Marco nods. “You’re the oldest. You represent us now. Use your looks to open doors and shut mouths, not to start fights or burn through women.” Marco and Milo both start laughing, and for the first time today I hear my grandfather laughing, and it’s a sound which makes the corner of my lips curl.
“Not just the face,” Milo says with a grin. “The weapon.”
“Being the oldest is hard, but you’re lucky son, you have these two next to you no matter what. They will stand by you, fight with you, fight for you. You three are the biggest weapon when you’re together, don't forget that,” our father tells the three of us, and we smile at each other, nodding.
I know with these two next to me, I’ll never fall; we will only rise and fight and not lose.
I exhale, ash falling like dust on the table.
They started this. Now we end it. Not with chaos. But with precision. When we strike, no one stands back up.
Blackstone feels different tonight.We arrived back later than other students. The silence isn’t peace, it’s warning. Every hallway hums with eyes that won’t look at us.
The scrape of boots pausing when we pass. The sudden drop in voices. The smiles that last a second too long.
Time away stripped everything down to bone. Now I remember what matters. Who the enemy is.
Her.
That kiss never happened. I buried it with the rest of my weakness.
I move unseen, seeing everything: the Cartel kid trading rumors, the Bratva girl smiling too sweet, the Triad twins whispering in code. Each detail tightens the net.
When I reach the edge of the training pit, I glance over to Aoife. Blade steady. Feet firm. Fire under her skin. Better, but still fragile where the fear hides. She doesn’t look up. Good. I stay in the dark and watch.
My job is to protect my family, not the enemy.
I repeat it until it sounds like truth.
Leo checks his watch, then me. “Ready?”
I nod once.
“Your father thinks the timing wasn’t random. They hit on your grandmother’s anniversary for a reason, to feed the rage.” His voice drops. “Forty-eight hours alone. Nowhere for it to go.”
Milo clicks his tongue, studying me. “They want you cracked open.”
Marco claps my shoulder. “Stay sharp. They can’t win unless they get inside your head.”
Leo leans close, his breath cold against my ear. “There’ll be a ticking in the room. You’ll start to hate it. Don’t.”
I meet his eyes. “Then I’ll make it part of the rhythm.”
He smirks. “Good. Let’s begin.”
Chapter 19
Aoife
Blackstone hums with a surface noise that hides what’s happening underneath. To everyone else, it’s just another school day. To us, it’s a countdown.
Conor can’t stand silence. He twitches through meals when no one talks. Forty-eight hours of it will break him.
Matteo? He’s harder to read. The Messinas raise their sons like weapons, polished for war. Men you don’t touch unless you want to bleed.
My muscles burn from drills, palms still raw and red from gripping steel too long. The trainer’s been pushing harder since I changed my knife. Punishment disguised as discipline.
I should go back to the dorm, but I can’t face Nora’s questions about Conor.
