34. Sienna
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.
I groaned softly, promptly shutting down the growing doubt. And just in time, because while arranging the water glasses, I heard footsteps approaching.
“Do you need help?”
I turned to find Tyran entering the kitchen with his brothers behind him.
“Here we are, wifey,” Kyran announced.
Tyran’s mouth twitched. “Call her wifey again and you’ll be the best man with broken hands and feet.”
Kyran opened his mouth as if up for the challenge when Aiden’s hand came to his shoulder.
“Let’s not tempt him, yeah?”
Kyran strolled past him, stealing a piece of bread from the basket as he winked at me and said, “That’s the best part of being the best man. I get to torture him.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s your funeral. But remember this: when it’s your turn, he’ll fuck with you tenfold.”
“You have a girlfriend?” I asked curiously as we all sat down around the table.
“Fuck no. Relationships aren’t my thing,” he said, then bit into the bread as he reached for another piece of it from the basket.
I slapped his hand.
“Hey!” He looked genuinely offended. “Did you just assault me?”
“You’re going to eat it all before Tyran has a chance to even make his plate.”
“Awww, blondie, that’s so romantic,” Aiden drawled.
“Hey, only I call her blondie,” Tyran protested, glaring at his brothers.
Tyran came around the table, pulled out my chair, and waited until I sat before taking the seat beside me.
“So freaking possessive,” Kyran noted, rolling his eyes. He and Aiden took a seat opposite us, Kyran glancing around. “Where is the alcohol?”
I stiffened.
“We’re out,” Tyran said, his hand landing on my thigh under the table and squeezing it gently in comfort. “Plus, you could do with less alcohol in your system, brother.”
Aiden reached for a piece of bread, eyeing his plate. “Since when do we, the Irish, run out of alcohol?” Tyran shot him a dark, wordless look that Aiden must have understood. “Okay, now tell us, Sienna, do you cook?”
“Sometimes.”
Kyran looked at his twin. “You mentioned you cooked this. Since when do you cook?”
“I cook when the mood strikes.”
“You’ve never cooked for me.”
“You’ve never been worth cooking for,” Tyran replied, digging into his food.
“He’s cooked for me before,” Aiden chimed in, devouring his own food. Kyran shot his twin with a feigned look of hurt and grabbed his chest theatrically, never ceasing to eat.
My mood instantly lifted watching them interact. I bit my lip to keep from laughing, finding the siblings so much like my own in a way.
Who would have ever thought that terrifying mobsters could be so entertaining?
“Eat, blondie,” Tyran instructed. “I made this for you, not these idiots.”
“How can you be so hurtful? I thought I was your favorite. I thought you loved me,” Kyran said, then pointed at Aiden. “It’s him who’s the idiot.”
“You’re delusional,” Aiden said. “As his eldest brother, I was Tyran’s favorite first. Then Margaret. Of course, we took a back seat to Sienna here. And you… you were never even on the list.”
“That’s cold,” Kyran remarked, although he didn’t look hurt in the least.
“It’s also true.” Aiden leaned back in his chair. “I’ve missed this.”
“Of course you did, you masochist. You’re not the one getting abused,” Kyran grumbled.
I threw my head back and laughed, drawing three sets of blue eyes to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, chuckling. “This is just… like watching my little siblings argue over the last piece of cake.”
As if to prove my point, Aiden and Kyran reached for the same piece of bread and started smacking each other.
“Some people never grow up,” Tyran said, his blue eyes darkening with amusement. “But don’t worry, baby, your man knows better.”
My cheeks warmed.
Kyran made a gagging noise.
“Please. We’re eating.”
Tyran kicked him beneath the table and said, “You don’t have to listen.”
Kyran jerked. “I unfortunately have ears.”
“Careful, Tyran,” Aiden murmured. “You might hurt your twin’s feelings.”
Kyran puffed his chest. “I don’t have feelings.”
“That’s true,” Tyran agreed.
I laughed again.
For a few minutes, the conversation drifted back to the food. Kyran complained that Tyran had somehow managed to make a meal that required more dishes than people. Aiden argued that presentation mattered. Tyran told them both to shut up and eat.
I found myself relaxing, observing the easy way of these three brothers.
“So,” Aiden said casually, “is everything set for tomorrow? Dress, flowers, entertainment—”
“Presentation of the bloody sheets,” Kyran added.
I nearly choked on my water.
“Ignore my twin.” Tyran patted my back.
I shot him a panicked look. “Is he serious?”
“No.”
Kyran shrugged. “The Italians do it.”
“And how would you know that?” Aiden asked.
“I read it somewhere. Anyhow, I’ll take the bloody sheets as a negative. How about flowers? Did you pick them?”
“No.”
“Yes,” Tyran answered at the same time. “Stop fucking harassing her.”
His twin ignored him and pinned his eyes on me as he asked, “Did you two decide how many children you will have? Please don’t have a whole soccer team like my sister.”
I stared at him, and so did Tyran, while Aiden slowly lowered his fork, shaking his head.
Kyran grinned. “What?”
“You really don’t value your life,” Aiden observed.
“I was curious.”
“Curious about your funeral arrangements?” I asked.
He pointed at me.
“See? She’s fitting in perfectly.”
Tyran’s arm slipped around my waist beneath the table.
Just then, voices drifted down the hallway.
Tyran glanced toward the doorway. “That’ll be Margaret.”
“Your sister?”
He nodded, and I nervously smoothed my hair. Then I placed my palm face down on the table to prevent myself from fidgeting just as a woman appeared in the doorway.
She was striking, her hair dark as midnight and her eyes striking blue, the same shade as her brothers. She was definitely a Callahan. Beside her stood a tall man with dark hair and an amused expression.
Tyran stood. “Margaret.”
“Hello, brother.” Her eyes flicked to me, then shifted to Aiden and Kyran. “Hello to all three of my brothers.”
“Meet my sister, Margaret, and her husband, Luca DiMauro,” Tyran said, pecking Margaret on the cheek and shaking hands with Luca. “They mostly spend their time in Sicily, and hate leaving their love nest.”
“Bullshit.” His sister scoffed. Margaret’s gaze moved back to me with a soft expression. “You’re Sienna, right?”
Kyran snorted. “If she wasn’t, it would be pretty damn awkward right now.”
I stood, took a step forward, and offered my hand. “Hi.”
Luca took my hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
I shook it. “Nice to meet you too.”
Then Margaret pulled me into a hug. I stiffened for half a second, then hugged her back.
“Welcome to the family,” she murmured.
“Why is Margaret allowed to hug her and we can’t even call her blondie?” Kyran protested.
“Obviously Tyran doesn’t want to share her,” Margaret answered, pulling back. “And thank God for that.”
My cheeks heated, realizing the rumors about the twins sharing women were true after all.
I glanced at Tyran, dying to know more about it, but his expression told me there would be no talk of that. It was just as well, because I wasn’t in love with two men. Only one.
Shit, where did that thought come from?
“You’re so young,” Margaret said pensively. “Much younger than I pictured you.”
My shoulders straightened. “I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s some serious age gap between you two,” she said, her eyes darting between her brother and me.
“No less than ours,” Luca added.
Margaret elbowed him.
“You’re supposed to keep that to yourself, husband,” Margaret said, then addressed me. “He’s trouble.”
Luca looked wounded. “You married me.”
“I was young.”
“You were twenty-five.”
“I rest my case.” Margaret smiled triumphantly.
“Good thing you love me and gave me many children,” Luca teased, pulling her closer to him.
“Exactly,” Margaret replied back. “I’m trying to warn Sienna.”
Tyran’s jaw tightened. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. That’s why I’m warning her.”
I burst out laughing. “Thanks for the warning, Margaret,” I said, smiling. “But I’m still marrying Tyran.”
Blackmail or not.
Before I could let that revelation sink in, I heard a familiar voice from somewhere beyond the kitchen.
Then another. And another.
My smile froze, and for one suspended second, I couldn’t breathe.
My heart slammed against my ribs so violently it hurt, the sound of my pulse roaring in my ears.
They are here.
My family was here.
After five years of wondering if I would ever see them again, after five years of missing them so fiercely that sometimes it felt like an ache carved straight into my bones, they were here.
I bolted from the kitchen.
I barely registered the hallway beneath my feet or someone calling my name behind me. I couldn’t stop, because every step carried me closer to the people I had spent five years longing for.
Then I reached the foyer and stopped. My feet refused to move another inch as I stared at all those familiar—more mature, older, beautiful—faces.
I was ten feet away, close enough to reach for them. Close enough to hug them.
Yet somehow it felt like there were planets separating us.