My hands haven’t stopped shaking. Not since I got her back. Not since I saw what they did.
Her face is covered in bruises, and I haven’t even seen her body yet, and someone will pay for touching her.
My voice is raw when I finally say, “You shouldn’t be able to smile after that.” She doesn’t. But she doesn’t cry either. “They kept you in a fucking room with no windows, Aoife.”
“I counted the bricks,” she says softly. “Two hundred and forty-seven on the right wall.”
I close my eyes.
Milo’s asleep with his head against the window, jaw bruised. Marco’s pacing by the drinks cart. Nico hasn’t said a word since boarding, he’s seated near the cockpit, hands bloodstained, staring at nothing.
“You came,” she whispers.
My chest cracks open. “Of course I came.”
Her lashes flutter. Her hand reaches for mine.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you more.”
As the jetwheels down onto Blackstone Hollow’s private runway, the storm clouds part above us, just slightly. Like the world’s holding its breath.
My phone buzzes once.
Grandfather
We’ll be waiting.
I look at her, as I can feel her watching me.
“We’re not safe yet,” I murmur. “You are not leaving my side.” I lean in closer and give her a kiss.
She nods, but I see it in her eyes, what they stole from her. What I couldn’t protect.
But I will now.
I’ll burn down the entire fucking world before I let them take her again.
The moment we pass through the wrought-iron gates of the Messina estate, silence grips the armored car like a noose. Not a word spoken. Not a breath dared.
Everyone’s waiting.
Lights blaze across the courtyard like a stage set for judgment.
As we step out, Aoife clutches my jacket tighter. She’s wrapped in a soft wool coat, but nothing can hide the damage beneath, the bruises, the limp in her step, the tremble in her hands. She walks beside me anyway.
Marco and Milo stay close. Nico’s a few steps behind us, a silent shadow with a predator’s calm.
The front doors open before we knock.
Grandfather stands in the entryway. Suit pristine. Cigar glowing. His eyes fall on Aoife first, on the cuts, the swelling, and for once, the old man falters.
“What did they do to you, bambina?” he asks, voice not sharp, but quiet. Too quiet.
She doesn’t answer. I think she’s still not sure how to be with the family, but she will learn.
“Inside,” he says, stepping aside. “All of you.”
