Fake it. Be the perfect actress. That’s what they want.
I take a deep breath and walk in.
The smile I paste on my face fades the moment I see him.
Conor looks like hell. Bandaged across the cheek, lip split open, bruises swelling under his eye. His jaw clenches as he shifts in the chair, arms resting on the sides like he’s trying not to throw it across the room.
“Conor,” I breathe, all softness and concern. “What the hell happened?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just scoffs and shakes his head.
“What trial was it? Who did this to you?”
His voice is low, heavy with rage. “The Italians are going to bleed one day. All of them. And I’ll be the one to do it.”
I take a step closer, tilting my head like I care. “Was it Matteo?” He doesn’t answer, but the storm in his expression is answer enough.
“He fucking snapped,” he says after a second, spitting the words out like poison. “Threw the first punch. I’ll give him this, he hits like he wants the world dead. The moment I was going to be in a room with him, I was going to fail.” He stops and takes a sip of his beer, leaning his head back on the chair. “Hell, I wanted him to punch me, so I could punch him back. I want him to hurt.”
I nod, keeping my face calm. “I’m sorry.” I let the rest trail off, my worry a practiced mask while my mind ticks through images of Matteo’s split knuckles and the cuts I’d seen on his jaw. I never had the chance to ask him what happened.
Conor exhales, hard, staring at the far wall as if he could burn it down. “He’s watching you.”
My head jerks. “What do you mean?”
“Matteo,” he repeats. “He keeps looking at you.”
I shrug. “I’ve never spoken to him beyond class.”
He narrows his eyes. “Then why is he watching you?”
“I don’t know,” I snap, crossing my arms. “Maybe ask him yourself. You watch me close enough, have you seen me talk to him?”
He flinches.
“For someone who’s supposed to shadow my every move, you’re doing a shit job if I’m sneaking off with the enemy?” I add, voice sharp.
He’ll believe it. He hates looking like he failed at the one job they gave him, keeping me from doing something stupid.
Conor stands up, and throws his glass against the wall, which makes me jump, and then he turns around to face me, fire burning in his eyes.
“So, all this is my fucking fault?” He doesn’t shout the words, he screams them. “You think I’m telling him to watch you, you think when this goes up in fucking flames the finger isn’t going to be pointed at me. Because I couldn’t fucking babysit you for a fucking year.” He kicks his chair so hard it hits the wall behind and the arm breaks. “A fucking year, Aoife. Keep your head down and do nothing. Stay away from the fucking Italians.”
“Don’t you stand there and blame me for whatever deal you’ve made with the Italians,” I snap. “I’m a pawn in this game, a piece of property sold off so the family gets more power. They gave me four years of freedom, and now it’s gone. Stolen.”
My voice cracks. I wipe the tears off my face. “You and the rest of them will always blame me, no matter what happens. So don’t pretend you care about anything but power.”
Conor steps forward and wraps his arms around me, his hand moving slowly across my back.
He exhales hard, shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m still pissed about the trial. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
But he did. And it still burns.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just… get some rest.” I swallow the words I want to say and choose silence instead.
I leave before he sees my hands shaking. When the door shuts, I press my back against it, breath trembling, tears spilling out at last. I’m so tired of holding everything together.
If Matteo has a plan, he needs to start it soon.
