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“So you’re not planning on stopping?”

“Not a chance in fucking hell,” I replied. “Those men would die for ever looking her way, never mind touching her.”

Aiden didn’t seem surprised, although he seemed somewhat annoyed. Well, tough. He’d do the same if his wife were in Sienna’s stead.

“I’ll keep digging, then,” Aiden stated matter-of-factly.

“You do that. And I’ll keep killing the fuckers that are a threat to Sienna and our family.”

“Okay, then,” Kyran declared. “Now that we got that behind us, let’s go eat with our soon-to-be sister-in-law.”

THIRTY-FOUR

SIENNA

The kitchen smelled of garlic and melted butter, warm and comforting, the aroma drifting through the air and making my stomach rumble before I even saw the food.

On the counter, I found a plate waiting for me, carefully wrapped in tin foil. I peeled it back, and a cloud of savory heat rose from the dish.

There, nestled together on the plate, were golden roasted red potatoes, their skins crisp and their insides soft, generously sprinkled with fragrant rosemary. Beside them lay a tender slice of roast, still warm and glistening with its juices, along with a homemade bun with a beautifully browned crust.

The sight alone was enough to make my mouth water. I could smell the buttery potatoes, the earthy rosemary, and the rich, savory roast all at once.

I stood there, taking it all in, already imagining that first warm, satisfying bite, and in disbelief that Tyran Callahan, the Irish mobster, was capable of putting this together.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to. When I told the Callahan brothers I’d make us food, I meant lackluster sandwiches that I would quickly slap together.

Tyran really was so unexpectedly… awesome. I didn’t know if that was the right word, but I went with it.

He’d been feeding me ever since he’d come back into my life, as if feeding me enough food would make it all better. Maybe it would.

I shook my head, smiling to myself.

Then I grabbed four plates and began setting the table, arranging them one by one. I would never be able to cook something like this rich meal, but I could at least set the table for us so we could share this plate full of deliciously cooked food.

I placed the plates, straightened the silverware, and reached for the glasses, all while my mind kept circling back to everything that had happened over the last few hours.

My whole family will be here soon.

I’d be able to hug them all for the first time in five years.

Warmth spread through my chest at the thought, soft and aching and almost too big to contain. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run to the door and wait for them like a little child waiting for her parents on Christmas morning.

Emotions kept swirling in my mind while their faces—unaged by the years we’d spent apart—flipped through my mind.

And beneath all these emotions, there was a nervous flutter.

Had they changed a lot? Would they recognize me? Would I recognize them? What would it be like to see them again? Would we slip easily back into the old familiarity, or would the years between us stand there like an invisible wall?

So much had changed. I knew I’d changed, and I was sure they had too. What if they looked at me and didn’t like this version of me?

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously.

What if they hate me?

After all, for five years, I had built distance—and not only geographical—between us. And no matter how desperately I missed them, I had chosen to close myself off, convincing myself that keeping them at arm’s length was the best thing for them and the easiest thing for me.

Because after each call to them, I felt lonelier and sadder than before.