I don’t breathe for a second, just stand there, heart clawing at my ribcage like it’s begging to be closer to him.
“I think we’re gonna be late,” Rosa calls, popping her head back into the room.
Matteo pulls back slightly, his fingers still looped through mine.
“Let them wait,” he says.
I shake my head and lean in closer to give him a kiss. “I don’t think Rosa will like that.”
His lips curl against mine. “Well then I think we need to have some fun tonight.” He kisses me again and takes my hand in his. Then we leave to finally show the school how we are together and that there is no breaking us.
The first thingI hear the moment we step into the hall is the murmurs.
Low, sharp-edged whispers that ripple across the ballroom like a curse. My name. His name. The Messinas. The O’Briens.
And the dress I’m wearing, blood red, like a fucking target.
I move closer to Matteo, and he leans in closer, and whispers. “Chin up, little lamb.”
Matteo’s hand is warm, solid at the small of my back. His fingers are splayed possessively. The brothers flank us like shadows, Marco smirking, almost like he is waiting for the fight to start, Milo already scanning the room like he’s looking for trouble. Rosa trails just behind, her dress dark as ink and twice as sharp.
Together, we walk through the arched entrance. With the Messian boys walking like it’s theirs to own.
The chandeliers above flicker like stars on fire. The music is low and throbbing, velvet and violins. Students part for us, some from fear, others from fascination. No one speaks. Not directly.
But the air is thick with comments.
Why is she here?
How did she end up on his arm?
Is she a traitor? A spy? A prize?
I feel eyes everywhere. On my skin. In my lungs.
And yet… I try everything not to fall apart.
Matteo hasn’t taken his hand off me once, and I already know it’s because he can feel my body tensing up. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I’m not used to walking into a room and everyone looking at me.” I’ve always been the Irish girl who sits in the back, and no one sees, but now everyone knows me, and I’m finding it uncomfortable.
He chuckles, low and dark. “You should, you’re mine now.”
A flicker of something cuts through the noise. I glance up and see him. Conor. Across the room. Still as stone. His jaw locked, his eyes burning. His fists clenched at his sides like he’s holding back a storm.
I turn away. I’m not afraid of him anymore, but there is a part of me which thought he would have tried to protect me. I was wrong.
We step further inside, onto the floor. Students begin to clear a space, giving the Messina name the respect, or fear, it commands.
Matteo leans in again, voice like gravel and smoke. “We make them nervous.” I know he’s trying to make me feel better but it’s not helping.
I glance around, watching the ripple of tension around us. The whispers have stopped. Silence now blooms in our wake. I try to focus on the music around us.
His hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. “Let’s dance, little lamb. Let’s show them what war looks like when it’s dressed in red.” He winks, and it makes me smile, shaking my head at him. He will do anything to make me smile, and I never want him to stop.
Under the glow of shattered chandeliers, in the center of the ballroom floor, surrounded by ghosts and enemies, I dance with the devil who saved me.
For the first time in my life, I feel power behind my name. Not my family name, but my name, Aoife.
