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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.”