My brothers have stayed by my side, showing everyone we are one unit, Rosa flanks us, arms crossed, sunglasses on even though we’re underground.
And straight ahead, the Irish.
Conor O’Brien’s standing at the center of them like a fucking statue carved out of family pride. Arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he’s already decided what my blood would look like splattered across the floor.
His cousins Finn and Ronan are beside him, their faces are tight, their smiles are fake. The O’Briens aren’t here to train, they’re here to threaten, and I’m not here to back down.
Walking to the center, my brothers behind me, I smile as I stop in front of him.
“You should’ve stayed in your lane, Messina.” Conor’s voice cuts the air before I even speak. “But you wanted to play with things that don’t belong to you.”
“You mean your cousin?” I say, voice calm. “She doesn’t belong to you either.”
His jaw tightens.
Milo chuckles under his breath. “Here we go.”
“You don’t get to touch her.” Conor takes a step forward. “You don’t get to breathe the same air as her.”
“Funny,” I murmur. “She seems to like the air I breathe just fine.”
Rosa mutters, “Oh, shit.”
Conor’s fist twitches and it makes me smile.
“I see the posts,” he hisses. “Everyone does, and when she dies because of you?—”
I move before I think. A blur of red behind my eyes. I don’t hit him, but I grab the front of his shirt and slam him back against the training post hard enough the metal groans.
“You speak of her death again,” I growl low into his face. “And I’ll make it a prophecy, for you.”
He shoves me, teeth bared. “You think this is love? This is war, you fucking idiot.”
Behind us, trainers start yelling. Students are moving away, because they know what’s happening.
Marco steps forward, fists up. Milo’s eyes are wild, waiting for the first real blow.
“Matteo!” a voice roars, Leo’s. The man himself stalks into the ground, fury etched across his face. “Step. Back.”
I freeze, chest heaving.
So does Conor.
Leo steps between us, eyes full of storm. “If you want to fight, I’ll give you both a sanctioned match. But right now? You touch each other again, and I’ll drop you both from training and send you back to your families wrapped in shame.”
“Sounds familiar,” Conor snaps.
“Enough,” Leo barks.
I drop my hands, back up slowly. Marco steps in, hands still raised but watching me. Milo finally exhales.
I don’t say anything. I look past Leo, to the crowd. To the girl on the stairs. Aoife.
Her eyes are locked on mine, wide and unreadable.
Conor turns too. Sees her and something flickers on his face, something which makes me want to punch him anyway.
“She’s going to die if she stays near you,” he whispers like a fucking curse.
