’ve got you little lamb, always got you.
” I get up and take her hand and walk to the door.
I know she’s scared, but she needs to go to Conor and act normal.
She leaves without another word, her shoulders squared, mask already slipping into place.
She’s been doing it long enough, so I'm not worried about her not being able to do it.
I turn to my brothers. Rosa stands beside Marco.
“I’m talking to Grandfather this weekend.”
Marco snaps, “You’re fucking serious?”
“I have to.”
Milo rubs the back of his neck. “What will you say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing that keeps me alive, but I can’t let her walk away.”
Marco’s voice drops low. “You’ve lost your mind?”
“What do you want me to do? Keep lying? Pretend I didn’t jump after her? I fucking jumped for her.”
Milo steps forward, arms crossed. “We know. But you’re not only risking yourself, Matteo. You’re risking all of us.”
I pace, dragging a hand through my hair. “I know, but I won’t watch her break again and I won’t let them kill her.”
“Do you love her?” Marco asks.
“Yes,” Rosa says softly before I can answer. She looks down. “Sorry.”
I stop moving around the room as I think about Marco’s question. The question cracks something open inside me. “I don’t know what this is. I just know I can’t breathe when she’s not near. And when she hurts, I feel it like it’s my own. If that’s not love, then tell me what the fuck is.”
Milo blows out a long breath and turns away. Marco rubs the back of his neck, still not looking at me.
“You’re going to bring this to Grandfather, to Dad,” Marco finally says. “You’re going to tell them that the future heir of the Messina family is tangled up with an O’Brien girl?”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Yes, there is a hesitation in my voice, and they hear it too.
Silence stretches between us. Long. Heavy. Then Milo walks over, claps a hand on my shoulder. “Well, shit. If you’re going down, we’re going with you.”
Marco nods, expression still tight. “We always said we’d ride or die together. Just didn’t think it would be for a girl. A fucking Irish girl.”
I laugh, hollow and tired. “Neither did I.”
“I like her,” Rosa tells us all, and the three of us face her, and she smiles. “What, would you prefer me to hate her? There is something about her, once she has the right man next to her, I think your little lamb will become a wolf when she needs to.”
“You don’t think I’m the right man for her?” I ask, because one thing I do know, while she’s in this school no one will be touching her.
“Crazy, but I think it’s someone like you she needs next to her. A fighter, someone who has enough rage in them to burn the world.” I smile at Rosa’s words, because for Aoife I’m about to burn the world, and start a war.
“Then let’s plan this right,” Milo says. “We are going back this weekend. We speak to Grandfather, but we do it united. One voice. Three sons.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Marco cracks a grin. “Just make sure she’s worth all this fucking drama.”
“And you know I would never put this family in danger if I wasn’t sure. Out of anyone, you both know that.” I don’t care what people say, I've always put my family first, and I still will.
“And if Grandfather, and Father disagree then?” Marco asks.
I take in a deep breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know.”