They’re not here just to make a scene.
They’re here tofinishwhat the Irish started.
Leo looks at me, panic in his eyes. “Matteo, the headmaster is waiting for you.”
I take a deep breath, turn around and follow him into what feels like round one of the fight.
The air is carvedfrom steel. Silent. Pressurized. Unforgiving.
Boots echo like war drums as we enter the Headmaster’s Hall. My grandfather walks ahead, shoulders squared, the scent of smoke and iron trailing behind him like prophecy. My father follows him, jaw carved from granite and rage hiding behind his cold eyes. Marco, Milo, and I walk behind them, Messina steel sharpened for war. The rest of the family follows, now I don’t need everyone here, but this also shows we have a lot more power than any other family here.
The Irish are already here. Do they think being in the room first shows they have power? It doesn’t.
Liam stands front and center, chin raised, as if the blood on his hands is perfume and not history. Conor lingers at his side, arms crossed, his lip curling when he sees me. Behind them, their family fills out the space in thick lines, all suits, old scars, and matching contempt.
The Headmaster stands between us, but no one is looking at him.
This isn’t his hall anymore.
“Messina,” Liam is the first to talk, a slow nod, like he’s acknowledging death, not people.
“Liam,” Grandfather replies. His voice is colder than stone, harder than the earth. “Say what you need to say before I forget why I walked into this room.”
Liam’s smile is thin. “There’s talk your grandson is courting something he doesn’t understand.”
“I understand betrayal.” I step forward, the weight of my brothers on either side of me. “I understand blades dipped in poison. I understand threats made through shadows.”
“The blade came from your camp,” my father adds, voice dark with authority. “And it nearly cost us one of ours.”
Liam’s jaw twitches. “Accusations from grieving boys.”
“You’ll be grieving if you speak again,” Grandfather says flatly. The room drops in temperature. “Let’s skip the part where we pretend this isn’t an assassination attempt.”
“You brought the war when you broughtherinto your house,” Liam seethes.
“She has a name, and you need to ask your son who saved her,” I roar, motioning to myself. “I saved her.”
The Headmaster finally steps forward. “Enough. This is a school, not a battlefield.”
“It was a school,” my father replies. “Now it’s where we’ll draw the line.”
A beat of silence passes.
“I assume you know what comes next,” Grandfather says.
Liam nods once. “The Ring Fight.”
“Have you chosen your fighter?” my father asks.
“We already have,” Conor takes a step closer to us. “And he’s already tasted Italian blood.”
My chest burns. I feel the wound pulse beneath my shirt. I’m getting weak again. This shit isn’t coming out of my body; it’s making me weaker.
Grandfather takes a step forward closing the gap between them. “Because your family is scared and attacked my grandson, the fight will be in ten days?—”
“We didn’t?—”
“Stop the bullshit, we know you did it,” my grandfather shouts, and I smile when his hands slams into Liam’s chest.
