The gates of the O'Brien estate creak open under the weight of centuries of hate and bloodshed. We don't knock. We walk in. Me, my brothers, Nico, Leo, and two of my cousins, all of us armed, all of us ready. The sun isn’t even up yet, but our fury lights the morning like a funeral pyre.
Grandfather and Father said it was best if they stayed back and let me win this fight because it's mine. Grandfather said I only need to call and they will be next to me without any questions.
None of us say a word as we move through their land like a storm that has already decided what to ruin.
Every step echoes like it knows what I’m here for.
The mansion rises in the distance, less like a home and more like a monument to everything we hate about them. Ivy claws up the stone like fingers trying to pull it down from Heaven. Lights glow in a few windows. I wonder which one is hers.
A ghost of her voice haunts my memory:
“You told me to let you know when I’ll jump…”
She did.
I caught her.
But this time,theytook her and I’m not here to catch anyone. I’m here to burn.
A figure steps into view at the front steps. Conor.
His hair’s slicked back like he owns the fucking world. Arrogance is painted across his face like war paint but when his eyes find mine, when he sees the gun pointed straight at his mother standing just behind him, I finally see fear in those sharp Irish eyes.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve—” he starts.
I raise the barrel half an inch. As my brothers and cousin step in line with me. There was a worry itching within me, that she might not be here, now I see there is no one but Conor and his mom. If she was here, there would be more of them here.
“I told you,” I say, my voice low, guttural. “If she got hurt, if you so much as breathed wrong near her, I’d come knocking.”
“Put the gun down, Matteo,” he warns, glancing to his left. “Call your dogs off before I start shooting.” He brings his hand to his side with a gun.
I raise a brow. He has to be joking; he’s outnumbered.
“I’m sure, I can do worse.”
He freezes, only for a second.
His mother gasps behind him. My finger twitches on the trigger, I watch Conor’s jaw tick, the fury battling something else. Something worse… guilt, maybe?
“Where is she?” He doesn't answer. I take a step forward. “Where the fuck is she?”
“She’s not here.” He smiles. “You can look in the house if you want.”
Wrong answer, I level my gun on his mother. If he thinks I’m joking, he’s fucking wrong.
“I swear,” Conor says, voice hoarse, “I didn't know what they were planning. It was Dad.”
My voice cuts through him like a blade. “I don’t give a shit which one of you devils signed the paper. You alllet it happen.”
Silence.
I tilt my head, and stare at his mom for a moment as you can see the fear in her as her body trembles, my lips curling, then I shift my attention back to Conor. “You have two choices. One, tell me where she is, or two, like my father who has had to live without his mother, like myself not knowing my grandmother, I can make it the same for you.”
“You wouldn’t.” Conor stares at me, his eyes not changing from the blank look. Never show fear, but when I shoot his mother in the arm, it changes.
Every man has one weakness, their mother.
Now I’m not a fucking crazy asshole. I don’t kill women—I’m not them—but for my girl, I’m happy to hurt one.
