Chapter 53 Family Dinner
FAMILY DINNER
KOEN
Now
I’ve just brought the vegetables to a satisfying sizzle when I hear her. I turn from the stove, scowling at the little dark-haired girl lingering under the archway that leads into the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t be up.”
The nervousness on her face disappears, morphing into annoyance, discontent with the idea of me telling her what to do, so naturally, she steps further into the kitchen, with a limp that has me clenching my jaw.
“I’m fine,” she says with a steel resolve in her voice. “I don’t want to be in there alone.” The words are the only thing that stops me from throwing her over my shoulder and carting her back off to my room.
“Well, sit the fuck down or something.” My arm waves in exasperation toward the kitchen island stools and the dining table. I take my eye off of her to stir the sauce that’s starting to boil, due to my lack of attention to it.
“You cook?” There’s disbelief in her voice. I don’t turn around, hearing her shuffle toward the island and pull out a stool, satisfied that she’s going to sit.
A little smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Is that so surprising?”
She doesn’t know what to say, tripping over her words, and I turn to face her, leaning back against the counter and folding my arms across my chest to give her my full attention.
“No, I—” she starts, before she lets out a breath. “Yes,” she admits, “I guess it is.” She shrugs apologetically at me.
“A man’s gotta eat, does he not?”
“Yeah, but you’re you.”
I tilt my head, raising my brows. What’s that supposed to mean?
She leans in, her voice low before she continues. “The head of the Irish mafia.” She whispers like it’s a secret. “I figured you’d have, I don’t know, people for that.”
I shake my head, moving to check on the vegetables roasting in the oven. “I don’t like strangers in my space. Don’t trust ‘em.”
We exchange a look during a beat of awkward silence. That rule doesn’t seem to apply to her, now does it? This will be the third time I’ve had her in the loft. There’s a flash of something in her eyes before she looks away. Guilt, maybe? I can’t tell.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asks, pushing on with the conversation.
“Self-taught. Life’s too short to eat shit food.”
She chuckles. “I guess that’s fair.”
The elevator pings and her expression drops, alarm in her eyes, and she presses both palms to the countertop of the island like she’s ready to bolt. Her eyes meet mine—waiting for… reassurance?
“It’s just my brothers,” I tell her. “They live here too.”
Liam’s familiar loud tone greets us as he enters the loft, talking to, I’m assuming Aidan, seeing as they would have just wrapped up hockey practice together.
His wife, Rory, is somewhere in the loft, though I haven’t seen her all day.
My other brother Alex has been staying with us since his falling out with the Bratva.
It felt good for a minute to have everyone under one roof.
That is, until my sister decided to flee her “gilded prison,” setting off the chain of events that led to me getting shot and the Bratva Pakhan’s death.
I sent Alex to New York to try and track her down, but so far he hasn’t had much luck, and after the text she sent me yesterday, her phone’s gone dark.
“Something smells good!” Liam proclaims loudly as he steps into the kitchen.
Briar’s head whips to the archway as my youngest brother makes his appearance.
Liam freezes at the sight of Briar sitting at the kitchen island. They met the night I took her from Gio, and he saw her again at the meeting at The Sovereign, but they haven’t been formally introduced.
“Oh, hello?” His eyes dart my way, and I shoot him a look, silently warning him to behave.
He returns my glare with a look of amusement—Not a good sign—and continues waltzing into the kitchen. “How’s it hanging, mystery girl?”
Mystery girl? Briar mouths in my direction, and I roll my eyes, hoping my brother won’t make me regret bringing her here.
“I’m Liam.” He holds out a gigantic hand that Briar stares at for several seconds before taking it.
“Briar.” She nods, shaking his hand assertively, while making a point to look him in the eye, leading to a wide smile forming on Liam’s face.
“Where’s Aidan?” I ask, noticing how he didn’t follow Liam into the kitchen.
“Ah, he’s checking on little Kostalova—I mean O’Rourke,” he corrects with a wince, quickly checking over his shoulder to make sure Aidan didn’t hear him. I don’t think our brother would appreciate Liam calling his new wife by her maiden name.
“Briar’s staying the night,” I inform him, which earns me two raised brows.
“Is she now?”
I nod slowly. Don’t start, I warn him with my eyes.
“Roger that,” Liam smirks.
I check the meat thermometer on the chicken. It’s almost done. Annoyance rolls through me at how easily Briar and Liam have caught on. The two have been chatting nonstop for the past fifteen minutes.
Briar’s sitting at the counter, head propped up on her hands as she asks endless questions about hockey, our family, and our life. It’s segued into Liam sharing a few stories about us growing up, and I’ve had to cut him off twice already from sharing too much.
I watch them intently, but my gaze is more focused on Briar. Liam’s been asking her questions, too, but her answers are short and stilted like she’s holding herself back from giving away too much. Still, it’s the most I think I’ve ever heard her talk.
Liam is good at making her laugh. She’s so different when she’s happy; her guard isn’t fully down, but she’s lowered it, and it’s giving me a glimpse into the real Briar.
The girl I remember from the night we spent together years ago.
Sharp edges softened, her laugh is light and genuine, and I almost ruin the sauce, because I’m too busy paying attention to her to notice it boiling again.
Aidan appears in the archway, likely drawn in by the scent of dinner that’s nearly done.
“How was practice?” I ask.
He comes around the island, his green eyes eyeing Briar and Liam curiously as he reaches behind me and swipes one of the rolls from the bowl I just put out. They haven’t seen him yet.
“Fine.” He leans back against the counter next to me, taking a bite from the roll. “That the girl you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist?” he asks quietly in my ear.
I scoff and shove him lightly, and he lets out a laugh.
The sound alerts Briar and Liam to his presence, and her reaction is immediate.
She freezes, shoulders stiffening, anxiety flashing in her eyes.
Interesting.
Although, I guess the last time Briar saw Aidan, he was bashing someone’s face in with a baseball bat…
I place the dishes and silverware on the island for Liam to set the table. He takes hold of the dishes, but not before Briar swipes up the silverware, turning back to the table as if she means to help.
“No,” I say, and Liam looks up. “Don’t let her help. She’s injured.”
Liam moves quick as lightning, snatching the silverware out of Briar’s hands before she even realizes he moved.
“Hey!”
Liam just shrugs. “Sorry, mystery girl. Boss’ orders.”
She turns to scowl at me, and I give her a look.
Briar slides down off the stool. She’s so short that when she’s sitting on it, her feet don’t touch the ground. Slowly, she makes her way across the kitchen to the table.
I lean over the island, snapping to get Liam’s attention. Briar’s back is to me. Help her, I mouth to him, pointing at Briar currently limping across the kitchen.
He drops the plates and silverware on the table and circles back around it, attempting to assist Briar, but she swats him away. He looks between her and me, his hands hovering around her in case she falls, and I can tell he doesn’t want to touch her.
I look up at the ceiling. Lord help me.
With Briar safely seated, Liam finishes setting the table, and a few minutes later, Aidan helps me bring the food over. But not before swiping another bread roll from the basket.
“Any more word from Reagan?” he asks, once I’ve set the final dish out.
“No.” I clench my jaw while lowering myself into my chair. “I’ve sent Alex, Garrett, and Jerrad—and a few of their guys—down to New York to see if they can locate her, but they’re still trying to pick up her trail.”
“I tried calling her, but it just goes right to voicemail,” he tells me, and I know he’s as worried as I am.
“How’s Rory?” Liam asks, and I lean in, wanting to know, too. She’s had a rough couple of days.
“She’s still kind of shaken up,” Aidan admits. “She slept most of the day, but she said she might come down to dinner.”
“If she’s not up to it, I can set aside a plate for her,” I offer, and Aidan nods at me appreciatively.
Briar’s been quiet since we all sat down, and I’m surprised when it’s she who speaks up next.
“Who’s Reagan?”
The table goes silent. Only a few scrapes of metal can be heard from Liam’s fork as he stares down at his plate, pushing his food around with it.
I clear my throat. “Our sister,” I inform her.
Briar’s eyes dart around the table, taking in the sudden shift of mood, recognizing that she’s stepped into something complicated.
I start carefully—we’ve been trying to keep Reagan’s disappearance as much of a secret as possible.
We’re all nervous about what might happen if word gets out in the underworld that she’s on her own.
Unprotected. I can think of quite a few of our enemies who would have a field day with that information.
“She ran away this week.”
“Ran away?” Briar’s eyes widen and she looks around the table. I notice how she keeps casting nervous glances Aidan’s way.
“She wasn’t a fan of lockdown,” Liam jokes, though Briar doesn’t get it.
I lean forward on my elbows, lacing my fingers together over my plate as I try and explain. “I know you are aware that our father died.”
She nods, watching me nervously.
“He was murdered.” Her eyes widen but I continue, “Tensions in the city have been running high since his death. We know the Russians killed our dad, but we feel it’s part of a bigger play to wrestle control of the city.
” I watch her face carefully; there’s fear there but she’s still listening.
“It appears a few of us have targets on our backs.” She swallows, her fingers tightening around her fork.
“Until we get to the bottom of it, we’ve had to tighten security.
Reagan, our sister, was not too happy about that, as you may be able to understand.
This life—our life—is dangerous. As our sister, Reagan will never be safe.
There will always be someone, some threat, out there looking to get to us by hurting her.
” My eyes hold Briar’s for a moment. It’s a reminder to both of us why I pushed her away in the first place.
“Reagan has been pushing back against the increase in security, and I guess she just finally had enough.” My jaw works and I pick my fork back up. “She texted yesterday saying she was safe and she was sorry, but then she turned her phone off.”
“So you’re going to hunt her down?”
“I’m trying to keep her safe.”
She cocks her head. “There’s a difference.”
The table around us is silent.
“Yeah. There is a difference between tracking someone down and dragging them home. Between watching them and caging them. If she wants out, I won’t force her back. But I also won’t let anyone take advantage of her or put her at risk either.”
She studies my face. “You said she turned her phone off. That kinda sounds like she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Maybe,” I say, leaning back in my chair and tilting my head. “Maybe she just needs a little space to breathe. But it doesn’t change the fact that there are people out there who want to hurt her. I won’t let that happen.”
“You don’t get to decide for her,” she says, and her tone sharpens. I’m not so certain we’re talking about Reagan anymore.
“You’re right.”
Surprise flickers in her expression as she stares back at me.
“I don’t. But I can do what I can. I can keep watch. Make sure there’s a way out if she wants one, and I can keep her safe.”
Her eyes narrow. “And what if she doesn’t want your help?”
I can feel my brothers’ eyes on me, as interested in my answer as she is.
“Then I’ll back off.” Her brows rise. “But I won’t stop watching out for her. The reality is our world isn’t safe and, once you’re in it, there’s no escaping it.” I shake my head slowly, and she swallows, shifting in her chair. “I protect what’s mine. Family or otherwise.”
She drops her gaze back to her plate, pushing around the vegetables, and I would kill to read her thoughts right now.
“For god’s sake, Briar, eat something,” I growl, after several minutes of watching her rearrange her plate.
Her gaze lifts and she glares at me, spearing a piece of broccoli, and holding my eye while she lifts it to her mouth and pops it in, chewing slowly.
She lifts her hands as if to say: There, happy?
The corner of my mouth ticks up, That’s a good girl.