Morning light filters through the blinds. I’m already awake, I didn’t sleep much. Aoife’s warmth beside me steadies me, her breath soft against my chest. For a moment, I let myself believe it can be this easy.
The door bursts open. I don’t need to look to know who it is. “Knock?” I mutter.
“We’ve seen you naked, Matteo,” Marco says with a grin. “But this is cruel.” He points at the bed.
Milo smirks. “You’re that bad in bed she didn’t want you this morning?” Marco laughs. Aoife stirs under my arm.
“Fuck off,” I groan, not even opening my eyes.
Their laughter fills the room. It doesn’t bother me, this is normal. I’d take them being assholes over silence any day.
I get up, grab a shirt from the table, and toss it to Aoife. “Here,” I whisper. Her hand drifts over my chest as she wakes. “Did you talk to Rosa?”
Marco shrugs. “She’s not talking. We’re not pushing.” Of course he isn’t. Wimp.
I light a cigarette and watch Aoife disappear into the bathroom. Silence settles. Another day, another waiting game. We don’t know who they’ll come for her or me.
“Watch her. I’ll talk to Rosa.”
They nod.
Rosa’s room sits between mine and Marco’s. Milo’s is across the hall. I don’t knock. I walk in.
The door clicks behind me, drowned out by her too-loud music. The room smells like her vanilla and flowers and it hits me before I even see her. She’s at the window, legs tucked under her, arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together.
“Hey,” I say softly. Not Matteo the bastard. Just me. The friend.
She doesn’t turn. “You don’t knock now?”
“Nineteen years,” I say, moving closer. “You think a door’s going to stop me talking to you?”
She exhales, humor slipping through. “Maybe it should.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, trying to catch her reflection. “You gonna talk, or are we doing the silent movie thing?”
“Talk about what?” Her tone’s cold. Clipped.
“Aoife.”
Her posture cracks, the kind you only notice when you know someone’s weight when they break.
“You said you liked her,” I press. “So, what’s this?”
She turns, eyes sharp. “I do like her. That’s the problem.”
That hits harder than I thought it would, but it also confuses the hell out of me.
“You liking someone has never been a problem before,” I say.
“She’s going to get you killed.”
I blink. “What?” I ask as soon as she finishes the sentence because that’s not what I was thinking.
Her voice stays calm. Too calm. “You think they’ll let this slide? You think you get to have her and we walk out untouched? You lit the match in the powder room, Matteo, and I can’t breathe knowing when it blows, it’ll be you.”
I feel the air leave my chest. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say, voice quiet. “I tried to walk away.”
“But you didn’t.”
