Whispers spread like rot. “She’s one of them, traitor blood.”
I stop.
A sharp, deliberate halt like the crack of a whip.
Boots grind against stone. Aoife’s eyes flick to mine, but I’m already turning. Already feeling the fucking heat rising through my spine.
The room goes quiet. Laughter? Dead. Whispers? Sliced in half.
All eyes on me.
Good.
I take a step forward, slowly scanning the line of vultures. Eyes shift. Some drop their gaze. Others freeze like they’ve been turned to stone.
“If anyone’s got something to say,” I call, my voice cutting through the silence like the crack of a gunshot. “Don’t whisper it behind my back like a coward.”
I keep walking, straight toward the cluster of students who’ve been buzzing with venom since we walked in. My voice gets lower. More dangerous.
“Come say it to my fucking face.”
I see the flinch. One guy tries to look tough, but his lips twitch like fear’s already curling there.
“If you’re man enough to insult her in the shadows,” I growl, “you better be man enough to take the consequence.”
Still, no one speaks. I lift my arm, finger pointed like a weapon toward Aoife.
“She’s mine,” I snarl, voice like thunder rolling in. “And if one more person utters her name with filth on their tongue, I don’t care who you are, who your daddy is, what family you crawl back to—” I take another step. “—I’ll break your fucking face.”
No one moves. Not even a breath dares stir.
“I was born into this war. Raised for it. You think I won’t bleed for her?” A thick pause hangs in the air like the blade of a guillotine. I look each of them in the eye, daring them, every person who is training tonight.
“I fucking dare you to try me.”
And then, just a slow exhale from the crowd. Subtle, collective.
But no one moves.
I turn to Aoife, her eyes are wide, her lips parted like she doesn’t know what just hit the air. Walking back to her, and not giving her the chance to say anything, I grab the back of her neck and kiss her hard, making sure everyone sees. They will all know no one talks about my girl.
Pulling away from her, I wink and smile. “Don’t fear them, show them what we are together. Jump with me, little lamb.”
I feel her hands move to the back of my neck, and she smiles then kisses me again.
Looks like my little lamb is ready to dance with the wolves.
Chapter 39
Matteo
The war room smells like steel, sweat, and old tobacco, the kind of place where bad decisions are made in the name of blood and legacy.
We sit on our side, Leo and my brothers, the Irish are sitting on their side, and I feel them looking over at me. It’s taking everything in me not to go over and tell them to fuck off.
Leo sits, arms folded across his chest like a statue carved from granite. His eyes are locked on the folder in front of him, but he hasn’t said a word yet. Marco and Milo are flanking me, silent for once, because even they can feel the shift in the air. He flips a sheet over with a snap. “The Irish have picked two fighters, they won’t name which one, but I have an idea.”
I lift my head. “Who?”
