Page 32 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

KATE

“ T his sure as hell isn’t a Hallmark movie,” I mutter as I drag my bags and boxes out of the rental car myself.

Rory sidles out the back door of the house we grew up in and grins. “You complaining already, little sis?”

“You could help me, you know,” I grumble.

He heaves a box out of the trunk and groans, “Jesus, Katie, whaddaya got in here? Cinderblocks?”

“Books.”

“Hey, I’ll let you in on a secret—everything’s online now. You don’t have to haul seventy-five pounds of books around anymore. While you’re here I’ll teach you about the internet,” he teases.

“Ha, ha. I can look up porn on my own thanks.”

Rory lets out a chuckle. “I’ve really missed you, mouth and all.”

I follow him in, loaded down with two duffels and my wheelie suitcase.

A rush of nostalgia hits me when I walk in the kitchen.

He’s changed stuff around since our parents died, but the kitchen table’s in the same place where I used to do my math homework and chatter to Mom while she did dishes. I swallow hard, blinking back tears.

Rory drops the book box on the floor, peels the duffel bag straps off my shoulders and folds me into a hug. “I know,” he says, “It still hits me sometimes too. Out of nowhere.”

I sniffle and hug my big brother, grateful that he gets it and we’re together again. It takes a little of the sting out of my failure.

“It doesn’t smell the same,” I say, my voice small.

“If that’s a fart joke, I swear to God, Katie, just ruin a sweet brother-sister moment,” he says and I give a watery laugh. He’s trying to cheer me up so I let him. I sniff bravely and step back, pick up my bags.

“It wasn’t, but now that you mention it, you might wanna cut down on the beans while I’m here. I like to burn a scented candle once in a while and I don’t want a gas fire to break out.”

“That’s not how gas fires work,” he replies.

I dump my bags in my old room and go back to the rental to finish unloading.

“What the hell did you do? Eat nonstop all the way from California?”

He surveys my wrappers, empty water bottles and fast food receipts strewn about the truck.

I roll my eyes, grab a plastic bag from a gas station and start stuffing trash into it.

Rory shuts the trunk and starts dragging stuff out of the back seat, a laundry basket full of random junk from my apartment, a couple more boxes, and the overnight bag I used on the trip.

Once the car is empty, I follow him back inside. Exhaustion hits after so many days on the road and I drop onto the living room couch. “I’m gonna need you to follow me to drop off the rental and bring me back here.” I sigh.

“Let’s do that in the morning,” he says. “You’re tired. Eat something, have a shower, go to sleep.”

“It’s four in the afternoon. I’m not a toddler. I don’t go to bed at five o’clock,” I say. “We could pick up some Chinese after we drop off the car—catch up and maybe I’ll kick your ass at Uno like when we were kids.”

“That sounds nice and all, but I gotta go to work.”

“No problem,” I say, “We can hang out some other time. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Good deal, I’ll see you in the morning. We can drop off the car, maybe go out for breakfast.”

“Sounds great,” I say too brightly.

Rory’s out the door in no time. It’s not like I expect him to make me a cup of tea and watch Great British Bake-Off reruns with me or anything.

I just thought I’d get to spend more than ten minutes with my big brother before he took off.

I should have expected it, really. He’s in thick with Mickey O’Halloran who inherited the organization when his dad died a few years ago.

I don’t object to the organization itself much—I grew up in Southie and our dad was part of the syndicate all his life.

I guess I just wanted better for Rory, and I wasn’t sorry to move away for college.

Something about being part of the O’Halloran’s organization feels like extended family or a really small town— where everyone knows your business and it can be stifling.

A new city and a new start suited me just fine… until it didn’t.

I’m back home living with my brother because I can’t afford to do anything else.

It’s the cold hard truth and it’s embarrassing as hell.

I was always good at school and numbers are my thing.

I worked part time in data analysis while I did my accounting degree in California.

Problem was, I couldn’t get a full-time job once I graduated with honors.

It’s so competitive and there were a ton of applicants for every job that opened up.

For months I got by on part-time jobs and gig work, but there was no hope of a career doing what I love without my CPA, which I couldn’t afford to pursue if I kept living hand to mouth out west. So, I packed up, rented a car, and moved home with my tail between my legs.

When I talked to Rory on the phone he was understanding, but hesitant to have me stick around permanently.

I think he was just as happy to have me away from the family.

I get up and go to rifle through the fridge for something to eat.

Apparently, my grown ass brother still lives like a frat boy based on the contents.

I snag a takeout menu from a stack on the counter and order myself some Chinese before settling back on the couch and cable surfing to find something mind-numbing to binge.

My first night back in the old neighborhood isn’t exactly exciting, but I don’t need it to be. This is a temporary situation until I can get my shit together and head back out west.