Chapter 38
Matteo
Morning light filters through the blinds. I’m already awake, I didn’t sleep much. Aoife’s warmth beside me steadies me, her breath soft against my chest. For a moment, I let myself believe it can be this easy.
The door bursts open. I don’t need to look to know who it is. “Knock?” I mutter.
“We’ve seen you naked, Matteo,” Marco says with a grin. “But this is cruel.” He points at the bed.
Milo smirks. “You’re that bad in bed she didn’t want you this morning?” Marco laughs. Aoife stirs under my arm.
“Fuck off,” I groan, not even opening my eyes.
Their laughter fills the room. It doesn’t bother me, this is normal. I’d take them being assholes over silence any day.
I get up, grab a shirt from the table, and toss it to Aoife. “Here,” I whisper. Her hand drifts over my chest as she wakes. “Did you talk to Rosa?”
Marco shrugs. “She’s not talking. We’re not pushing.” Of course he isn’t. Wimp.
I light a cigarette and watch Aoife disappear into the bathroom. Silence settles. Another day, another waiting game. We don’t know who they’ll come for her or me.
“Watch her. I’ll talk to Rosa.”
They nod.
Rosa’s room sits between mine and Marco’s. Milo’s is across the hall. I don’t knock. I walk in.
The door clicks behind me, drowned out by her too-loud music. The room smells like her vanilla and flowers and it hits me before I even see her. She’s at the window, legs tucked under her, arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together.
“Hey,” I say softly. Not Matteo the bastard. Just me. The friend.
She doesn’t turn. “You don’t knock now?”
“Nineteen years,” I say, moving closer. “You think a door’s going to stop me talking to you?”
She exhales, humor slipping through. “Maybe it should.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, trying to catch her reflection. “You gonna talk, or are we doing the silent movie thing?”
“Talk about what?” Her tone’s cold. Clipped.
“Aoife.”
Her posture cracks, the kind you only notice when you know someone’s weight when they break.
“You said you liked her,” I press. “So, what’s this?”
She turns, eyes sharp. “I do like her. That’s the problem.”
That hits harder than I thought it would, but it also confuses the hell out of me.
“You liking someone has never been a problem before,” I say.
“She’s going to get you killed.”
I blink. “What?” I ask as soon as she finishes the sentence because that’s not what I was thinking.
Her voice stays calm. Too calm. “You think they’ll let this slide? You think you get to have her and we walk out untouched? You lit the match in the powder room, Matteo, and I can’t breathe knowing when it blows, it’ll be you.”
I feel the air leave my chest. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say, voice quiet. “I tried to walk away.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” I look her dead in the eyes. “Because, I saw her on the rooftop, Rosa. If I’d walked away, I’d have pushed her myself.”
Her lip trembles, just for a second. “So now you’ve made it your job to save her?”
“No. I made it my job to not be the reason she breaks, plus I know no matter what she's mine.”
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me. Still, scared, and hiding behind the wall she’s built since we were fifteen.
“You’re my best friend,” I say. “My shadow and my sword since we could walk. Don’t make me choose, Rosa.” I pause, swallowing. “Don’t make me choose.”
She finally looks down. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You think I don’t know what this could cost us?
What it could cost me?” I step closer. “But you think I’d pick someone who wasn’t worth it?
” Silence. “I don’t want to lose you, Rosa.
I don’t want to be in the middle. I want you by my side, because this girl, she’s not just a distraction.
She’s already in this with us. I didn’t plan it, but now it’s too late. I want her and I want you to like her.”
“I do.”
“Rosa, we both know in this life I could marry an Italian girl, and families could still come for us. You know that.” She should she’s been through fucking hell because of this family, if anyone knows it’s her. “Rosa, this is our life, but I need you next to me too.”
She wipes her cheek, annoyed at herself for crying. “Fuck you, Matteo.”
I smirk. “You’re crying.”
“I’m mad. It’s different.”
“Still tears.”
“Shut up.”
I grin, and when she finally stands, she punches my shoulder like we’re back in the school yard. “She hurts you, I’ll kill her.”
“If I fuck this up, you can kill me,” I tell her, making her laugh.
Rosa stares. “You really love her, don’t you?”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
She sighs. “Well, shit. I suppose I can have a girlfriend for a change,” She jokes. She’s never had a girl as a friend, it’s always been us three, and even now we’re even more protective over her, so anyone she talks to, goes through us first.
I sling an arm around her shoulder as we head back. I stop short, Milo’s on top of Aoife, pinning her hands.
“Do I need to ask?” I question. Rosa walks over to Marco and sits next to him.
Milo rises and helps Aoife to her feet. “I was teaching her knife skills,” he says. “She’s hopeless.” He turns to Aoife, smiles and says, “I’ll take over. Your boyfriend only understands fists.” I shake my head at him as I sit on the edge of the bed, Aoife following a moment later.
For the first time since this started, I feel peace.
In this room my brothers, my sister, my girl, nothing can touch us.
But the second we step outside, thunder waits.
We step out of class into slanted Blackstone light. She’s quiet, shoulders tight, steps a little too fast like she’s trying to outrun the stares.
We head to the cafeteria, and I spot Marco and Rosa already seated. They’re laughing about something, Rosa’s phone angled between them, reaching the table, Rosa smiles at us.
“You two are the talk of the school,” Rosa says as we sit. Aoife tenses beside me, wire-tight. “They’re calling you Blackstone’s it couple. No rivals yet.”
Aoife doesn’t respond. Conor’s with the Irish, watching like he’s memorizing our moves.
I lean closer to her. “You’re Messina now,” I murmur, low and meant only for her ears. “You should walk with your head held high.”
She doesn’t lift it, but she will.
More murmurs float around us. Some are admiring. Others are venomous.
“Fucking traitor.”
“He’s so hot.”
“They look cute together.”
“Slumming it with the Italians.”
“Wonder what she traded for protection.”
My fists clench beneath the table. One wrong look, one more fucking word, and I’ll have someone’s teeth buried in the wall.
“So…” Rosa flips her phone. “Blackstone Fall Dance. Next week.”
Aoife blinks. “There’s a dance?”
“Yep. You two are going. No backing out,” Rosa tells her.
“You’re acting like I'm hiding from a fight,” I tell her, smirking.
“You don’t,” Marco says with a shrug. “But our little lamb does.”
Aoife glances at Marco, then stares at her hands, no argument.
I lace my fingers with hers.
“You don’t fight alone anymore,” I tell her.
She tries to eat, her fingers picking at the edge of a bread roll, but she doesn't even bring it to her lips. Her head is down again, and fuck me, that does something ugly to my chest. I need to make her toughen up and show everyone she’s not scared.
Rosa nudges Marco and tilts his head toward her phone, lips twisted in amusement. “They’ve made a new betting pool. Odds on whether she lasts the month. Whether Matteo puts a ring on it before graduation. Or”—she raises a brow—“kills for her.”
Milo snorted. “Those odds are shit. He’d kill for her without blinking.”
Aoife swallows, cheeks flushing, but not from flattery, from fear.
“Who runs this blog again?” I ask, eyes narrowing as they sweep the room. “Because next time they post something about her, I’ll run them out of Blackstone.”
“You can’t silence everyone, Matteo,” Aoife murmurs beside me.
“No,” I say. “But I can make them whisper somewhere else.”
Rosa’s smile fades. “They’re afraid of you. They want her to be afraid too.”
Aoife’s voice is soft but clean. “They don’t have to try. I am.”
“Of what?” I ask.
“Everything. My family. The attack.”
“It’ll come,” I say. “And I’ll be there.” I kiss her cheek, she leans in. “And you need to start standing up straight, head held high. You’re not just anyone girl, you’re with me now, and I’m going to town this whole town, and I need you to be strong next to me.”
“We’ve got you,” Marco adds. Milo and Rosa nod. “So do the others.”
Her shoulders loosen, barely. It’s still anyone’s game.
Marco’s fists meet mine in rhythm, sharp, fast, punishing drills that have us both grunting under the pressure. My shoulders scream. My knuckles are raw. I welcome the pain.
Across the mats, I see Milo coaching Aoife. He adjusts her grip, taps her inner elbow, and shifts her stance with the ease of someone born to shape weapons out of people. She rolls her eyes at something he says. He grins, even as her blade nearly slices the air an inch from his throat.
But I can feel her tension from across the room, tightened shoulders, fingers curled just a second too long, her chest rising like she’s suffocating inside her own skin.
She’s cracking.
Then I see Leo entering.
His boots slam the floor in clean, measured strikes that break the rhythm of training. All eyes snap to him, as the other trainers stand next to him.
He stops at the center of the mats. Rainwater drips from the hem of his coat. He’s not smiling.
“Five families began this,” he says, voice low, ancient. “Only three remain.”
I stand straighter, as he tells us which families have made it.
The Russians.
The Triad.
The Italians.
I feel the shift ripple through the room. A tightening of jaws. A flex of fingers around weapons. Everyone knows what’s coming. Everyone feels it in their spine.
“Final trial,” Leo says. “The Trial of the Ring. One name will be drawn from each family. The named family gets to choose its fighter against the opponent. No weapons. No mercy. Win, the ring is yours. Lose, your family loses everything.”
My heart hammers once. Twice.
Milo leans into me and mutters, “You know who it’ll be.”
“I fucking hope so,” I whisper back, jaw tight.
I step forward before Leo calls my name.
Conor watches me from across the mat. Stiff. Storm-eyed. Aoife is with my brothers, small, pale, still. Her eyes flicker to me, wide, terrified.
She knows what I want.
I stop in front of Leo; he holds the bag out like a king offering fate.
My fingers slide in; I pull the slip. Warm from the cloth. Heavy from the weight.
I don’t read it. I don’t need to.
I pass it to Leo.
His eyes flick down. Then up.
“The Irish.”
Silence. Then Milo laughs, gasoline catching.
I bow to Conor, slow and mocking.
I find Aoife and wink.
I walk back to my brothers, to her.
Whispers spread like rot. “She’s one of them, traitor blood.”
I stop.
A sharp, deliberate halt like the crack of a whip.
Boots grind against stone. Aoife’s eyes flick to mine, but I’m already turning. Already feeling the fucking heat rising through my spine.
The room goes quiet. Laughter? Dead. Whispers? Sliced in half.
All eyes on me.
Good.
I take a step forward, slowly scanning the line of vultures. Eyes shift. Some drop their gaze. Others freeze like they’ve been turned to stone.
“If anyone’s got something to say,” I call, my voice cutting through the silence like the crack of a gunshot. “Don’t whisper it behind my back like a coward.”
I keep walking, straight toward the cluster of students who’ve been buzzing with venom since we walked in. My voice gets lower. More dangerous.
“Come say it to my fucking face.”
I see the flinch. One guy tries to look tough, but his lips twitch like fear’s already curling there.
“If you’re man enough to insult her in the shadows,” I growl, “you better be man enough to take the consequence.”
Still, no one speaks. I lift my arm, finger pointed like a weapon toward Aoife.
“She’s mine,” I snarl, voice like thunder rolling in. “And if one more person utters her name with filth on their tongue, I don’t care who you are, who your daddy is, what family you crawl back to—” I take another step. “—I’ll break your fucking face.”
No one moves. Not even a breath dares stir.
“I was born into this war. Raised for it. You think I won’t bleed for her?” A thick pause hangs in the air like the blade of a guillotine. I look each of them in the eye, daring them, every person who is training tonight.
“I fucking dare you to try me.”
And then, just a slow exhale from the crowd. Subtle, collective.
But no one moves.
I turn to Aoife, her eyes are wide, her lips parted like she doesn’t know what just hit the air. Walking back to her, and not giving her the chance to say anything, I grab the back of her neck and kiss her hard, making sure everyone sees. They will all know no one talks about my girl.
Pulling away from her, I wink and smile. “Don’t fear them, show them what we are together. Jump with me, little lamb.”
I feel her hands move to the back of my neck, and she smiles then kisses me again.
Looks like my little lamb is ready to dance with the wolves.