I can't breathe.
The hospital hallway stretches endlessly in front of me, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps, and I can't fucking breathe. My hands shake as I clutch my phone, Siobhan's tear-choked voice still echoing in my ears.
"How could you call us into that, Val? How could you?"
Because I'm a stupid, spoiled princess who thought she could fix everything with a phone call. Because I panicked when I saw the fight escalating and made the worst possible decision. Because I'm exactly what everyone thinks I am - a liability wrapped in designer clothes and family protection.
The guilt sits in my chest like a lead weight, growing heavier with every step toward Enzo's room. My big brother. My protector. The one person in our family who's never made me feel small or useless or like a decoration they have to keep safe.
And I put him in the hospital.
The memory replays on a loop - the bar erupting into chaos, the families going at each other with everything they could find - chairs, bottles, fists, fury. Then my panic overriding every instinct I've been taught about family business. Don't involve outsiders. Don't call for help unless it's family. Don't ever, ever drag other organizations into our problems.
But I did. I called Siobhan in a moment of pure terror, and she brought her brothers, and now everything is fucked beyond repair.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop since I left campus, all from the same unknown number. The worst call came two hours ago - Siobhan, her voice thick with tears and barely recognizable.
"Valentina?" She was sobbing so hard I could barely understand her. "Val, what happened? What the hell happened tonight?"
My throat closed up hearing the pain in her voice. "Siobhan, I—"
"Declan's hurt, Val." The words came out between broken sobs. "He's got bruises around his throat from being choked, his shoulder's all torn up, and he's so angry I've never seen him like this. He's... he's talking about finding you. About making you pay for what happened."
The tears started then, hot and fast down my cheeks. Because this was my fault. All of it. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Siobhan, I'm so fucking sorry. I never meant—"
"He was trying to help me," she cried. "I called him because you were crying, because you said your brother was getting hurt, and I thought... I thought he could help. And now he's hurt because of it."
That was the worst part. Siobhan had called her brother because she cared about me. Because I was her friend, her roommate, someone she trusted. And I'd used that friendship to drag her family into a war they had no part in.
"What did you think would happen?" Her voice cracked. "You called me crying about your brother getting hurt, begging for help. What was I supposed to do? Let you suffer alone?"
"I was scared," I said, but the words sounded pathetic even to me.
"Scared of what? Your brother getting a few bruises? Val, this is what your family does. This is your world. You don't call in reinforcements because someone throws a punch."
"I know that now."
"Do you?" Her voice got sharper through the tears. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've never had to handle anything real in your life. Like you've been so protected, so sheltered, that the first time you saw actual violence, you fell apart."
The words hit like physical blows because they were true. Every single one. I am sheltered. I am protected. I've lived twenty years in the Moretti bubble, where family handles everything and I never have to face real consequences.
"I'm sorry," I said again, my own tears mixing with hers over the phone.
"Sorry doesn't fix this, Valentina. Sorry doesn't undo the fact that my brother is hurt. Sorry doesn't change the fact that our families are now involved in something that could escalate into God knows what."
We both cried then, the weight of what I'd destroyed settling between us like a wall.
"Are we..." I started, then stopped. Because I already knew the answer.
"I don't know," she said finally, her voice small and broken. "I don't know if we can come back from this. I don't know if my family will let me room with a Moretti anymore. I don't know anything except that everything's different now."
There was a pause, then her voice got urgent. "Val, listen to me. Don't come back to the dorm tonight. Declan is looking for you, and he's pissed. For your own safety, stay away."
The line went dead after that, leaving me alone with the weight of what I'd destroyed. Not just my family's safety. Not just the carefully maintained peace between organizations. But a friendship. A real friendship with someone who'd never cared about my last name or my family's money or any of the things that usually defined my relationships.
And I'd ruined it. Just like I ruin everything when it really matters.
That's the thing about being the Moretti princess. Everyone thinks it means everything comes easy. That I get whatever I want, whenever I want it. That I live some charmed life where consequences don't exist.
But the truth is, being the princess means you're always performing. Always smiling. Always being the pretty, harmless girl who doesn't cause problems. The daughter who gets paraded out at family events to show how normal we can be. The sister who needs protecting because she's too pure for the real world.
Except I'm not pure. I'm not innocent. I know exactly what my family does, what my father does, what my brother will inherit someday. I just pretend I don't. I play the role everyone expects because it's easier than admitting I'm as dark as the rest of them.
Tonight proved it. When I saw violence, when I saw my family in danger, my first instinct wasn't to trust them to handle it. It was to escalate. To bring in more violence. To make everything bigger and bloodier and more chaotic.
That's not innocence. That's chaos wrapped in a pretty package.
My phone buzzes again. The same unknown number from earlier. This time I look at it, and my blood turns to ice when I see the text message.
You think this is over, spoiled princess? You got another thing coming. Go ahead and run - I like the chase. But you will answer for this.
My phone buzzes again immediately. Same number.
Run, little mouse. But when I catch you - and I will catch you - you're trapped.
The words make my hands shake. Not just because they're threatening, but because there's something almost playful about them. Like whoever's sending them is enjoying this. Like they want me scared, want me running, want me to feel hunted.
The predatory undertone makes my skin crawl and my pulse race at the same time. This isn't just about revenge. This is personal. This is someone who wants to see me break.
But maybe it's time to stop running. Maybe it's time to face whatever's coming instead of hiding behind family protection while other people clean up my mess.
The door to Enzo's room is slightly ajar when I reach it. I can hear voices inside, but they're quiet now - just Matteo's low murmur and Enzo's hoarse responses. Taking a deep breath, I knock softly and push the door open.
The scene inside makes my stomach clench. Enzo looks terrible - pale and drawn, bandages wrapped around his torso, machines beeping softly around his bed. Matteo's sitting in the corner chair, his own injuries visible - the stitches in his scalp, the bruising around his eyes.
When they see me, Enzo's entire expression changes. Softens. Like nothing else in the world matters except making sure I'm okay.
But before I can say anything, the door opens behind me and Luca walks in. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
"Valentina," he says, and my name sounds like an accusation. "Perfect. We need to talk."
I move toward Enzo's bed, but Luca's voice stops me cold.
"Why the hell did you call the O'Reillys for backup? Since when do we need Irish muscle to handle our problems?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I can see Matteo shifting uncomfortably in his chair, probably having already been through this interrogation.
"How the hell should we know?" Matteo says, his voice sharp with frustration. "Maybe you should ask her."
But I can see in Luca's eyes that he wants answers from me. Not deflection. Not excuses. Truth.
"She panicked," Enzo says firmly, trying to protect me even from his hospital bed. "Thought the situation was getting out of control. Called her roommate for help."
"Her roommate." Luca's voice is flat. Disbelieving. "Valentina called her roommate to a bar fight. And this roommate just happened to have connections to professional enforcers."
Fuck. He's putting pieces together too quickly. Seeing patterns where I need him to see chaos.
"It escalated fast," I say, my voice smaller than I intended. "By the time Declan showed up, it was already out of hand."
"Second question," Luca continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "Why did a spoiled little girl think she could handle family business by involving another organization? What aren't you telling me about how this really started?"
The words hit like a slap. Spoiled little girl. That's exactly what I am. What I've always been.
"She's twenty years old," Enzo says, and I can hear him getting angry despite the pain. "She made a split-second decision because she was scared for her family. You want to crucify her for that?"
"It's not her fault," Matteo adds quietly. "She was scared. She saw the fight getting out of hand and she reacted."
"Reacted," Luca repeats, and the contempt in his voice makes my eyes burn. "She reacted by involving people who had no business being there. By escalating a containable situation into something that's going to require blood to resolve."
"Then the blood is on me," Enzo says firmly. "Not her. She called for help because she saw the fight escalating. Because she couldn't stand to watch her family get hurt. That's on me for not being able to handle it, not on a twenty-year-old girl who was scared for people she loves."
"I was trying to help," I say, hating how young my voice sounds. How weak.
"Help." Luca moves closer, and I can smell the danger radiating off him like heat. "You want to help? Then explain to me how calling Irish enforcers to a family problem was supposed to help anything."
"I saw the fight getting worse and I panicked, okay?" The words burst out of me, louder than intended. "I saw people I love getting hurt and I couldn't just stand there and watch!"
"So you called outsiders. You involved another family in our business. You gave them leverage over us."
"I called my friend!" The shout echoes off the hospital walls. "I called Siobhan because she's my roommate and I thought—"
"You thought what? That this was some college drama that could be solved with a few phone calls?" Luca's voice drops to a whisper, which somehow makes it more terrifying. "You thought the O'Reilly organization would just forget that you dragged them into our shit? That there wouldn't be consequences?"
"I would take a hundred beatings before I'd let anyone hurt you," Enzo says quietly, his eyes locked on mine. "This isn't your fault. This is what family does. This is what big brothers do. We protect our sisters, no matter what."
The words break something inside me. Because that's exactly what Enzo does - takes responsibility for everything. Takes the blame. Takes the heat. Takes whatever consequences come, just to keep me safe.
"The Irish bastard put your brother in the hospital," Luca says coldly. "And that requires a response."
The shift in his tone tells me everything. The interrogation is over. Now comes the retaliation.
He pulls out his phone and starts making calls. Not asking permission. Not discussing options. Just handling business the way he's been trained to do.
"Marco? It's Luca. I need you to gather some information on Declan O'Reilly. Everything - where he lives, what he drives, his schedule, who he fucks, what he eats for breakfast." A pause. "Because he put Enzo in the hospital and I want to know exactly how to return the favor."
He listens for a moment, then continues. "Also, I need you to go back to that bar. Pay for all the damages. Whatever it costs. Cash. We keep this quiet - no insurance claims, no police reports, no questions. Make it worth their while to forget tonight happened."
"Second call," Luca continues, dialing again. "Angelo? Time to earn your keep. I need cars and people. We're moving everyone to the estate tonight." Another pause. "Because campus just became hostile territory and I'm not leaving family exposed."
He hangs up and looks at us. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of absolute authority. "Here's what's going to happen. Everyone moves to the estate - tonight. No exceptions. No arguments."
"Valentina's not going to like that," Matteo says.
"Valentina doesn't get a vote. Her brother is in the hospital because some Irish piece of shit thought he could disrespect our family. She's going to the estate where she's safe while I handle this."
"Luca," I start.
"No." His voice cuts through any protest I might make. "You're my family. My responsibility. Someone put you in the hospital, and that requires a response. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."
But this also means the game between Enzo and Noah just changed completely. This isn't about college politics anymore. This is about family honor and the kind of retaliation that escalates until someone ends up dead.
"What about the Aslanovs?" I ask carefully.
"What about them?"
"Noah protected Enzo. Stopped Declan from doing worse. That counts for something."
Luca considers this for a moment. I can see him weighing the political implications, the strategic value of having a Russian heir in our debt.
"Then we'll remember that when this is over," he says finally. "But right now, the priority is making sure everyone understands that touching a Moretti has consequences."
As he walks toward the door to coordinate the move and plan whatever he has in mind for Declan, I realize tonight changed more than just the relationship between our families.
It changed everything.
But first, I need to talk to my brother. Really talk to him. About what this means. About what he's willing to sacrifice. About whether what he has with Noah is worth starting a war.
When the room finally clears, leaving just me and Enzo, I climb carefully onto the hospital bed beside him, mindful of his injuries.
"Can I ask you something?" I say quietly. "And will you be honest with me? Really honest?"
"Always."
"Is he worth it?" The question comes out softer than I intended. "Noah Aslanov. Is he worth all this? Worth you getting hurt, worth starting a war between families, worth everything that's about to happen?"
Enzo goes very still beneath me. For a moment I think he's going to deflect, make a joke, change the subject like he always does when conversations get too real. But then his expression changes. Becomes something raw and unguarded that I've never seen before.
"Yes," he says simply. And the way he says it - like it's the most obvious truth in the world - makes my chest ache.
"Why?" I whisper.
He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is different. Softer. More vulnerable than I've ever heard it.
"Do you remember when we were kids, and you used to have those nightmares? The ones where you'd wake up screaming and I'd come running?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"You used to ask me if the monsters in your dreams were real. And I'd tell you no, that monsters weren't real, that I'd never let anything hurt you." His fingers trace patterns on my arm, the same soothing gesture he's used since we were children. "But I lied, Val. Monsters are real. We are monsters. Our whole family, this whole world we live in - it's built on being monsters."
"Enzo—"
"Let me finish." His eyes meet mine, and there's something desperate there. Something that looks like relief. "I've spent my whole life being the monster everyone expected me to be. The heir who could hurt people without flinching. The son who could do terrible things and smile about it. And I was good at it. Really good at it."
"You're not a monster," I say fiercely, but he shakes his head.
"I am. We both know I am. But with him..." He pauses, seems to be searching for the right words. "He saw that monster and he didn't run. He didn't try to fix me or change me or pretend I was something else. He just... recognized it. Like he was looking in a mirror."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my throat tight. Because this is Enzo without his masks, without his defenses. This is my brother stripped down to the most vulnerable parts of himself.
"Tonight, when Declan was hurting me, Noah could have walked away. Should have walked away. But he didn't." Enzo's voice drops to a whisper. "He chose me, Val. Over his family's expectations, over his own safety, over everything. He let his monster out to protect mine."
"And now you can't let him go," I say, understanding finally dawning.
"Now I can't let him go," he confirms. "Because he's the only person who's ever seen all of me - the good, the bad, the absolutely fucking terrifying - and wanted to stay anyway. He's the only person who makes me feel like being a monster might not be the worst thing in the world."
Tears blur my vision because I've never heard Enzo talk like this. Never seen him so open, so desperate, so completely honest about what he wants.
"So yes," he continues, his hand finding mine again. "He's worth it. He's worth everything. Because for the first time in my life, I'm not pretending to be something I'm not. I'm not hiding. With him, I can just... be."
"Even if it destroys everything?" I ask softly.
"Even then." His smile is sad but certain. "Because losing him would destroy me anyway. At least this way, I'm fighting for something instead of just existing."
He pauses, then lets out a rough laugh that makes him wince and clutch his ribs. "Besides, little princess, there probably would have been a war anyway. Things like this - what Noah and I have - they don't come easy in our world. Someone was always going to try to tear us apart. The families, the politics, the expectations..." He shrugs carefully. "You just helped things along."
The casual way he says it - like my panic call was just an inevitable catalyst rather than the catastrophic mistake I thought it was - makes me stare at him.
"You're not angry with me," I realize.
"How can I be angry when you gave me exactly what I needed?" His smile turns genuine, the same mischievous grin he's worn since we were kids getting into trouble together. "You forced his hand, Val. Made him choose. And he chose me."
The weight of his words settles between us. My brother - my protector, my safe harbor, the person who's always been my constant - is willing to risk everything for someone who sees him for exactly what he is.
"I love you," I whisper, because it's the only thing that feels big enough for this moment.
"I love you too, princess. More than anything." He squeezes my hand. "That's why I need you to be safe. That's why I need you to go to the estate and let Luca handle this. Because I can't fight for him and protect you at the same time. And I need to fight for him, Val. I need to fight for this."
The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. He's choosing Noah. Not over me - never over me - but he's choosing to fight for something that matters to him in a way I've never seen before.
And I'm the liability that could get in his way.
The car ride to the estate passes in a blur. Angelo drives with professional efficiency while I stare out the window at the city lights, processing everything that's happened. Everything that's about to happen.
When we arrive, the estate is exactly what I expected - armed guards, security cameras, the kind of fortress mentality that screams "family under siege." Angelo escorts me inside with professional efficiency, his eyes constantly scanning for threats.
"Miss Valentina," he says as we reach the main house. "Mr. Luca wanted me to remind you that you're not to leave the grounds without escort. For your safety."
For my safety. Code for "you're a prisoner until further notice."
"I understand," I lie.
My room is exactly as I left it the last time I stayed here - pink and frilly and designed for a little girl who didn't know the first thing about family business or blood debts or consequences. Looking at it now, I feel like I'm seeing it through someone else's eyes. Someone who finally understands what it means to be a Moretti.
It means that every choice has consequences. Every action has reactions. Every moment of weakness can get people killed.
I sit on the edge of my bed and pull out my phone, scrolling through the missed calls and text messages. There are several more from the same unknown number, each one more threatening than the last.
But the latest one stands out. One that came in while I was at the hospital.
Your brother's blood is on your hands. We'll be in touch.
The words blur as tears fill my eyes. Because it's true. Enzo's blood is on my hands. His pain, his broken ribs, his weeks of recovery - all of it because I couldn't handle pressure without making everything worse.
I'm exactly what Luca said I am. A scared little girl who put everyone at risk because she couldn't think beyond her own panic.
But I'm also a Moretti. And Morettis fix their own messes.
I wait until the house goes quiet around me. Wait until the guards settle into their routines and the security cameras follow their predictable patterns. Wait until I'm certain no one is watching.
Then I slip out of my room and head for the garage.
Because Luca can protect me all he wants, but he can't fix what I broke. Only I can do that. Only I can face Declan O'Reilly and make him understand that this was never supposed to happen.
I started this war. And I'm going to end it.
Even if it kills me.