Page 46 of No Promises, No Lies

Reagan shrugs.“Yeah. He can cook like… anything.”

I force a swallow, gathering up my nerve. “And—where is everyone else this morning?” I ask, cautiously.

She taps pretty gold painted nails against her chin, thinking... “This time of day? Aidan and Liam are usually still at the rink, but they should be back any minute. Koen usually has breakfast ready for when they have early skates. They’re pretty ravenous after practice.”

The idea of Koen, a hardened Irish mob boss, cooking up a five-star breakfast to keep his hockey-playing younger brothers fed is a strange thought.

“And what about Alexe—err—Alex?” I correct, eyeing the garden doors warily.

Reagan is focused on pouring herself a steaming hot cup of coffee. “Back with the Russians, I think.” She waives the carafe at me. “Coffee?”

I nod absently, lost in my thoughts as she fills the mug. When she comes back into focus, she’s studying me. Close up, her green eyes are lighter than her brothers, with more hints of amber and gold mixed in.

“Are you really the Bratva Pakhan’s daughter?” she whispers like the words themselves are dangerous. The youngest of the notorious Boston Irish family is looking at me with a mix of curiosity and fascination. Not a trace of hatred or ire in her expression.

“Unfortunately,” I mumble, cramming in another bite of eggs while keeping a watchful eye on the door.

Reagan raises two perfect eyebrows at my response before letting out a little sigh. “Sounds like being the Bratva princess is about as much fun as being the Irish one…”

Taking my eyes off the door, I study her again.

We’re about the same age. Unlike her brothers, an overwhelming sense of goodness surrounds her—warmth. Uncommon in this world we were born into.

“I suppose so,” I say, agreeing with her, feeling a tentative bond forming between us as we find common ground. I take a sip of my coffee and my shoulders sag in relief. The dull pounding in my skull lessens as I fill my stomach with food and caffeine.

Very few people could understand the way I was raised and the lifestyle I was compelled to follow. While it had been easy to make friends while I was away at school, I couldn’t keep up with them. Couldn’t visit friends or have them come to me. Not without putting their lives at risk. The danger was too great.

After a while, I slowly started isolating myself. Aside from Elle, Alexei, and my coaches, there are very few people I interact with daily.

“To mafia bullshit!” Reagan raises her coffee mug, a little smirk on her face. Dimples apparent on her lightly freckled cheeks.

I let out a laugh despite myself. “To the bullshit!” I clink my mug against hers and we both laugh a little harder.

The conversation between us flows from there. I fill my stomach and sit back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, the fresh air, and Reagan’s smart mouth. She’s unassumingly funny. I liked her immediately. Growing up in the mob hasn’t yet tainted her with its dark, ugly claws.

Not like me.

Hanging out with Reagan almost makes me forget the personal hell I’m trapped in.

The sound of a throat clearing has both our heads whipping around, falling silent. Even the birds have the good sense not to chirp under Aidan’s predatory gaze.

He stands in the doorway, furious green eyes locked on me.

Nope. Definitely wasn’t supposed to leave the bedroom…

He does a quick pass over Reagan, as if checking to see if any harm has come to his little sister by my hand.“What the fuck is this?” He finally fumes after confirming Reagan appears just fine.

I’m rigid in my seat, but Reagan leans back in her chair, the picture of nonchalance, rolling her eyes at her brother.

Aidan’s own eyes narrow at his sister.“Where is Koen?” he demands, his voice loud enough to summon Koen himself. The eldest O’Rourke’s confused expression hardens as he takes in the sight of the two of us sitting together in the garden.

“What the fuck is this?” His Irish accent is the strongest I’ve heard it. Seeming to come out of the O’Rourkes more so when they’re angry.

“Asshole number one already said that,” Reagan points out, and I stare at her in horror. Shocked by the boldness of her attitude. Thinking of all the ways Niko would have killed me dead if I ever spoke to him like she just did. “Would you guys like to join us for breakfast?”

“Reagan, for God’s sake,” Aidan lets out, pinching his nose, clearly exasperated. “Get away from her.” He motions to me, but I narrow my eyes, stealing a bit of my new friend’s attitude.

Reagan sinks deeper in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. “You guys act like you have a Bratva soldier in this house.” She shakes her head and her eyes lock on mine. “Rory’s a girl. She didn’t choose to be born to the Russian Mafia any more than I want to be part of the stupid Mob.”

---