Page 3 of Killian

In all the years that Sofia has lived here, not much has changed aesthetically, but the feel of the house is different. You can feel the love and loyalty in these walls, and soon the sounds of giggling children will fill the halls.

“He’s waiting for you in his study,” Lo says as he leans in and kisses my cheeks. “Good to see you, Greer.”

“You too. I hope you and Mia are well.” I watch the way his eyes light up at the mention of his wife.

“We are, thank you.” He opens the door to the study and steps in with Enzo and me trailing in behind.

Bash looks up from his desk and shuts his laptop. He rounds the desk with a small smile on his face. “Bambina,” he says as he kisses each cheek.

“Bash,” I acknowledge.

“Sit, please.” He points to a couch on the other side of the room. I sit on the couch and lean back, appearing much calmer than I feel.

“How is the homeland?” he asks.

“Beautiful as always,” I tell him as Enzo and Lo take up next to the door.

“How areNonnoandNonna?”

A knock at the door has us both turning to look as Gio slips inside.

I offer my cousin a small smile before I turn back to my brother. “Let’s cut the chitchat, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” Bash frowns.

“You didn’t call and demand I come all the way from Italy to ask me about the family.” I raise a brow. “I hate to be short, but I just got off a turbulent fifteen-hour flight and I honestly don’t know why you want to see me. So how about you cut to the point?”

“You’re my sister.” His brows furrow.

“I am.” I nod. “But we aren’t close. You don’t call, you don’t write. You sent me away and only acknowledge me when it suits you. So tell me, Bastiano, what is it you want?”

Bash looks away, gritting his teeth. “It would do you well to remember who I am.”

“You’re Bastiano Catalini, my brother. That’s it,” I challenge.

“What do you know about Killian O’Reilly?” he asks.

“Who?” I ask, trying to sound oblivious as my heart thrashes in my chest.

“Killian O’Reilly. Head of the Westies.”

“I’m confused.” I lick my lips. “Why do you expect me to know someone who is head of the Irish when I haven’t lived here in roughly five years?”

“I think the better question is, how does he know you?” Bash leans back, watching me for any sign of deception.

“I’m sure a simple Google search will link you and me.” I stand. “Is that all?”

“He wants you.”

My breath catches.

“Said something about you being a hacker.”

I turn to face my brother. “And that just goes to show you both know nothing. The only thing I do on a computer is what other twenty-one-year-old girls do, shop online and check social media.” I shrug. “As for him wanting me, that’s too bad. I’m not for sale.”

“You better hope for your sake that you’re not lying to me,” he warns, standing to full height.

I look up at my brother. “Like Karrisa?” I refer to our older sister who he killed.

---