I walk into the low light and drop onto the step beside them.
“Miss me?” I flick ash onto the stone.
“Only when silence gets boring.” Marco grins.
“Only when it’s time for damage control.” Milo smirks. “What’s with your hands?” He nods at the blood on my knuckles.
I roll the ring on my thumb, adjust the others, stare at the trees. “Haven’t hit anything in a while. Found a tree that pissed me off.”
They both laugh.
“It didn't take long for your temper to show,” Marco says.
I chuckle.
If they knew what set me off they’d laugh. Sometimes it’s for something stupid, like losing an Xbox game, not getting the last cookie. But other times it’s bigger: Aoife, Mom favoring Milo, old injuries that never heal.
The three of us sit in silence for a beat, watching the academy lights flicker above. The weight of legacy presses down.
“There they are.” A voice slices the dark. Santino, a cousin from my grandmother's side.
He approaches, flanked by two thick-jawed stooges. He looks cleaner than usual, collar open, rings flashing like he’s posing for a gunrunner family portrait.
“Practicing your Sunday toast?” My question makes Marco chuckle, and I grin.
He’s the talker, the others do business. “Nah,” Santino says, smirking. “Just making sure the legend lives.” He points to each of us in turn. “The rager: Matteo, our wrecking ball, more blood on his hands than most here have in their bodies. Marco, the cyber reaper; he can erase a life before you log in. Milo, the predator, gets any girl, kills like he’s painting.”
I exhale smoke and smile just enough. “You forgot the part where we’re humble.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Santino says, and a laughter breaks between us.
Santino leans. “People are talking… staff, students. They know who you are. Half of them are already scared and you haven’t stepped into class yet.”
“We like to make an impression.” Milo shrugs.
“An empire,” Marco adds.
Santino grins. “Don’t burn it down before midterms.” He peels off with a two-finger salute, his boys follow.
Once he’s gone, the silence deepens, heavy, but not uncomfortable. Being around these two I know I’m never in danger, it’s always so simple between us.
“He’s not wrong,” Marco says.
“This place is ours,” Milo adds.
“When a Messina walks in, the air shifts,” I say, flicking my cigarette into gravel. “Aunt Camilla’s kids arrive soon. Uncle Luca’s after them. The place will smell Messina for years.” I turn to them both and ask, “Rosa settled?”
“Uncle Sebastian triple-checked, her room dead center between ours. Boxed in like a vault.” Milo shakes his head, more annoyed Uncle Sebastian doesn't trust us to look after her.
“She needs to be,” I say.
“She is,” Milo says. “She’s safe.”
Three rooms, me at one end, Marco at the other, Rosa in the middle, Milo opposite. Formation. Fortress. Not everyone gets private rooms. We’re Messina, we take.
I lean back on the stone and stare up at the tower.
Then she hits me, Aoife. The cliff, the wind, the silence before a fall. Her face when I caught her. That look, I can’t escape it.
