The door swings open, and warmth rushes out, voices, footsteps, Rosa’s laughter somewhere in the distance, but I stay on the edge.
His voice lowers, deadly soft. “What kind of plan?”
I finally meet his eyes.
“The kind where I get pregnant… and then I die.”
Silence. But not peace.
Matteo doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. I feel it the second it hits him, not like a punch, but like a knife sliding slowly under the ribs.
He just stares at me.
My throat tightens. “They were going to pin my death on your family. Make it look like the Messinas killed me. Fuel a war. A real war. They had names. Documents. Timing.”
Still nothing.
The light from the open door spills in between us, a gold crack on marble. But he’s not stepping into it. He’s not stepping toward me at all.
“I’m not part of their plan anymore,” I say, softer, shaking. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you or your family walk into this blind. Not after everything.”
His jaw flexes.
Still no words.
Just a deep breath through his nose, as if he’stryingnot to blow apart.
I step toward him, but he steps back.
“Matteo—”
“You knew this,” he growls. His voice is quiet, but sharp enough to cut skin. “You knew this and you didn’t tell me. Not when we were at the cliffs. Not when we werein my fucking bed. Not when my family stood in that room ready to start a war for you.” His hands curl into fists, trembling at his sides. “You let me bring you into my house,my house, knowing your family had planned your murder and wanted to use mine to fucking clean it up like blood off a kitchen floor.”
I flinch. “I didn’t know how?—”
“No.” He laughs, bitter and dark. “You just knew enough towait. Until we were too far in to turn back.”
“I was scared?—”
“Idon’t careif you were scared!” he explodes, voice like a storm ripping down the walls. “Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to us? What it would’ve done tomeif they succeeded?”
“I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“And yet, you’re the one holding the fuse,” he snaps.
I take a step back. “I told you now because Ichoseyou. I chosethis. I love you”
He finally looks at me, but it’s not the look that used to melt me.
It’s fury. Betrayal. Like I’ve carved something out of him without permission.
“You should’ve told me,” he whispers. “You don’t get to choosewhenthe truth is convenient, Aoife.”
His words shake me harder than any slap ever could. He didn’t call me little lamb; he used my name.
I look down, ashamed, but also bleeding. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Matteo turns, runs a hand through his hair, back tense like he’s barely holding it together. For a long time, he says nothing, pacing once, twice, then stopping with his back to me.
