Chapter 35
Aoife
Ileave the family room with my pulse still hammering in my throat. The room’s heat clings to my skin like the ghosts of every glare, every question thrown at Matteo.
People always whispered about Matteo’s father. After less than an hour with him, I believe every story.
Rosa waits by the door, arms crossed, unreadable. “You okay?” Not gentle, not unkind.
I nod. Lie. “I’ll go upstairs. Wait for Matteo.”
She steps into my path. “Walk with me.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not.” Her stance doesn’t shift. “I promised him no one would hurt you, that includes yourself and you being in the bedroom you’re going to think about everything and anything to blame yourself.”
I don’t argue. She’d drag me anyway. She’s loyal to the brothers, and they guard her like blood.
We slip into the cool dusk. Messina Manor sprawls behind us marble bones, haunted corridors. Lavender, salt, old stone in the air.
“They’re going to your house,” Rosa says at last. I stop. She keeps walking. “You knew this.”
I swallow. “Yeah.” I knew it would happen, just didn’t think it would be now.
“Messinas don’t make idle threats. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. It’s war prep and you’re the first domino.”
My throat goes dry. “What happens when they get there?”
“That’s up to your family. You think they’ll let this go? You’re not just in Matteo’s bed; you’re in the middle of hatred which has been around for years. Someone’s going to bleed. I wouldn’t bet on them holding back.” She pauses, turns. “You’re not like them. That’s why he sees you.”
I say nothing. Shoes crunch, the conversation pulled taut between us.
“So…” Rosa’s voice comes again, quiet but curious. “You want to know about them, don’t you?”
“The brothers?” I ask, a little surprised, she might tell me something, she smirks.
“You're with Matteo, but at the same time you’re with them too, just not in the same way.”
“I don’t even know what I am anymore.”
“Marco’s the mouth speaks what he wants,” Rosa says.
“But he’s not stupid. He watches everything.
You might think he’s just the charming one, but trust me, he’s sharp as razors.
The Predator of the computer world. Milo, he’s chaos with a heart.
He jokes because if he doesn’t, he’ll drown.
The Reaper with a knife, you will never see him coming. ”
“And Matteo?” Rosa stops, looking out to the horizon. “He’s rage. Rage with chains. He was born with fire in his blood and blood in his teeth. But with you…” she trails off.
“With me what?”
She sighs, deep and tired. “You made him soft. Not weak, don’t mistake me. But quieter. Focused. He hasn’t looked like that since…” She stops talking, and I stand there waiting for her to say something, but nothing.
“Since?”
“Since forever. You… centered him. That’s not nothing in this family.”
I feel something crack in my chest. “I don’t know if I can be enough for him.”
Rosa glances over. Her eyes, for once, are gentle. “Just don’t break him. He’ll already burn the world for you. You better be worth the ashes.”
We sit on a bench; I ask what’s been chewing at me. “How are you so close to them?”
“Uncle Massimo and my dad go back forever. My dad is Uncle Massimo right hand.” She glances at the house.
“Have you ever been with one of them?”
“No.” Fast. A shadow in it.
“They’re protective of you.” Anything to talk about besides my house. The war.
“They are. For a reason. This world gets ugly, Aoife. People get hurt. People die. This is where you choose your loyalty, us or them.”
She stands. I stop her with her name. “I hope they hurt whoever hurt you.”
A small smile, then she goes inside.
I sit there thinking about Rosa’s words.
“They’ll go to your house.”
I knew. Deep down, I’ve always known, but knowing something doesn’t make it hurt less. Doesn’t soften the panic twisting low in my stomach. The Messinas aren’t just thinking about war. They’re planning it, and I might be the match that lights the fucking fuse.
The Messina house is beautiful. A place built on blood and old power. You feel it when you walk in there, fuck I feel it while I’m sitting out here. You hear it in the silence.
I walk back to the house, not sure how long this meeting will last. Closing the door to Matteo’s room behind me and I press my back to it. Exhale.
I walk to the bed and sit on the edge, gripping the soft blanket like it’s a lifeline. The house feels different now, it's heavier. I can hear the echoes from the family room downstairs. Raised voices. The weight of decision. The Messinas don’t yell for drama. They yell to make things happen.
And they’re yelling because of me.
I run a hand through my hair and stare at the darkened window. No stars tonight. Just fog and glass. I catch a faint reflection of myself. Pale. Hollow-eyed. I look like someone who’s been walking through war zones her entire life.
Maybe I have.
I think of Rosa’s voice again. Calm. Cutting. Honest in a way I didn’t expect.
"You think they’ll just let this go, Aoife? You’re not just in Matteo’s bed. You’re in the middle of the family war. One way or another, someone’s going to bleed.
I curl up on the bed and pull the blanket over me. The smell of him is still on the pillow, cigarettes, and something darker I can’t name. A scent like the cliff edge at night. The pull and the fear of falling.
I don’t hear the door, just feel him. “Hey,” I whisper.
He crosses the room, slowly, careful, like I might shatter. Sits beside me. “We’re going to your house,” he says.
The words fall like an axe.
I stop breathing. “What?”
“Grandfather. My father. The family. They’ve decided.”
Cold floods my bones. “Matteo—”
“They need to see you. See what they’re doing. You said they only believe their own mouths. So, we give them one last chance.”
“You think they’ll just talk?”
“No. But we’ll stand there anyway.”
I shake my head, panic sharp. “If you set foot on that property—”
“I’m not afraid of them.”
“Well, I am.” My voice cracks. “They’ll kill you for standing next to me.” He reaches for my hand, I pull back. “I’m not letting you die in their house.”
He leans in, eyes lit. “I didn’t ask you to protect me. I’m not playing savior. I’m doing this because I love you.”
My breath catches.
“If they want to destroy me for it, fine. But they’ll look me in the eye first.” Tears burn. I press my palms to my eyes, he pulls them away. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t cry for them. Not tonight.”
“What if this ends everything?”
His hands cradle my face. “Then let it. I’d rather burn it down than let them own you.”
Silence.
I nod. “When?”
“Thirty minutes.”
I exhale, shaking. “Okay.”
His thumb brushes my cheek. We don’t speak. Two people in the dark, braced for war.
“I love you, too,” I say.
The car is too quiet.
Matteo hasn’t said a word since we crossed the invisible line that separates their territory from mine.
The shift in him was immediate, jaw tight, fingers drumming once against his thigh before going still.
Focused. Controlled. I stare out the window at the long drive winding toward my family’s estate.
Familiar gates. Familiar hatred. The Messinas don’t travel small.
It’s not just Matteo and me. No. The entire family is here.
Three black SUVs behind us. His grandfather rides in the one ahead. I don’t need to see his face to feel the power radiating off of him. Matteo’s father too. Both men who’ve tasted blood and fed it back into the earth.
The plan is simple, walk in, show the O’Briens the storm that’s coming if they don’t back the fuck off. But I know my family. They’ll see this as a declaration. Not a warning. A line crossed.
It is a line crossed.
I don't know what will happen after this.
I press my forehead against the cool window.
Matteo’s hand lands over mine. I glance over at him.
His eyes are calm, but his grip is tight. “Don’t move until I come get you.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Aoife. You stay in the car.”
I nod.
Outside, the gates groan open.
The house rises ahead, stone and fury. I feel my stomach twist. This place raised me. This place wants me dead.
As the convoy comes to a slow halt, I see them.
The engine’s off, but my heart’s racing like it’s about to rip through my chest. I sit frozen, hands clutched in my lap, as the rain taps against the window like a countdown. Outside, black vehicles stretch like a funeral procession against the green of the O’Brien estate.
I can see Marco and Milo already stepping out, suits sharp, face stone. Then Matteo’s father, followed by his grandfather, old-school power wrapped in polished wrath. Matteo’s family doesn’t arrive anywhere quietly. They come like a storm, and right now I’m the lightning rod.
One of the guards for the house steps forward, and I hear Matteo’s father.
“My son’s found his girl,” he says. “It’s time your family heard it from him.”
I swallow the scream clawing at my throat.
The O’Briens are already waiting.
They stand like soldiers before battle, a wall of blood and iron.
Conor is posted at the side, his jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides like he’s moments from snapping.
His eyes catch mine, and for a fleeting second, I see something behind them, guilt, maybe, could even be hate. Uncle Liam is front and center.
Not just standing, staking ground. Feet planted wide, hands behind his back like a general on the brink of execution orders.
His chin is lifted, his lips are pressed together, but his jaw keeps twitching, biting down rage with every breath.
The vein in his neck throbs visibly. His eyes cut through the Messina cars like he could shatter glass with a glare.
My father stands just off Liam’s right shoulder, arms crossed, but his eyes flick to me, not Matteo. Me. And I know what he’s saying without saying a word. You made this mess. Now you stand in it.