The words hit like a slap. Silence falls fast. My heart’s in my throat.
“Conor,” I whisper. “Sit down.”
He doesn’t move for a second. Then, slowly, he does.
The moment the teacher speaks, everyone is facing the front, and not another word is said, but I still feel his eyes on me, which makes me rub the back of my neck hoping to ease the burn which is there.
The moment the bell rings,I’m up ready to leave, but the classroom empties slowly, like the air isn’t thick with unspoken violence. The Messina family is out. I keep my head down, my steps quiet, but I can feel Conor behind me like a shadow I can’t shake. He doesn’t speak until we’re alone in the corridor, when he grabs my elbow, not hard, but enough to stop me.
“What the hell is going on with you?” I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on the stained tiles beneath our feet. “I’m trying to protect you,” he says through gritted teeth. “You think I enjoy watching you flirt with fire?”
I blink up at him. “You’re imagining things, have you seen me talk to him, or even stand at arm’s length with him?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Aoife.” His jaw ticks. “I see the way he looks at you and I see you.”
I shake my head. “See what, Conor? Yes, he stares. I glanced once, but have you seen me lock eyes with him? No. And it’s none of your business.”
He exhales sharply, stepping back like I slapped him. “You’re family. It’s all my business.”
“No,” I say, voice low. “I’m property. A deal. That’s all I am.”
His eyes flash, hurt and rage mixing into something uglier. “You think I like this? You think I want to be part of any of this?I was just as shocked as you about the engagement.” Silence crackles between us. “I’m doing my best,” he says finally. “You don’t make it easy.”
I look away, because I don’t believe him.
“Fine. You want distance? You’ve got it. We don’t have any more classes together today.” He starts walking backwards down the corridor, voice echoing. “I’ll see you after hours. For training.” Then he’s gone around the corner, and I’m standing there feeling alone. Taking in a deep breath, I tighten my arms around my books and walk to my next class.
Why the hell don’t I have anyone in my corner?
The training pit hums tonight.Heavy. Tense.
I’m holding the knife again. Still wrong. Still too stiff, and my instructor knows it.
“For fuck’s sake, O’Brien,” he snaps, circling me like a shark. “That grip will get you killed. Open your damn stance!”
“I’m trying?—”
“Try harder. This isn’t ballet.”
I grit my teeth, adjusting my grip again, fingers aching. Sweat slicks my skin even though the stone walls are cold. I can’t find my rhythm tonight. Can’t find anything but the gnawing at the edge of my mind. The voice. His voice.Little lamb.
“You think someone’s gonna pause a fight and let you fix your grip?” he shouts. “You wanna die fast, O’Brien? ‘Cause that’s how you die fast. Drop it,” my trainer barks. “Training’s done. We’ve got a fight.” I know he hates working with me, and it’s showing more and more every day I’m down here.
My head jerks up. “What?”
He nods toward the center to the ring, and that’s when I see him.
Matteo.
“They call him The Rage down here.” I’ve heard it whispered like a legendary fear dressed in skin. My trainer steps back. “Now you’ll see why.”
Standing still. Shirtless. His brother wraps his fists in black tape like he’s strapping rage to his knuckles.
The tattoos over his body, violent, dark, inked like warnings. The cassowary wings stretch wide across his chest, feathered in war. A cloaked angel of death spans his lower abdomen. Barbed wire coils his wrist like a crown of thorns. Every inch of him is carved in sin.
He’s not alone. His father and grandfather are standing like sentinels near the edge of the circle. Watching. Waiting.
A chill creeps into my bones. Not fear. Something colder. Like I’ve seen a demon be summoned and realized too late.
