Even training felt like punishment today, every strike, every breath, cutting deeper.
The airdown here is thick with sweat, iron, frustration. My palms burn from gripping the knife wrong again. My trainer’s voice drills into my ear, harsh and metallic.
“Focus, O’Brien! You’ll be dead before you blink.”
Dead.
The word ricochets through my skull, too loud.
I swallow the scream clawing its way up, to tell him to fuck off, that he’s useless, and I’ve learned more from Matteo than I ever will from him.
But then everything stills.
Matteo’s voice detonates across the underground.
“Then find me someone to fucking punch, and I’ll leave you alone!”
The sound hits like an explosion.
Every head turns. Even my trainer shuts up mid-breath.
I don’t move. Don’t even breathe.
My heart slams against my ribs, hard enough to bruise.
Across the mats, Matteo stands heaving, fists clenched, muscles wound tight as wire. Sweat beads at his temple. His knuckles are already raw from whatever hell he’s been dragging himself through tonight.
Leo faces him, calm as a cliff against the tide.
“Come on, boy,” Leo says. “Burn it out.”
Matteo lunges. The sound of his fists colliding with Leo’s gloves cracks like thunder through the old stone room. Each strike is rage sharpened to precision, every blow, a storm made flesh.
The floor vibrates. The air thickens. Even the walls seem to hold their breath.
No one speaks. We all pretend to keep drilling, but every gaze locks on him, the violence in his movements, the control wrapped around the fury.
I stand frozen, fingers clenching around my knife until the blade bites my skin.
If I move, if I breathe wrong, I’ll give it away the truth humming through my veins.
He isn’t just another Messina. He’s mine. And I’m his.
But no one can know. Not here. Not yet.
Matteo keeps striking, each hit punishing himself as much as his target. Blood slicks his knuckles, glinting under the harsh lights. His jaw is locked tight, stone and torment.
Then, even mid-swing, his eyes find mine.
A heartbeat.
A breath.
A blink.
And I’m gone, air ripped straight from my lungs.
His stare cuts through me, stripping away every lie I’ve ever told myself. I want to move, want to reach him, drag him out of this hell, press my palms against his chest and make him stop before he shatters.
