"Because whatever her family is doing to her, she jumped off the school roof, and if I didn't get to her—” I stop for a moment not even wanting to say the word. "Father, she's not them." No more words from Father, and I don't know what to say to him.
I can beg, I can plead with him, but I know my father, only he knows what he’s thinking.
“She’s the enemy,” he finally says, his voice sandpaper. “And everything you just told me, it doesn’t erase that fact.”
I sit back, nodding. “I know.”
“You bring her into this house,” he says slowly. “Into thisbloodline, and what do you think happens, Matteo? You think the O’Briens will just walk away from that? You think this ends with a quiet little fucking romance?”
“No,” I reply, my tone just as low. “I think it will end in a war.”
“And you still want her?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I want her in a way that makes no fucking sense to me, but it’s real, and I’m not backing down.”
Another silence. He stares through me now. Into me.
“You’d choose her over your brothers?”
“No.” That answer is fast, because I don’t have to think about it. “But they’d stand beside me. You know that, and they do.”
His eyes flash. “You’d choose her over this family?”
I hesitate. Just long enough for the weight of the answer to land between us. “No,” I say. “But I’ll fight to make herpartof it.”
His breath leaves him in a slow hiss. “You’d better be sure,” he says. “Because once I put our name behind that girl, I can’t take it back. You fuck this up, it won’t just be your blood spilled. It’ll be hers, and I won’t save her.”
My heart beats once, hard.
“I’m sure.”
He stands. Steps forward. For a second, I brace for another hi, but instead, his hand drops to my shoulder. Heavy. Final.
“Then make sure she’s worth it.”
Then he’s gone. The echo of his boots fades down the hall.
The morning airis thick with a kind of stillness that always follows chaos. I step outside with Marco and Milo, their usual smug grins plastered across their faces.
“Your jaw’s seen better days,” Marco says, nodding toward the swelling bruise on my face from Father’s punch.
Milo chuckles and flicks the butt of his cigarette into the garden.
I take a long drag from mine, the smoke curling in my lungs before I let it go slowly. “Yeah, well… could’ve been worse.”
“Have you spoken to him?” Milo asks, serious now.
I nod. “Last night.”
“And?” They both ask in sync.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, my voice low. “He listened. But he didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no either.”
Inside, Mother’s voice carries over the clatter of pans. The smell of garlic and eggs drifts through the open door. Breakfast means family is here.
Grandfather called them, he wouldn’t move without everyone knowing what this means.
I look back at the house. Grandmother’s blood runs through all of them. Her sons. Her brothers. Her loyalty.
