Anyone who touches her will bleed.
Chapter 40
Aoife
Afew days later, and it’s the night of the dance, I’m not looking forward to it, because most of the night will be filled with whispers about me.
The halls of Blackstone have taken on an almost surreal calm, a temporary hush before the velvet chaos of music, secrets, and the shifting of alliances.
I’m in Rosa’s room, her space is different to the guys', it’s warm, laced in the sweet scent of clove and bergamot. Her floor is scattered with heels, hair pins in, dresses draped over every piece of furniture like fallen silks after war.
She sits cross-legged on the bed, braiding strands of her hair with calm precision, while I stare at my own reflection in the mirror, fiddling with the hem of the dress laid out across Rosa’s vanity chair.
“You nervous?” she asks casually, her eyes flicking to mine through the mirror.
“Not about the dress,” I mutter, then glance at the crimson silk. “Though I’m pretty sure the moment I walk through the door, everyone will be staring at me, this dress is beautiful.”
Rosa snorts, which makes me laugh. “Welcome to the Messina standard of fashion.”
We both laugh, because one thing about this family, they make sure they dress in nothing but the best.
It’s the first moment between us which feels like two girls laughing, and not two pieces on opposite ends of a battlefield.
“Is this what it’s always like?” I ask softly, pulling my knees up onto the chair. “The bloodlines, the knives under pillows, the pressure to walk a line you didn’t even draw?”
Rosa’s hands still in her braid. Her voice lowers, something almost nostalgic in it. “Always. Since before I had boobs, probably, and I’m thankful they taught me how to survive. There’s always been whispers about who we’d marry, what houses we’d merge, which rivalries would finally crack. These three have been raised for one thing: rule.”
I study her for a long second, wondering what she means by saying she’s thankful the family taught her to fight. Then I ask with a sly grin, because I don’t want to ask about what she meant, and ruin the night, “Ever thought about the brothers? In a relationship way, I mean?”
She arches an elegant brow. “That’s bold.”
“Not an answer,” I tease, and she throws a hair pin toward me. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I smirk, and her laughter echoes around the room like an old music box shaking loose.
I grin wider. “Which one?”
Rosa presses a finger to her lips and winks. “A girl keeps her secrets, O’Brien.”
My stomach flutters, not from the teasing, but from how she says my name. Like it’s mine, not theirs.
She turns to face me properly. “How are you really, though?”
I swallow, tugging on the edge of the crimson dress. “I’m taking it one day at a time. Trying to remember who I amwithout letting their legacy drown me. I just have to hope Matteo doesn’t get bored of me before I figure it out.”
Rosa rolls her eyes and starts laughing again. “The man went to war with his entire bloodline to keep you. His grandmother’s blood was spilled by your family, and still he stood in front of them and said, ‘she’s mine.’”
I go quiet. Let the weight of those words fill the silence.
She’s right, he had to make certain he was one hundred percent sure about me, I shouldn’t be doubting him.
“I don’t know how to be part of all this,” I whisper. “The silk. The blood. The goddamn pressure.”
“You don’t have to be anything,” Rosa says, standing to adjust the strap of my dress. “You just have to be his and let the rest of us deal with the noise. You’re with the future heir of the family, and once you settle you’ll be feared like he is.”
Her touch is gentle, sister-like. Not claiming. Not fake. Friendly.
For the first time since stepping into the lion’s den, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not walking alone.
Not anymore.
