Chapter 40
Aoife
Afew days later, and it’s the night of the dance, I’m not looking forward to it, because most of the night will be filled with whispers about me.
The halls of Blackstone have taken on an almost surreal calm, a temporary hush before the velvet chaos of music, secrets, and the shifting of alliances.
I’m in Rosa’s room, her space is different to the guys', it’s warm, laced in the sweet scent of clove and bergamot. Her floor is scattered with heels, hair pins in, dresses draped over every piece of furniture like fallen silks after war.
She sits cross-legged on the bed, braiding strands of her hair with calm precision, while I stare at my own reflection in the mirror, fiddling with the hem of the dress laid out across Rosa’s vanity chair.
“You nervous?” she asks casually, her eyes flicking to mine through the mirror.
“Not about the dress,” I mutter, then glance at the crimson silk. “Though I’m pretty sure the moment I walk through the door, everyone will be staring at me, this dress is beautiful.”
Rosa snorts, which makes me laugh. “Welcome to the Messina standard of fashion.”
We both laugh, because one thing about this family, they make sure they dress in nothing but the best.
It’s the first moment between us which feels like two girls laughing, and not two pieces on opposite ends of a battlefield.
“Is this what it’s always like?” I ask softly, pulling my knees up onto the chair. “The bloodlines, the knives under pillows, the pressure to walk a line you didn’t even draw?”
Rosa’s hands still in her braid. Her voice lowers, something almost nostalgic in it.
“Always. Since before I had boobs, probably, and I’m thankful they taught me how to survive.
There’s always been whispers about who we’d marry, what houses we’d merge, which rivalries would finally crack.
These three have been raised for one thing: rule. ”
I study her for a long second, wondering what she means by saying she’s thankful the family taught her to fight. Then I ask with a sly grin, because I don’t want to ask about what she meant, and ruin the night, “Ever thought about the brothers? In a relationship way, I mean?”
She arches an elegant brow. “That’s bold.”
“Not an answer,” I tease, and she throws a hair pin toward me. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I smirk, and her laughter echoes around the room like an old music box shaking loose.
I grin wider. “Which one?”
Rosa presses a finger to her lips and winks. “A girl keeps her secrets, O’Brien.”
My stomach flutters, not from the teasing, but from how she says my name. Like it’s mine, not theirs.
She turns to face me properly. “How are you really, though?”
I swallow, tugging on the edge of the crimson dress. “I’m taking it one day at a time. Trying to remember who I am without letting their legacy drown me. I just have to hope Matteo doesn’t get bored of me before I figure it out.”
Rosa rolls her eyes and starts laughing again. “The man went to war with his entire bloodline to keep you. His grandmother’s blood was spilled by your family, and still he stood in front of them and said, ‘she’s mine.’”
I go quiet. Let the weight of those words fill the silence.
She’s right, he had to make certain he was one hundred percent sure about me, I shouldn’t be doubting him.
“I don’t know how to be part of all this,” I whisper. “The silk. The blood. The goddamn pressure.”
“You don’t have to be anything,” Rosa says, standing to adjust the strap of my dress. “You just have to be his and let the rest of us deal with the noise. You’re with the future heir of the family, and once you settle you’ll be feared like he is.”
Her touch is gentle, sister-like. Not claiming. Not fake. Friendly.
For the first time since stepping into the lion’s den, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not walking alone.
Not anymore.
Rosa’s eyes wander over my dress as she adjusts one of the straps. “You know, I always thought this school had too much history to ever be beautiful, but damn, you’re making it look like something worth remembering.”
I glance down, her fingers nervously brushing against the silk at my hip. “You think?”
“I know.” Rosa smiles. Her tone is more serious than just a few seconds ago. “You walk in there tonight, and no one’s gonna see a girl torn between two families. They’ll see power. Resilience. A fucking storm in heels.”
I bite my lip, emotions catching in my throat. “Rosa… why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I’ve seen too many girls break here.” Rosa sits on the edge of the bed, facing her. “Too many become pawns or ghosts. You, somehow, you’re surviving, and you haven’t even realized how strong you’ve become.”
I blink rapidly, trying to suppress the tears. “I don’t feel strong, but I know I need to me.”
“Then you’re wrong.” Rosa leans closer. “With Matteo next to you, every day you’ll become strong. Even with Matteo carrying the weight of an entire mafia war, you haven’t run. That’s strength.”
I stare at her for a moment, then softly whisper, “Do you think… it’s worth it? Him and me?”
Rosa sighs, her voice dipping low. “The world’s a battlefield. Love in a place like this is rare. Messy. But if it’s real… yeah, it’s worth it.”
We sit in silence for a beat longer, the night humming outside the window. Then I smirk. “Still not telling me which brother you’re into?”
Rosa only chuckles, standing and tossing her long hair over one shoulder. “Some secrets are worth keeping.” She adjusts the final strap on my dress with a practiced flick of her fingers. “There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “You look like sin wrapped in silk.”
I stare at myself in her full-length mirror, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t see a ghost. I see a girl with fire still left in her chest. The dress clings in all the right places, sleek red, slit up the thigh, off the shoulder.
Rosa insisted I wear her red lipstick. It looks like blood on my mouth. Fitting.
She stands beside me, her own emerald green dress shimmering in the low light, like envy made flesh. Her hair falls in a soft wave down her back.
“I still think you should be the one walking in with a Messina,” I tease her, but she just rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, well, let's see.”
We laugh again, easy, real, and I let myself feel the softness of this moment. The quiet before whatever chaos the night holds.
Then comes the knock.
The door opens before Rosa answers, and all three of them walk in.
Milo enters first, tossing a wink and a playful salute. “Well damn, I don’t know if we’re getting ready to go to war or walk a red carpet.”
Marco follows. “Someone make sure we’ve got a first aid kit. Boys are gonna fall like dominoes.”
Then Matteo steps in… and everything slows.
His eyes hit me like a punch, like a storm swallowing a gasp.
He stops, halfway through the door frame.
The others keep talking, but he doesn't. His gaze drops slowly, from my throat to my hips to the slit in my dress that shows the edge of the knife strapped to my thigh, then back up. I watch the breath leave his lungs.
“You gonna say something?” I murmur, suddenly unsure under his stare.
He moves forward, and the room goes quiet.
“You look…” He shakes his head, like no word he knows will work. “You look like every prayer I’ve never had the right to say out loud.”
Rosa coughs, dramatically. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave before this turns into a porno.”
Milo laughs, Marco makes a gagging noise, wraps his arm over Rosa’s shoulder as they leave, and I watch them for a moment. It’s Marco, she wants.
Matteo doesn't even look at them; he takes my hand. His voice drops. “They’ll be watching you tonight. Every eye in that room will want to know what I see when I look at you.”
“And what do you see?” I whisper.
He leans in, lips brushing the edge of my jaw. “Mine.”
I don’t breathe for a second, just stand there, heart clawing at my ribcage like it’s begging to be closer to him.
“I think we’re gonna be late,” Rosa calls, popping her head back into the room.
Matteo pulls back slightly, his fingers still looped through mine.
“Let them wait,” he says.
I shake my head and lean in closer to give him a kiss. “I don’t think Rosa will like that.”
His lips curl against mine. “Well then I think we need to have some fun tonight.” He kisses me again and takes my hand in his. Then we leave to finally show the school how we are together and that there is no breaking us.
The first thing I hear the moment we step into the hall is the murmurs.
Low, sharp-edged whispers that ripple across the ballroom like a curse. My name. His name. The Messinas. The O’Briens.
And the dress I’m wearing, blood red, like a fucking target.
I move closer to Matteo, and he leans in closer, and whispers. “Chin up, little lamb.”
Matteo’s hand is warm, solid at the small of my back.
His fingers are splayed possessively. The brothers flank us like shadows, Marco smirking, almost like he is waiting for the fight to start, Milo already scanning the room like he’s looking for trouble.
Rosa trails just behind, her dress dark as ink and twice as sharp.
Together, we walk through the arched entrance. With the Messian boys walking like it’s theirs to own.
The chandeliers above flicker like stars on fire. The music is low and throbbing, velvet and violins. Students part for us, some from fear, others from fascination. No one speaks. Not directly.
But the air is thick with comments.
Why is she here?
How did she end up on his arm?
Is she a traitor? A spy? A prize?
I feel eyes everywhere. On my skin. In my lungs.
And yet… I try everything not to fall apart.
Matteo hasn’t taken his hand off me once, and I already know it’s because he can feel my body tensing up. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.