“I know I’ve disappointed you. That was never the goal, but I tried to walk away from her. I can’t.” The silence deepens, heavy as stone. “I won’t take it further without your blessing,” I say. “But if I had the choice again, I’d still fall for her.”
His chest heaves, his knuckles pale. He stares at me like I’ve become the wound he can’t close.
Then he turns and walks out.
No words.
Only the echo of his boots fading down the hall.
I sink into the chair, breathing through the ache in my jaw. Aoife still hasn’t moved. One tear tracks down her cheek, I reach for her hand, she doesn’t pull away.
Across the room, Grandfather meets my eyes. He gives a slow, deliberate nod before rising. Approval or warning, I can’t tell. But it’s something.
Marco steps closer, studying my face. “We’re getting ice,” he mutters. “Even we felt that one.” Milo follows without a word.
Mother comes next. She touches my bruised cheek, gentle, her eyes tired but kind. A small smile ghosts across her lips.
“She’s pretty,” she murmurs, glancing at Aoife. Then, softer, “He’ll come around.” Then she’s gone too.
Silence stretches between us just her and me.
I rake a hand through my hair, my jaw throbbing. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “For him. For tonight.”
Her voice is small but firm. “I was expecting it. I don’t blame you.”
I meet her eyes. She’s still here. Still standing. Still mine and before I face her war, I have to win mine.
Chapter 34
Matteo
The smoke coils slow around my head. My cigarette burns to the filter, but I don’t feel the heat getting close to me. I don’t think anything can make me feel at the moment.
Footsteps sound behind me. Light, but trained ears hear everything. I don’t know whose feet they are.
My father stands in front of me, he doesn’t speak. He watches.
Not cold. Not angry.
Worse, he’s blank.
“You think I’m weak,” I murmur, my voice low. “You think I let the O’Briens into this house, into my head, into my bed.” The silence stretches, I inhale slowly. “If I were standing where you are, I’d be angry, I’d be shouting too.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t move.
“I’ve had blood on my hands since I was fifteen,” I say. “I know what this family is. What it takes. I’ve buried things. Done things you ordered without flinching. I’ve stood beside you. Always. And I will. But this—” I pause. “This isn’t about her. It’s about me. Something in me changed when I saw her standing on that edge. I can’t turn it off.”
His fingers drum once against the armrest.
Not approval. Not acknowledgment.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I tried to walk away. I wanted to. I fought it. But you raised us to protect what’s ours, and she’s mine now. Whether you believe it or not, I’d burn for her. Bleed for her. I almost did.” His jaw tightens. “She’s not asking for protection. All she wants is me and I’m giving her both, because she deserves better than what those bastards give her. The man they want her to marry is older than you. That family made her want to die.”
Finally, my father shifts. It’s subtle, but a shift nonetheless. I watch the way his throat moves when he swallows.
"I'm sorry I let you down, Father,” I say, but I get no reply from Father, just silence again. "She tried to kill herself. The first night I saw her she was up at Hollow Hills, she was dancing with the edge, fighting whether to jump or not jump. The moment I saw her, I knew if things got worse for her, she would jump just to get out of hell." My father finally looks at me again, but nothing in his eyes to tell me what he's thinking. "But it was also the moment that hit me hard in the chest, her eyes burned into me, she carved a part of herself in me. Then I saw her at school, and no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I knew this was wrong, she's the enemy, her family killed mine, I couldn't stop myself, and for that I am sorry." I take a drag of my smoke as my father just stares at me again. "I know she's not like them, Father, deep in my core, I know she hates them?—"
"Why?"
