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It’s not really two days, though.
We met years ago, briefly. Him on one side with his Irish family, and me with my Russian brood on the other.
Katya had struck up a friendship with Isabella Parisi, the Italian Mafia don’s daughter, who is now Darragh’s sister-in-law.
I avoided making friends. I spent more time figuring out how to sneak off. Or losing my guards for fun. I was eighteen!
Now, at twenty-three and pregnant, I feel stuck.
Shaking all that away, I amble through the main floor and climb the stairs.
In my room, I lock the door, and then go into the bathroom for extra security. With a pen I swiped from a desk in my room, I scribble out a note to my sister back home in Astoria.
Getting it all out, I give her the facts. Where I am. Who I’m with. Darragh. Not Cormac. But I summarize the last two plus years with gritty and honest testimony.
I don’t want her to worry about me, but I can’t lie. We grew up in a brutal world, and she deserves the truth. I urge her not to fret and tell her that I love her.
After signing my name, Anastasia, I fold the note and stick it in the envelope. I fish out the address I wrote down before Cormac took my phone, thankful I went back to that motel.
Otherwise, I would have lost Katya’s school address forever.
I attach the stamp to the envelope and glance out the window. A mailbox sits at the end of the street and I notice the rain has temporarily stopped.
With the letter now shoved into my pocket, signed and sealed with hopes of delivery, I head back downstairs.
Sophie sits on Darragh’s lap in a kitchen chair, playing a game on her iPad. The sight crushes me. How can a man who said he’d murder his own brother turn off that kind of evil to be so damn gentle and warm with his daughter?
He lights up around her. The only time a smile remotely forms on his beautiful face is with Sophie.
Then again, he smiled when kissing me, too.
Growing up, Papa never turned off his hate. But despite speaking harshly all the time, I knew he loved me. He would never hurt me directly, like strike me, but he was never warm.
The O’Rourkes had seven or eight kids. I’d lost track. They looked like a happy family. That the oldest five brothers now run the O’Rourke empire suggests how close they were growing up.
I clear my throat, forcing Darragh to notice me.
“Hungry?” he asks.
Sophie cradled on his lap is a sight that makes my blood whoosh faster in my veins.
Hungry, yes. For him.
“I am,” I say, embarrassed by my uncontrolled attraction to him. “Can I get some fresh air first? Take a walk? It’s not raining.”
“A walk.” Darragh eyes me suspiciously, giving my cardigan, yoga pants, and green sneakers a once-over. “For fresh air.”
“Uh huh.”
“Can I go for a walk with you?” Sophie asks.
My heart seizes, but this is an opportunity to prove I’m not running off.
“Of course, sweetie.” I smile at her.
I’m sure I can distract her while I shove a letter in the mailbox.
Darragh stands up, gently putting Sophie on her feet.
