I watch her from a distance, surrounded by Rosa, my mother, and the women. She’s nervous, I can see it, fingers twitching in her lap, lips pressed together, but she’s holding her own. She’s still finding it hard to be around the family, I know she still thinks she shouldn’t be here. That my family still hates her because of what her family did, but they don’t.
They’ve all seen how much I love her, and no matter what she will always be here, now they talk with her, laugh with her, I just need her to do the same.
Granddad from my mother’s side, pulls her into a conversation, and I catch the faintest ghost of a smile from her.That alone makes something inside me ease. My family have all accepted her.
The ease isn’t there for long, when I hear the sound in the distance. But I know it too well.
Gunfire.
A single crack slices the serenity.
Every head turns.
And then…They appear. Shadows in the sun. The Irish.
Liam. Aoife’s father. Conor. A pack of them.
Walking straight through the gate like they belong here.
Like this isn’t Messina soil.
Just like they did when they came to my parents' wedding. Thinking they’re here to take over and take what’s theirs. Not today.
Rage floods my veins before reason can catch up. My brothers tense. The laughter dies. The sun feels cold.
Aoife’s eyes go wide the second she sees them, and it’s already too late. Her father is at her side in a blink, yanking her by the wrist so hard she stumbles. The slap lands before I even move.
No. No. Fuck no.
My vision tunnels.
I don’t feel myself rise from the chair. All I know is I’m across the lawn in seconds.
The sound of my fist cracking against his face. Again. And again.
“Stay the fuck away from her,” I shout at him, not looking at the fight around me. My sights are only on the man who should have protected her, but instead is the reason for her nightmares.
Blood sprays, slick and hot across my knuckles. My brothers hold the line, keeping the Irish from interfering.
I don’t stop.
I don’t know how long I’ve been punching him, but I only stop when I feel arms around me. My cousins pulling me off him. They grab the back of my shirt and drag me off him like an animal. The damage is done. Her father’s face is mangled, blood leaking between teeth. He’s coughing on it. Good.
The fight around us stops when they come to Aoife’s father’s side to help him stand up.
“Let me tell you something, you Irish fucking bastards,” I roar. My chest is heaving, voice a growl from my throat. “You look at her again. Say her name. Step one foot near her, and I will end you. No guns. No blades. I will use these—” I lift my bloodstained fists “—and you’ll feel every goddamn bone crack.”
The world stills. All eyes on me.
Then Aoife’s father steps forward. Lifts a gun and points it at me.
Aoife screams behind me, but I don’t flinch.
And then a shot echoes again, this time not from him.
Aoife’s father crumples to the ground, the side of his skull blooming with blood.
I look up, breath ragged, heart thundering. My father stands in the garden, smoke curling from the barrel of his gun.
