Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) by Penelope Black

Author:Penelope Black [Black, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Alaina

My aunt stands in front of me in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, face makeup-free and splotchy, hair in a haphazard ponytail. Even though she was never as intense about appearances as my mother was, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this before.

“Oh Alaina!” she cries before a sob breaks free. She throws her arms around me, pulling me into her apartment.

Tears spring to my eyes as I wrap my arms around her middle, squeezing her tight. In some regards, Aunt Sloane was more of a mother figure than my actual mother was.

And while my heart hurts for me, it’s a different kind of hurt for her. She lost her twin sister, and I can’t imagine the kind of pain she’s in. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Maddie or Mary. I don’t even want to entertain that depressing thought.

She pulls back and cups my face. “Oh, sweet girl. It’s alright. We’ll be alright.” She places a kiss on my forehead and runs her hands over my shoulders and down to clasp my hands.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Sloane,” I murmur, squeezing her hands back.

She pulls back, her gaze straying over my shoulder. I don’t need to look to know what kind of picture the three of them make standing side by side. I can feel them at my back, their presence rolling over me like a wave—a powerful and comforting wave.

“And who do we have here?” Aunt Sloane pulls back and lets go of my hands. She sweeps her palms over her hair, smoothing any flyaways and stray locks back. Her shoulders straighten and she fiddles with the collar of her oversized sweatshirt. “Well, if I’d known you were bringing company, I’d have dressed for the occasion.”

“What happened to Alejandro?” I ask with a raised brow and a smirk. I’m not surprised she’s checking them out—I mean, she has eyes. Plus, she’s known for her taste in younger men. She’s mostly harmless.

Aunt Sloane stops adjusting her sweatshirt and looks at me without a lick of embarrassment? “What?” she asks with a shrug. “I’m still a woman, Lainey.”

I roll my eyes. “Right, well, these are my—” I cut myself off and glance to the side. Labels are such a funny thing. A few years ago, calling someone my boyfriend suddenly meant something more than just a guy who was my friend. It meant there were feelings and emotional connection.

But what do you call what the four of us have?

What do you call an emotional connection that binds you to three different men equally?

Mine.

I look at Aunt Sloane, holding her gaze and say, “Mine. These guys are mine. Wolf, Rush, and Sully.”

Her lips twist to the side, and she regards me with a twinkle in her eye. “Well then. Just give me a moment to freshen up, and I’ll have Alejandro grab us some coffee from that cafe down the block. He’s currently . . . resting . . . but I think he’ll be up soon anyway.

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