Chapter 46
Aoife
The cold is different today; it’s biting me, warning me, but there is nowhere for me to go. Where can I go? I can’t step foot out of the bedroom, and I have two men in the bedroom at all times. I can’t even go to the bathroom without someone watching me.
They took me right after the final trial.
Dragged me out of Blackstone like I was nothing more than a stain. A mistake.
Every breath and every move I take is watched like I’m some sort of high-risk problem. Even when I close my eyes, I know someone is standing over me. I have no freedom.
I don’t even have that choice anymore.
They’ve taken even that from me.
The room is silent. Only the slow tick of the clock and my own ragged breath fill the space. I sit in front of the mirror, removing my makeup, the wedding make up for the third time. They want me to get married, doesn't mean I have to look the way they want me to.
Then the door creaks. I look into the mirror and see Uncle Liam walking in. His presence makes the shadows crawl up the walls. I freeze where I sit. Out of fear. My father behind him, looking as annoyed and angry as Uncle Liam.
"You were supposed to unite us. Instead, you whored yourself out to a Messina.” My father’s words slap harder than his hand has been hitting me.
But then the real slap comes. Hard. Open-palmed. Across my face. My cheek explodes in pain, but it’s not the pain that breaks me.
My ribs ache where they kicked me last night because I wouldn’t go down for dinner. Father has been the worst out of the two. They can kick me, slap me. I don’t care, I will not walk down the aisle without a fucking fight.
They said I needed reminding of who I belonged to.
But I don’t belong to anyone.
I’m not theirs.
I’m not his.
And if they left me alone, for even five minutes, I’d climb to the highest place I could find.
Because I know Matteo would catch me again, and maybe that’s why they don’t leave me, they know it too.
“Why did you betray us?” My father asks, looking out the window.
“Why did you sell me?” I wipe the blood from my lip, which also stings.
“Because we don’t have to.” Father’s voice comes out with no emotion, like I’m nothing to him. “Put on your dress, and get downstair—”
“No,” I cut him off, something I’ve never done before. Father turns around quickly and grabs my hair and pulls it hard so I look up at him. “You’re hurting me,” I shout, slapping his hands so he lets go of me.
“Now you listen to me.” His other hand grabs my face hard. “I will take you down there kicking and fucking screaming, this is happening, so forget the fucking Italian and do this for your family.”
He pulls my hair for me to stand, and my whole body begins to shake when I see the look in my father’s eyes.
“You have enough bruises for one day. Do you want to ruin the rest of your face?” The question makes me shiver, and it’s even worse when without a word he takes a step back, and smiles.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes, or I’ll come get you.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head as if he actually fucking cares. I fall to my knees and cry because there is nothing else I can do.
It was Uncle Liam who came into my room, forced the dress on me, and dragged me out of my bedroom by my hair.
He wanted to make sure he showed me he had the power.
Threw me in the car, and I was trapped between Conor and my father.
I didn’t even know when Conor got there; he never once came to see me.
He’s a fucking pussy, too scared of Uncle Liam and my father.
His loyalty is with the family; he will do whatever they say, and never say no.
The car stops, and I take a deep breath as my father steps out and I stay where I am. I’m not walking in there, so they might as well start the fight.
Father’s hand clamps around my arm, ripping me from the car. Conor’s shove follows, forcing me to the ground before I can fight back.
The air in the O’Brien church is colder than the wind outside. Heavy with dust and silence. My boots echo against marble, each step being dragged like I’m heading to my own funeral.
Because I am.
I haven’t seen the sun in days.
I haven’t seen him in longer.
I’m trying to stop from walking, but Father is hauling me down the aisle. I’m losing this fight.
My dress is white. My wrists are bare.
There are no flowers. No smiles.
Just shadows.
Uncle Liam stands near the front, speaking in hushed tones to the priest. A stranger priest, one of the Irish allies from the southern circles, not the family priest. My mother stands behind him, staring blankly. She hasn’t said a single word to me.
“Walk,” Conor hisses in my ear. His hand on my elbow is tight enough to bruise. “You’re making this worse than it has to be.”
“I’m not marrying him,” I whisper.
The guests are all men. Power players. Irish enforcers. Allies of Rory’s family. No friends. No family. Just a congregation of war in dress coats.
The candles flicker overhead as they drag me to the altar. Rory stands there in black, not even bothering with a smile. His hand waits at his side like a leash.
I stop three steps before the altar.
“No.”
The priest looks up.
“What was that, girl?”
I straighten. “No.”
Conor’s grip tightens.
“No, no, no—” The word builds like a pulse inside me. “This is wrong. I’m not marrying this man… I’m not marrying anyone. Not today. Not ever.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Uncle Liam snaps, stepping forward. “Your blood belongs to us.”
“I am not property,” I spit. “I am not a pawn. I am not a bride. I am not yours.”
The church is quiet.
The priest sighs, then begins to speak over me anyway. “Dearly beloved, we gather here—”
“No.” My voice cracks. “Please… Someone… Listen to me.”
I tremble, I scream the word “no,” raw and broken and loud enough to echo across the high stained-glass windows.
“No,” I scream again as loud as I can.
And then—
The doors slam open.
The silence implodes like shattered glass.
Boots on marble. A gust of wind. Rage, leather, and blood still drying on his shirt.
Matteo.
He’s here.
Behind him, Marco and Milo. Leo. And Nico.
But it’s Matteo who owns the room.
He stalks down the aisle like the pews owe him a debt. His coat billows behind him like black wings, his fists clenched, jaw carved in stone.
Every eye turns. Every breath holds, and I can’t breathe, because I see it in his eyes.
Murder.
Fire.
He stops halfway down the aisle, eyes locked on Rory.
“No one moves.” His voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be.
Because he is a Messina.
And he has arrived.