Chapter 41 #2
Black cars line the Academy’s front gates like a funeral procession dressed in matte black suits and red-laced vengeance. The Messina crest stamped into steel. The air smells like storm clouds and blood. Even the wind hesitates.
I stand there, jaw clenched, waist still bandaged beneath my uniform.
I told them not to come.
They came anyway.
Because that’s what Messinas do when someone attacks us, and spills the first blood, now they will pay.
Marco stands beside me, eyes flicking to every shadow like he’s waiting for a bullet that never comes. Milo’s knuckles are cracked from punching a concrete wall this morning just to keep from driving to the O’Briens alone.
“You told them not to wear the sigils,” I mutter.
“I told them,” Marco replies. “They wore them anyway.”
Every suit walking up the marble steps has the black crest stitched over their heart. No subtlety. No apology.
Then comes the silence. The courtyard empties like rats fleeing a ship that’s caught on fire. Students, professors, staff, all disappear into stone archways.
Only Leo remains, standing on the steps like a sentinel.
The car doors open.
My grandfather steps out first. A king without a crown but with war in his bones. He lights a cigarette like it’s a declaration of war. My father follows. Sunglasses. Black shirt. Hands behind his back. Every inch of him is fury in a tailored suit.
Behind them? The uncles. My cousins. Even Uncle Lorenzo from the Hollow Coast. The man makes death look like opera. The Alessia family have a name here too, and the stories are some of the best I’ve heard.
They walk in formation, like wolves that already smell the kill.
Grandfather’s eyes land on me first. “You look like shit.”
“Still standing,” I say, flicking my cigarette away. “Didn’t think you’d actually bring the entire southern quarter.”
“They stabbed you at school,” my father growls. “The Irish declared open war inside neutral ground. That’s not a move we ignore. That’s a move we bury them for.”
Leo approaches, hands up. “This is still an institution. You can’t bring guns onto campus—”
“We already have,” Grandfather cuts him off. “Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not here.”
My lips curl up into a smile at my grandfather's words. This man is a fucking legend.
Leo sighs. “You’ll get me fired.”
“You’ll get a promotion when we clean the filth out of your halls.”
God help whoever tries to stop them.
Marco joins me at my side, whispering, “They’re here to make noise. This isn’t about diplomacy.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “It’s about dominance.”
I step forward, blocking the path toward the dorms. “Let me deal with Conor. We’re still on Academy grounds. I’ll do it in the ring.”
Grandfather snorts. “We didn’t come for Conor. We came for his father. If the Irish want to play ancient games, we’ll burn their old gods with them.”
My stomach twists.
They’re not here just to make a scene.
They’re here to finish what the Irish started.
Leo looks at me, panic in his eyes. “Matteo, the headmaster is waiting for you.”
I take a deep breath, turn around and follow him into what feels like round one of the fight.
The air is carved from steel. Silent. Pressurized. Unforgiving.
Boots echo like war drums as we enter the Headmaster’s Hall.
My grandfather walks ahead, shoulders squared, the scent of smoke and iron trailing behind him like prophecy.
My father follows him, jaw carved from granite and rage hiding behind his cold eyes.
Marco, Milo, and I walk behind them, Messina steel sharpened for war.
The rest of the family follows, now I don’t need everyone here, but this also shows we have a lot more power than any other family here.
The Irish are already here. Do they think being in the room first shows they have power? It doesn’t.
Liam stands front and center, chin raised, as if the blood on his hands is perfume and not history. Conor lingers at his side, arms crossed, his lip curling when he sees me. Behind them, their family fills out the space in thick lines, all suits, old scars, and matching contempt.
The Headmaster stands between us, but no one is looking at him.
This isn’t his hall anymore.
“Messina,” Liam is the first to talk, a slow nod, like he’s acknowledging death, not people.
“Liam,” Grandfather replies. His voice is colder than stone, harder than the earth. “Say what you need to say before I forget why I walked into this room.”
Liam’s smile is thin. “There’s talk your grandson is courting something he doesn’t understand.”
“I understand betrayal.” I step forward, the weight of my brothers on either side of me. “I understand blades dipped in poison. I understand threats made through shadows.”
“The blade came from your camp,” my father adds, voice dark with authority. “And it nearly cost us one of ours.”
Liam’s jaw twitches. “Accusations from grieving boys.”
“You’ll be grieving if you speak again,” Grandfather says flatly. The room drops in temperature. “Let’s skip the part where we pretend this isn’t an assassination attempt.”
“You brought the war when you brought her into your house,” Liam seethes.
“She has a name, and you need to ask your son who saved her,” I roar, motioning to myself. “I saved her.”
The Headmaster finally steps forward. “Enough. This is a school, not a battlefield.”
“It was a school,” my father replies. “Now it’s where we’ll draw the line.”
A beat of silence passes.
“I assume you know what comes next,” Grandfather says.
Liam nods once. “The Ring Fight.”
“Have you chosen your fighter?” my father asks.
“We already have,” Conor takes a step closer to us. “And he’s already tasted Italian blood.”
My chest burns. I feel the wound pulse beneath my shirt. I’m getting weak again. This shit isn’t coming out of my body; it’s making me weaker.
Grandfather takes a step forward closing the gap between them. “Because your family is scared and attacked my grandson, the fight will be in ten days—”
“We didn’t—”
“Stop the bullshit, we know you did it,” my grandfather shouts, and I smile when his hands slams into Liam’s chest.
Liam laughs, and looks over at me, before turning to my father and grandfather. “Ten days, make the most of your son, he might not be able to walk on the eleventh.”
Without another word the Irish walk out. As Conor follows, his shoulder hits mine and he whispers. “Have the hallucinations started yet?”
Which only makes me laugh, I knew it was them. I’m mostly laughing through the fucking pain. Grandfather tells the Headmaster to leave, and he leaves.
“How much poison do you think is still in his system?” Father asks Leo, who looks at me.
“Don’t know. But for him to fight he needs it out, and he needs to train.” I pull out a chair to sit down, because I’ve used all the energy in my body. My eyes are getting heavy, and I can’t focus.
I need to sleep, that’s what I need. But most of all I need to recover fast. “Sweat it out, pee it out, take any antidote. I don’t care.
The man you're fighting will find every weakness you have.” Grandfather turns to face me, and I nod because Leo’s worried about this man, and Grandfather doesn't look very pleased about it either.
Who the hell is this guy?
“We’ve taught Matteo to fight. People fear him and his fist. I’m not worried.” Father looks at me and smiles; he has faith I can win.
“I know he will, but he needs you fully fit, Leo get him ready.” I hear Grandfather's voice, as I close my eyes, listening to the plan they’re coming up with for getting me ready, and a plan for the fight.
It’s going to be a show for everyone, but it’s one I don’t plan on losing.