“What was that?” My father’s voice drops, cold and precise.
I meet his stare. “Nothing.”
He leans closer. “Everything we do keeps this family alive. That takes sacrifice. You’re not the first, Aoife. You won’t be the last.”
“Sacrifice?” I let out a broken laugh. “I haven’t even lived.”
Uncle Liam’s voice slices through the air. “Then make the most of the time you’ve got. And don’t fuck it up.”
His words hang in the air, thick as the cigar smoke.
I force a smile that hurts my jaw. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The men stand. Uncle Liam claps my father’s shoulder, smug and sure, and they leave without a glance back.
I might as well be another piece of polished silver, used and set aside.
“Stay here,” my mother says softly, stacking dessert plates with careful hands.
She doesn’t look at me. She never does when it matters.
I stay seated, fingers locked under the table until my nails bite skin.
I hear voices through the walls, they want to build power, and don’t care how.
I move like smoke, silent, toward the study.
A thin crack in the door breathes their heat into the hall.
“…finalize it after the wedding,” Liam says. “Once she’s pregnant, we tighten the noose around the Italians’ necks.”
“She won’t mess this up,” my father growls. “Or we deal with her first.”
My heart slams against my ribs, the sound roaring in my head. I want to scream, but I swallow it down, the taste sharp as glass.
Passing the dining room, I see my mother still there, wiping a spotless table.
There’s no rescue here. Not now. Not ever.
By the time I reach my old room, each step feels like sinking into my own grave.
At my door, Conor steps out of the bathroom. He smiles. I don’t.
“You okay? You look?—”
“Like you care.” I cut him off and reach for my door, but his hand catches my arm.
“Aoife, I’m not the enemy,” he says, voice low. “I’m trying to buy you time. I know you hate this, and maybe you hate me, but I don’t want you—” I try to pull my arm away, but his grip is tight. “Aoife, please?—”
“Save it, Conor. I’m done.”
I yank my arm free, slam the door, and sit on the edge of my bed. The mirror stares back.
I barely know the girl in it. She had plans once. Now she has orders.
Maybe Conor means well. Maybe not. Either way, I’m alone here.
The only time I’m not, is when I’m with Matteo.
