“Have you ever been with one of them?”
“No.” Fast. A shadow in it.
“They’re protective of you.” Anything to talk about besides my house. The war.
“They are. For a reason. This world gets ugly, Aoife. People get hurt. People die. This is where you choose your loyalty, us or them.”
She stands. I stop her with her name. “I hope they hurt whoever hurt you.”
A small smile, then she goes inside.
I sit there thinking about Rosa’s words.
“They’ll go to your house.”
I knew. Deep down, I’ve always known, but knowing something doesn’t make it hurt less. Doesn’t soften the panic twisting low in my stomach. The Messinas aren’t just thinking about war. They’re planning it, and I might be the match that lights the fucking fuse.
The Messina house is beautiful. A place built on blood and old power. You feel it when you walk in there, fuck I feel it while I’m sitting out here. You hear it in the silence.
I walk back to the house, not sure how long this meeting will last. Closing the door to Matteo’s room behind me and I press my back to it. Exhale.
I walk to the bed and sit on the edge, gripping the soft blanket like it’s a lifeline. The house feels different now, it's heavier. I can hear the echoes from the family room downstairs. Raised voices. The weight of decision. The Messinas don’t yell for drama. They yell to make things happen.
And they’re yelling because of me.
I run a hand through my hair and stare at the darkened window. No stars tonight. Just fog and glass. I catch a faint reflection of myself. Pale. Hollow-eyed. I look like someone who’s been walking through war zones her entire life.
Maybe I have.
I think of Rosa’s voice again. Calm. Cutting. Honest in a way I didn’t expect.
"You think they’ll just let this go, Aoife? You’re not just in Matteo’s bed. You’re in the middle of the family war. One way or another, someone’s going to bleed.
I curl up on the bed and pull the blanket over me. The smell of him is still on the pillow, cigarettes, and something darker I can’t name. A scent like the cliff edge at night. The pull and the fear of falling.
I don’t hear the door, just feel him. “Hey,” I whisper.
He crosses the room, slowly, careful, like I might shatter. Sits beside me. “We’re going to your house,” he says.
The words fall like an axe.
I stop breathing. “What?”
“Grandfather. My father. The family. They’ve decided.”
Cold floods my bones. “Matteo?—”
“They need to see you. See what they’re doing. You said they only believe their own mouths. So, we give them one last chance.”
“You think they’ll just talk?”
“No. But we’ll stand there anyway.”
I shake my head, panic sharp. “If you set foot on that property?—”
“I’m not afraid of them.”
“Well, I am.” My voice cracks. “They’ll kill you for standing next to me.” He reaches for my hand, I pull back. “I’m not letting you die in their house.”
