Conor’s voice cracks through the chaos. “Aoife—don’t do this.” I look at him, the brother who watched me break and stood by.
“You already did.”
Silence falls.
Matteo turns to Liam. “She’s coming with us.”
Liam smiles coldly. “Then the next time we meet, bring your shovels.”
Matteo’s father steps beside his son.
“We’ve already dug your grave.”
And just like that the war begins.
The car doors shut like closing the cover on a chapter of war.
My ears are still ringing from Uncle Liam’s threats, from Matteo’s father growling that if a single drop of blood fell from me, the O’Briens would drown in it. My hands are shaking in my lap as the convoy of black cars pulls away from the estate like a funeral procession for peace.
I don’t look back. I can’t.
I’ve lost my family, for the man I love. But were they ever my family? No, and even though it hurts I’m happy to be out of hell.
Matteo’s fingers brush over mine. A silent question. A silent comfort. I don’t pull away.
The inside of the car feels louder than the gunfire thatalmosterupted minutes ago. My pulse pounds like a war drum in my throat, and the silence between us is suffocating.
But this isn’t over.
Because I haven’t told them everything.
The moment we reach Messina grounds, the iron gates closing behind us, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, I know I have no choice but to finally say it.
The car slows to a stop outside the house. The brothers are already stepping out, saying something I don’t catch. But I stay seated. Frozen.
Matteo turns back toward me.
“You okay?” His voice is quieter now, more real than it was in front of both our families, when he had to be all fire and control.
I nod, but it’s a lie.
I step out slowly, my boots hitting the stone steps like I’ve stepped into the belly of something ancient and alive.
We walk toward the front doors, side by side. No words. The house looms, golden lights spilling from arched windows.
We reach the threshold, but just as Matteo opens the door, I stop.
He turns, confused. “What’s wrong?”
My breath is cold in my throat. My voice, colder. “I need to tell you something.”
He stiffens. His hand is still on the door. “Me?” He searches my face. I can’t meet his eyes. “Or the family?”
“The family,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches. “Aoife?”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “They had a plan, Matteo. A real plan. After the wedding…”
