I swallow the scream clawing at my throat.
The O’Briens are already waiting.
They stand like soldiers before battle, a wall of blood and iron. Conor is posted at the side, his jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides like he’s moments from snapping. His eyes catch mine, and for a fleeting second, I see something behind them, guilt, maybe, could even be hate. Uncle Liam is front and center.
Not just standing,staking ground. Feet planted wide, hands behind his back like a general on the brink of execution orders. His chin is lifted, his lips are pressed together, but his jaw keeps twitching, biting down rage with every breath. The vein in his neck throbs visibly. His eyes cut through the Messina cars like he could shatter glass with a glare.
My father stands just off Liam’s right shoulder, arms crossed, but his eyes flick to me, not Matteo. Me. And I know what he’s saying without saying a word.You made this mess. Now you stand in it.
Two of my cousins linger nearby, backs straight, hands itching near their belts like they expect things to go south. Oneof them, Fergus rolls his shoulders slowly, cracking his knuckles. The other, Eoin, is chewing gum like he wants it to be someone’s throat.
But it’s Uncle Liam who vibrates with threat.
His nostrils flare at Matteo’s family. The way his tongue runs over the inside of his cheek, like he’s tasting the bitterness already. The way he looks at Matteo, then Matteo’s father, then finally me, and his whole body tightens.
Not a word yet. Not a greeting.
Only silence. The kind that tastes like gunpowder and legacy and too many bodies buried under both.
The air isn’t just heavy.
It’schoking.
And I realize, this isn’t a conversation.
This isa reckoning.
“Didn’t think you’d bring your whole circus,” Liam sneers. “But I suppose the Italians always need backup.”
Marco takes a step forward, but Matteo’s father raises a hand. Silence.
“My son has found his girl,” Matteo’s father calls to my father. “And we’re here to discuss what that means.”
My breath leaves me.
Matteo turns to me, door open, one hand held out.
“Come on, little lamb.” I take his hand and step out of the car and the world changes.
Eyes snap to me. Disgust. Shock. Rage. All wrapped in silence.
Matteo’s calm, terrifyingly calm, dressed in black from his coat to his boots.
Matteo doesn’t let go of my hand. Not when we walk toward my family, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t show fear. Not when Conor’s eyes burn into me like betrayal. Not when Uncle Liam takes a step forward before someone stops him.
We walk to the center of the courtyard. Cold air. No movement. No guns, but the threat drips from the stone.
“We’re not here to ask permission,” Matteo’s father says. “We’re here to make it clear. If she’s harmed, if she’s taken, if you try to play fucking god with her life?—”
My father interrupts. “This is our family matter.”
“No,” Matteo’s grandfather cuts in, voice like thunder behind velvet. “She’s not just your blood anymore. The second you put her life on the line, she becameourstoo.”
The stillness is terrifying.
The O’Briens, my family, don't speak. Not yet. My father watches me like I’m something rotting at his feet. Uncle Liam’s jaw twitches. Conor… won’t meet my eyes
I swallow, but I don’t look away.
