Chapter 36
Matteo
Monday morning bleeds in the cold through the windows. Not sunlight, just light. Pale and gray like smoke. My jacket hangs heavy on my shoulders, lined with yesterday’s tension and today’s dread.
Grandfather’s voice cuts through the low murmurs of the main hall. “Boys.”
The three of us turn in unison.
He doesn’t speak again until Father joins him. “Watch your backs,” Grandfather says first. No fluff. No metaphor. Just the warning of a man who’s survived five decades of blood feuds. “We don’t know when they’ll come or who they’ll send.”
Father’s jaw tightens beside him. His hands are behind his back, the same posture he used to wear in church, or just before he shot someone. “The O’Briens aren’t fools but they’re desperate. That’s worse.”
My mouth’s dry, I nod once, but something festers in my gut. Fury. Guilt. Her.
Last night replays in my mind in snapshots, glass in fists, maps stretched across tables, names barked into phone lines. The Messina men gathered like lions after dusk. My uncles were arguing over which ports to lock down.
“War isn’t coming,” he said. “It’s already here. We just didn’t hear the first shot.”
And Aoife… fuck.
The way she stood there, telling them everything. Her voice kept shaking, she stopped a few times, because the words were too hard for her to say.
PREGNANCY INITIATIVE. TERMINATION PLAN. Property. Targets. Her name, spelled out in ink and soaked in blood.
It was then I knew there was no going back for her, she was going to be part of this family, no matter what.
I light a cigarette now, hands steady even if my chest feels like it’s breaking open. Marco swipes it from my mouth before I take a second drag. “You alright?” He asks.
“No,” I answer honestly.
Milo exhales, shoving his hands into his coat. “We’re marching straight into enemy territory.”
No one says anything, because they all need to know this school is ours, not theirs.
Father steps closer, his eyes razor-sharp on mine. “If anything happens at Blackstone, if they so much as breathe wrong in your direction, don’t wait for permission. Don’t ask for peace. Strike.”
I nod once. He looks at my brothers next. “You two. With him. Always. Got it?”
“Always,” they echo.
The car is waiting, Rosa’s already inside, her eyes hidden behind dark lenses, probably reading through the school's gossip page.
Grandfather steps forward just as I turn.
“Matteo.” I pause. “I’ve seen you angry. I’ve seen you dangerous. But this…” he levels his stare, hard and cold, “this will test your soul.”
I nod again; the test isn’t about killing. It’s about control, about standing in the halls of Blackstone while the world plans your death and pretending not to flinch.
Aoife doesn’t know I didn’t sleep last night, that I sat outside with a gun in my lap just in case they wanted to strike.
Now I know they won’t be stupid enough to attack our house, but my mind was on overdrive.
I’m still thinking about the way she looked when she whispered, “They were going to make it look like you killed me.”
Aoife stands by the car first, arms crossed over her chest, her uniform looking cute on her. She has my sweatshirt over her shirt at the moment, and she looks like she wants to disappear into it or maybe she's bracing for something that hasn’t hit yet.
Grandfather is the first to approach her. No smile. No expression, just eyes like razors and a voice that always sounds like God’s final word.
“You were brave,” he says, quiet but cutting. “But now comes the part which matters. Loyalty. Action. Silence when needed. Fire when required.”
Aoife’s throat moves. She nods, barely. I know my grandfather and father scare her. I know even though they said they’re okay with me and her being together they’re waiting to see if her loyalty is with me or is this a game to her.
He studies her a moment longer, then turns to me. “You bring her back in one piece. If she bleeds, you bleed first. Capisce?”
I nod. “Capisce.”
He walks off. No goodbye. He never says goodbye.
Then silence again until Father steps forward.
I stiffen. So does Aoife.
He doesn’t look at her. Not at first, just lights a cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy instead of reaching for a gun or punching something.
Then his eyes cut to her. “If you're going to wear the Messina name around your neck, you better learn how to carry it,” he says, like he’s still not sure he won’t gut me for choosing her.
Aoife, to her credit, doesn’t flinch. “And if you break my son…” he exhales smoke.
“I’ll finish what the O’Briens started.”
“Understood,” she says softly.
His stare lingers then he walks away without another word.
I open the car door for her, and for a moment, there is no noise.
Just the quiet before a storm that’s ready to come.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She doesn’t nod. She doesn’t speak, just gets in the car.
I step into the car. Blackstone is waiting and I’m walking straight into the fire, with my brothers at my side, and a war behind my eyes.
The second our boots hit Blackstone stone, the air changes.
The school knows.
The bones of this gothic monster hum with whispers we haven’t heard yet.
The car door slams behind, echoing louder than it should. Aoife’s standing just ahead, head low beneath her hoodie, hood pulled up like it can protect her from the storm that’s about to break.
There is no hiding now.
I walk up beside her, and I’m about to show the world she’s mine. I take her hand in mine, and it’s so tense, she’s scared and I don’t blame her, but I’m here, and there is nothing I won't do to protect her.
Marco pulls his collar higher. “We’re being watched.”
“No shit,” I mutter, already feeling the heat of a dozen eyes drilling into the side of my skull.
Students linger under the arches. Phones are out already taking their pictures. Some whisper, some stare too long before pretending they weren’t. I see the Irish girls grouped by the wall, some laughing with a sharpness that means nothing good.
Rosa slides between us, holding her phone out. No words. Just the screen.
GOSSIP | NEW DROP
?? "Power shift? The Italian prince and the Irish pawn were spotted coming back together from the weekend. The car didn’t lie. The storm’s not coming, it’s here."
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“The girl’s a dead lamb walking. Someone tell her not all wolves wear leather.”
A vein in my jaw twitches. “How long has that been up?”
“Two minutes.” Rosa’s voice is cool, but her eyes aren’t. She’s scanning the grounds like she’s already making a hit list. “It’s spreading.”
Next to me, Aoife stiffens, her knuckles are white where they’re clutching her bag strap.
“They’re coming for her already,” Milo mutters beside me, arms crossed tight.
Marco exhales slowly, then grits out, “You sure she’s safe in the dorms?”
“No,” I answer. “If we're not with her she’s going to be in danger.” Even when we win this war, she’ll always be in danger at this school, and even out there in the world.
She’s betrayed her family, things like that don’t just settle overnight.
Fuck, not even after centuries. Families remember, they always do.
“Then she stays with us.” Marco doesn’t even look at her as he says it, like it’s not even a debate.
Rosa taps her nail against her screen. “And the Irish?”
“They’re stirring,” I say low. “I can feel it in my fucking teeth.”
Aoife shifts beside me, I glance down. Her eyes are locked on the screen.
I lean closer. “You stay close. Don’t leave a room without one of us. Got it?”
She nods once, tight. “They’re going to make this hell for me.”
“They already tried,” I murmur back. “And you’re still breathing.”
She flinches at that and I hate that I said it, but it’s true.
The moment I stepped foot in the gravel of the training ground, I knew something was off.
It’s not just the whispers anymore. It’s the way the space parts when I walk into it.
My brothers have stayed by my side, showing everyone we are one unit, Rosa flanks us, arms crossed, sunglasses on even though we’re underground.
And straight ahead, the Irish.
Conor O’Brien’s standing at the center of them like a fucking statue carved out of family pride. Arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he’s already decided what my blood would look like splattered across the floor.
His cousins Finn and Ronan are beside him, their faces are tight, their smiles are fake. The O’Briens aren’t here to train, they’re here to threaten, and I’m not here to back down.
Walking to the center, my brothers behind me, I smile as I stop in front of him.
“You should’ve stayed in your lane, Messina.” Conor’s voice cuts the air before I even speak. “But you wanted to play with things that don’t belong to you.”
“You mean your cousin?” I say, voice calm. “She doesn’t belong to you either.”
His jaw tightens.
Milo chuckles under his breath. “Here we go.”
“You don’t get to touch her.” Conor takes a step forward. “You don’t get to breathe the same air as her.”
“Funny,” I murmur. “She seems to like the air I breathe just fine.”
Rosa mutters, “Oh, shit.”
Conor’s fist twitches and it makes me smile.
“I see the posts,” he hisses. “Everyone does, and when she dies because of you—”
I move before I think. A blur of red behind my eyes. I don’t hit him, but I grab the front of his shirt and slam him back against the training post hard enough the metal groans.
“You speak of her death again,” I growl low into his face. “And I’ll make it a prophecy, for you.”
He shoves me, teeth bared. “You think this is love? This is war, you fucking idiot.”
Behind us, trainers start yelling. Students are moving away, because they know what’s happening.
Marco steps forward, fists up. Milo’s eyes are wild, waiting for the first real blow.
“Matteo!” a voice roars, Leo’s. The man himself stalks into the ground, fury etched across his face. “Step. Back.”
I freeze, chest heaving.
So does Conor.
Leo steps between us, eyes full of storm. “If you want to fight, I’ll give you both a sanctioned match. But right now? You touch each other again, and I’ll drop you both from training and send you back to your families wrapped in shame.”
“Sounds familiar,” Conor snaps.
“Enough,” Leo barks.
I drop my hands, back up slowly. Marco steps in, hands still raised but watching me. Milo finally exhales.
I don’t say anything. I look past Leo, to the crowd. To the girl on the stairs. Aoife.
Her eyes are locked on mine, wide and unreadable.
Conor turns too. Sees her and something flickers on his face, something which makes me want to punch him anyway.
“She’s going to die if she stays near you,” he whispers like a fucking curse.
“No,” I whisper back. “She’ll live. That’s the difference between you and me.”
Leo turns to bark orders at the trainers, and I walk away because if I don’t, I’m going to kill someone before this trial is over. I have one more trial, and we’ve heard nothing about it. It’s a waiting game, and I’m losing my patience.