I circle her. “Again.” She moves cleaner, sharper. Her blade answers without hesitation she’s learning faster than I expected.
“You’re holding your breath,” I murmur. “Lose the tension. Rhythm, fight like a heartbeat. If it comes to it, go for the neck. Push it all the way in.”
She exhales, a quick, ragged sound, and resets her stance.
“Matteo,” she pants after a few strikes. “Why are you pushing so hard tonight?”
I don’t answer right away.
“Is it your father?” she tries. Still silent. “Or — is someone watching me?”
I look at her. I nod once. “Yes. Closer than the messages.” Her fingers tremble. Her lips part. I step forward, lift the knife from her hand, and put it on the ledge so the steel can’t catch the light between us.
“You have to be ready for anything,” I tell her. “I won’t always be there in time.”
She moves in until we touch. “You always are.”
Those three words split something loose in me. I pull her face up and press my forehead to hers.
“This weekend, I’m bringing you home,” I whisper. “Leo will cover for us. If they call, make an excuse. Say you’re sick.”
She nods but flinches as if someone’s hand ghosted across her ribs. “They’ll kill me if they know.”
They’ll have to go through me.” My grip tightens. She’s shaking, I hold on.
“I don’t know how this ends,” I admit, voice ragged. “But I will not stand and watch you break.”
She folds into me, arms clamping around my waist. “I trust you, Matteo.” Her breath is warm against my neck as she kisses the crown of my head.
“I’ve got you, little lamb.”
I do not let go.
Chapter 33
Matteo
It’s the weekend. We’re heading home.
Leo slipped Aoife through the underground, quiet as smoke, moving like she belonged to the dark. She told Conor she needed the weekend to catch up on coursework, to breathe. For once, he agreed without a fight. That alone should’ve set off alarms.
Now she sits beside me in the back seat, hands knotted in her lap. The drive hums with silence, broken only by Marco and Milo throwing half-hearted jokes from the front.
Her shoulders stay rigid. Spine straight, that kind of tension comes before something detonates.
When the iron gates of the Messina estate rise ahead, my pulse matches hers.
My world. “Breathe, little lamb,” I say quietly, eyes on the road twisting into shadowed stone. “No one’s dying today.” She doesn’t laugh.
Marco catches her in the mirror and smirks. “You sure you want to bring the lamb into the wolves’ den?”
“Looks like she’ll disappear before we hit the stairs,” Milo says, grinning.
I don’t respond. I keep watching her.
When the car stops, my brothers climb out first. I stay put.
“You ready to jump, little lamb?” My voice is soft, not teasing.
