Chapter 29
Aoife
The halls of Blackstone whisper louder at night. Sometimes I think they know my secrets, both of them and how either one could tear two families apart.
I move slowly, fingertips brushing the cold stone, tracing cracks like they might confess something back and tell me I’m not alone.
My steps stay quiet, not from fear of being caught but because of the weight pressing behind my ribs, the same weight that’s lived there since the cliff. Since I jumped.
I jumped…because no one listened, because my voice was gone, because I was done being a pawn.
Matteo didn’t just catch me. He dove after me, held on like my soul wasn’t something to discard. Like I mattered.
He saved me.
Matteo always will. Not my family.
But even that doesn’t fill the hollow in my chest. The voices stay loud. The fear, the shame, the guilt, none of it fades. I keep hoping love, whatever this is, will drown the darkness still clawing inside me.
I still feel like a stranger in my own skin.
The night sky stretches above me as I walk toward Conor’s room, breath steady, mask already slipping into place. What I want to say is, I hate you. I hate this family for turning me into a pawn, for selling me like I’m nothing. But it stays buried. So, I smile instead and keep walking.
While Matteo was in the Trial, I didn’t speak to anyone. I stayed in bed, curled into myself, pretending the storm outside hadn’t already moved in.
part of me doesn’t regret jumping. How twisted is that? The only reason I haven’t gone back to that roof is because of him and the way he said trust me.
The brothers filled the silence with noise.
Laughter, smoke curling through the air.
Eyes always scanning, like guards on duty.
They were worried. Rosa drifted in and out, trading gossip to fill the quiet.
Something about a footballer’s son sleeping with half the building.
Marco told her to stay away. She said she didn’t need to; everyone already knew she was untouchable because of them.
She left. I was raised to hate his family.
To believe the Messina name was built on blood and betrayal.
But the only blood I’ve seen lately stains my own family’s hands.
And here I am falling for the enemy. Sleeping in his bed.
What kind of daughter does that make me?
What kind of traitor will I be when I tell them I won’t marry Rory? That I won’t give them an heir to sell for power? That the lamb they tried to slaughter found a wolf instead?
I stop by the window. The lighthouse flashes across the cliffs, each pulse matching the dull ache in my chest.
There’s no turning back now.
Moving forward feels like dragging myself through barbed wire.
Maybe Matteo will fix this. Maybe he won’t. Love was never meant to be soft, especially here, especially between enemies.
I stop outside Conor’s door, staring at the gold plate with his name engraved across it. I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and pull the mask on, the one that lets me lie with my eyes and make it look like love.
Fake it. Be the perfect actress. That’s what they want.
I take a deep breath and walk in.
The smile I paste on my face fades the moment I see him.
Conor looks like hell. Bandaged across the cheek, lip split open, bruises swelling under his eye. His jaw clenches as he shifts in the chair, arms resting on the sides like he’s trying not to throw it across the room.
“Conor,” I breathe, all softness and concern. “What the hell happened?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just scoffs and shakes his head.
“What trial was it? Who did this to you?”
His voice is low, heavy with rage. “The Italians are going to bleed one day. All of them. And I’ll be the one to do it.”
I take a step closer, tilting my head like I care. “Was it Matteo?” He doesn’t answer, but the storm in his expression is answer enough.
“He fucking snapped,” he says after a second, spitting the words out like poison.
“Threw the first punch. I’ll give him this, he hits like he wants the world dead.
The moment I was going to be in a room with him, I was going to fail.
” He stops and takes a sip of his beer, leaning his head back on the chair.
“Hell, I wanted him to punch me, so I could punch him back. I want him to hurt.”
I nod, keeping my face calm. “I’m sorry.” I let the rest trail off, my worry a practiced mask while my mind ticks through images of Matteo’s split knuckles and the cuts I’d seen on his jaw. I never had the chance to ask him what happened.
Conor exhales, hard, staring at the far wall as if he could burn it down. “He’s watching you.”
My head jerks. “What do you mean?”
“Matteo,” he repeats. “He keeps looking at you.”
I shrug. “I’ve never spoken to him beyond class.”
He narrows his eyes. “Then why is he watching you?”
“I don’t know,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Maybe ask him yourself. You watch me close enough, have you seen me talk to him?”
He flinches.
“For someone who’s supposed to shadow my every move, you’re doing a shit job if I’m sneaking off with the enemy?” I add, voice sharp.
He’ll believe it. He hates looking like he failed at the one job they gave him, keeping me from doing something stupid.
Conor stands up, and throws his glass against the wall, which makes me jump, and then he turns around to face me, fire burning in his eyes.
“So, all this is my fucking fault?” He doesn’t shout the words, he screams them.
“You think I’m telling him to watch you, you think when this goes up in fucking flames the finger isn’t going to be pointed at me.
Because I couldn’t fucking babysit you for a fucking year.
” He kicks his chair so hard it hits the wall behind and the arm breaks.
“A fucking year, Aoife. Keep your head down and do nothing. Stay away from the fucking Italians.”
“Don’t you stand there and blame me for whatever deal you’ve made with the Italians,” I snap. “I’m a pawn in this game, a piece of property sold off so the family gets more power. They gave me four years of freedom, and now it’s gone. Stolen.”
My voice cracks. I wipe the tears off my face. “You and the rest of them will always blame me, no matter what happens. So don’t pretend you care about anything but power.”
Conor steps forward and wraps his arms around me, his hand moving slowly across my back.
He exhales hard, shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m still pissed about the trial. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
But he did. And it still burns.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just… get some rest.” I swallow the words I want to say and choose silence instead.
I leave before he sees my hands shaking. When the door shuts, I press my back against it, breath trembling, tears spilling out at last. I’m so tired of holding everything together.
If Matteo has a plan, he needs to start it soon.
Days crawl past, and the war hasn’t ended, it’s only gone quiet.
I never made it to the roof. Matteo’s message came hours after night swallowed Blackstone whole.
Matteo
It’s not safe. Your cousin’s on you like a leash. Don’t come.
Then it disappeared, like it always does. Erased. No trace we ever touched each other’s worlds.
Since then, Conor’s been everywhere.
A ghost. A warden.
His shadow clings heavier than the walls that cage me.
Wherever I go, he’s there, close enough I feel his breath on my neck. Watching. Waiting. Smiling like he already knows how this ends. He wants to catch Matteo looking at me, talking to me, any reason to report back to my father and Uncle Liam. One slip, and I’m gone. Pulled out of school.
Every corridor, every class, his shadow trails me. My cage isn’t gold anymore. It’s flesh and bone, breathing beside me.
“Whatever the Italians are planning, it involves you,” he said earlier, his fingers biting into my wrist as he dragged me from the east wing.
A chess piece. That’s all I am.
I laughed, because the idea is absurd. I’m nobody. A pawn without power. A daughter traded off like livestock to a man old enough to call me his child.
If this were some Italian scheme, what would they win by breaking me? Hurting me wouldn’t wound my family. It wouldn’t touch their empire.
I’m a girl with no voice, no crown, and soon, no name at all.
Still…Conor’s words rot in my head like poison that refuses to fade.
“This school’s different,” he sneered. “The first guy who looks at you twice, and you’re already ready to spread your legs. They play mind games here, Aoife, and you’re losing.”
His voice lingers, bruising the softest parts of me long after he’s gone.
I haven’t seen Matteo in days, but I feel him like a second heartbeat which refuses to die. He’s there in the quiet, in the soft rush of air when I walk too fast, in the places my mind drifts when I’m alone.
That’s the danger.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t stopped fighting.
I tell myself I’m not afraid, but my own breath betrays me too loud, too quick.
The phone in my pocket buzzes. The vibration hits my skin like an electric shock. I pull it out, my hand trembling.
Unknown Number
You’re not as alone as you think.
“Who’s there?” My voice cracks, swallowed by the dark.
Nothing.
Another vibration.
Unknown Number
Be careful, Aoife. They’re watching.
The phone slips from my hand, clattering against the stone.
For one suspended heartbeat, I want to run, but there’s nowhere safe. Not in these walls. Not in this bloodline.
I crouch to grab the phone. That’s when I hear it.
A scrape.
Shoes on stone.
I don’t look back. I don’t breathe. I shove the phone into my pocket and move faster now. Eyes forward. Shoulders tight. My breath comes short and shallow.
My dorm door appears like salvation. I fumble the key, almost dropping it. The lock catches. The door slams shut behind me.
Lock.
Deadbolt.
Breathe.
My forehead rests against the cold wood. The air inside the room feels thicker.