Chapter 47
Matteo
The moment the church doors slam open behind me, I feel the entire fucking world stop.
A hush falls like ash.
I see her. In white.
Not her choice.
This isn’t her choice.
Her face is pale, streaked in fresh bruises, mascara smudged from what I know were tears. I see it in her eyes, even from halfway down the aisle.
She thought no one was coming.
But I was always going to come for her.
I take one more step. “I will not spill blood in a church,” I announce, my voice like iron dragged over gravel. “But I will not leave without her.” I know they don’t care if they spill blood in God’s house, they killed my grandmother in cold blood, but it’s not us, it’s not the Italian way.
“You don’t get to make demands in our house,” Liam says, smug from his pew near the altar. “This girl belongs to us. And this wedding—”
“Isn’t fucking happening,” I snap.
Rory shifts closer to Aoife, reaching for her arm like he’s about to play groom and leash in one, but she tries to step away from him, it’s not happening, as Rory pulls her harder.
I raise my gun, point it right between his fucking eyes, and he freezes.
“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll kill you the second you step outside.” There’s a beat of silence so thick I feel it pressing against my lungs.
Then… Gunfire. Chaos.
The first shot doesn’t come from me.
It comes from them. The O’Briens.
So much for sacred fucking ground.
Marble cracks. Candles shatter. Screams echo off the vaulted ceiling.
I duck to the side, pushing Marco down behind a pew as bullets slice past us. Nico already has one of theirs on the ground, a blade drawn from God-knows-where, red dripping down the hilt.
I know he won’t kill anyone in here, but he will make sure they can’t move after he’s finished with them.
Aoife’s screaming.
I see her fall, not shot, but dragged down behind the altar by Conor. No. Not again, they won’t take her again, I just fucking found her.
I rise, fire once, not to kill, but to clear a path, because I meant what I said. There are things I’ll do, and there are things I won’t.
I won’t desecrate a church.
Nico grabs my arm and shouts, “We split up now. Marco, Milo, you take the left flank. We get her out clean.”
“I’m not leaving without her,” I growl.
“She’s your mission,” Nico says, voice like stone. “We’ve got the rest.”
I sprint toward the altar, dodging overturned pews and people diving for cover.
Rory is crouched behind the lectern, sleeve stained with someone else’s blood a small, cowardly trophy.
I stop over him, calm as a guillotine, and let the silence do the work: his hands touch what’s mine, and he will pay.
“You’ll get what's coming, you just get to live a little longer.”
I hear Aoife scream again, and see Conor’s still trying to pull her, she’s fighting.
He stops and shouts something at her, and she tries to punch him but he stops her, but then she knees him in the balls. That’s my girl.
I move quickly toward her before he can reach for her again, just as I get to her, a shot hits my shoulder.
Fuck, the burn hits me hard.
But I won't stop.
“Matteo!” she screams.
“I’m fine.” My hand grabs hers, yanking her into my arms. “We’re getting out. We run.” She nods, and I look behind me at my brothers and Nico, who are clearing the path for us.
Bullets trail behind us.
Sebastian’s voice crackles over the comms in my ear. “Extraction’s outside.”
I kick open the side doors of the church, gun drawn in my other hand, blood dripping down my arm. Aoife’s clinging to me, barefoot, shaking, but alive.
She’s alive. I got her out.
That’s when I hear Nico’s voice behind me, low and furious.
“They fired first,” he says.
“They wanted blood,” Milo says from behind me.
I turn around quickly to make sure Marco is there too. I’m not losing any more family to them. I don’t see him. “Where’s Marco?” I ask looking around worried they have him.
“He was behind me.” Milo looks around.
“Aoife get in the car, Uncle Seb—”
“There he is!” Milo points to the church as Marco runs out, smiling. Asshole.
“Fuck, they wanted to kill us tonight.” Marco laughs as he joins us.
Something we all know, the blood in that church isn’t on our hands; it’s on theirs.
The door splinters open behind us. Shouts rise. Guns are drawn. But I don’t hear any of it, just her breath, ragged in my arms. Just the sound of her heart against mine.
"Move!" Nico shouts behind us, a wall of death in black. "Go. Go!"
She’s barely standing, so I hold her tighter, whispering, “I’ve got you, little lamb. I’ve got you.”
We pile into the armored car. Sebastian’s already behind the wheel. Milo slams the doors shut. Marco covers the rear, barking into the comm. The Irish aren’t following, not yet. Maybe they’re still stunned. Maybe they’re licking their wounds.
“Drive,” I snarl, brushing blood from her lip. “Now.”
“You’re shot—”
“It’s fine,” I cut Aoife off, and place my gun on my leg, as I pull her in closer. Right now, all I want to do is hold her, she’s back in my arms and I want to savor the moment.
“The jet is ready,” Nico tells us, looking at his phone, and the corner of his lip curls up.
The hum of the engine is constant. The cabin is dim. She’s wrapped in a blanket, curled on the leather seat beside me like she’s afraid to breathe too deeply.
My hands haven’t stopped shaking. Not since I got her back. Not since I saw what they did.
Her face is covered in bruises, and I haven’t even seen her body yet, and someone will pay for touching her.
My voice is raw when I finally say, “You shouldn’t be able to smile after that.” She doesn’t. But she doesn’t cry either. “They kept you in a fucking room with no windows, Aoife.”
“I counted the bricks,” she says softly. “Two hundred and forty-seven on the right wall.”
I close my eyes.
Milo’s asleep with his head against the window, jaw bruised. Marco’s pacing by the drinks cart. Nico hasn’t said a word since boarding, he’s seated near the cockpit, hands bloodstained, staring at nothing.
“You came,” she whispers.
My chest cracks open. “Of course I came.”
Her lashes flutter. Her hand reaches for mine.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you more.”
As the jet wheels down onto Blackstone Hollow’s private runway, the storm clouds part above us, just slightly. Like the world’s holding its breath.
My phone buzzes once.
Grandfather
We’ll be waiting.
I look at her, as I can feel her watching me.
“We’re not safe yet,” I murmur. “You are not leaving my side.” I lean in closer and give her a kiss.
She nods, but I see it in her eyes, what they stole from her. What I couldn’t protect.
But I will now.
I’ll burn down the entire fucking world before I let them take her again.
The moment we pass through the wrought-iron gates of the Messina estate, silence grips the armored car like a noose. Not a word spoken. Not a breath dared.
Everyone’s waiting.
Lights blaze across the courtyard like a stage set for judgment.
As we step out, Aoife clutches my jacket tighter. She’s wrapped in a soft wool coat, but nothing can hide the damage beneath, the bruises, the limp in her step, the tremble in her hands. She walks beside me anyway.
Marco and Milo stay close. Nico’s a few steps behind us, a silent shadow with a predator’s calm.
The front doors open before we knock.
Grandfather stands in the entryway. Suit pristine. Cigar glowing. His eyes fall on Aoife first, on the cuts, the swelling, and for once, the old man falters.
“What did they do to you, bambina?” he asks, voice not sharp, but quiet. Too quiet.
She doesn’t answer. I think she’s still not sure how to be with the family, but she will learn.
“Inside,” he says, stepping aside. “All of you.”
We follow him into the grand hall. The room is full, our extended family packed like wolves in a den. Camilla and Luca. The twins. Uncles from Hollow Coast. Even Anna stands near the back, hands clenched, but she smiles the moment Nico wraps his arms around her.
My mother’s by the hearth. She gasps when she sees Aoife.
My father sits in the high-backed chair. His fists are on the armrests. Jaw locked.
“We saw the footage,” he says. “We saw what they did. That was an ambush.”
“They fired the first bullet,” Nico adds, stepping beside me.
My gaze seeks my mother straightaway. I need her to believe us, that we never shot first. She nods, and I look back over at Father and Grandfather.
“That church,” Grandfather says, stepping forward. “They’ve signed their death warrant.”
“You are not at school until this is finished. We don’t know when they will attack. They already did once at school. I won't let it happen again,” Father tells us, and the three of us nod.
I take Aoife’s hand as it begins shaking, to let her know she’s not alone; she's in a house now, where everyone will protect her.
“They will come, and we will be ready.” I’m the only one talking now, and everyone in the room nods.