10
RAFAEL
I surface through blackness with someone shouting my name like they’re hauling me up from underwater.
“Raf. Raf! Jesus Christ—” Miko sounds near panic, a rare occurrence for my adopted brother, and it drags me back to the world of the living with impressive urgency.
The world tilts dangerously when I open my eyes, making my stomach lurch.
My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, and my cheek feels like someone took a wrecking ball to it.
I slowly rock up onto my elbows to find Miko and Sandro shoulder to shoulder, muscles tense, fists balled, yelling over each other as they stand between me and the perceived threat.
And across from them—three Irish bastards laughing their asses off.
Ryan, Cillian, and Patrick are all doubled over with mirth, their six-foot-something frames, all built like they eat bricksfor breakfast, shaking as they struggle to hold back their amusement.
I blink, and for a second I can’t remember why I’m on the floor or why my face feels like a damn meteor crater.
Then memory catches up.
Right.
I offered them each a free punch.
And Cillian must have knocked me the hell out.
Sandro’s voice is a low growl. “You think that’s funny? You think putting my brother in the hospital is a joke?”
Patrick grins. “Hospital? He’s not dead. Look—he’s already getting up. Tough bastard.”
Ryan gives a lazy shrug. “Italian boys get so dramatic when someone knocks ’em down. It’s adorable.”
They laugh again.
Miko steps forward, pointing at Ryan’s chest like an angry lawyer. “You slimy bastard. I don’t care if you three crawled out of the Chicago sewer system. You don’t?—”
“Leave it alone, Miko,” I command, my voice like gravel. I groan and roll onto my side, pushing up.
My palms slip on something wet. Blood.
Yeah, that tracks.
Sandro kneels beside me, face tight. “Raf. You good? They hit you too hard.”
“Relax,” I mutter. “I’m fine.”
The Murrays’ laughter slowly tapers off as I rise and spit blood onto the concrete.
“You shouldn’t have taken the risk,” Sandro growls. “I’m the boxer. I know how to take a hit.”
“I said I’m fine,” I snap, brushing off his concern as I face the Murrays once again. It’s not like I haven’t taken my fair share of hits in my life—even if I don’t actively seek fist fights like my twin.
Miko stares at me like I’ve become a new species of moron. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses under his breath. “That could have gone wrong in so many different ways.”
“That’s how the Irish settle a debt, no?” I say, voice steady despite my ribs screaming. “We had unresolved business. They wanted to hit something with my face on it. I said yes. Now we can move on.”
I never told my brothers about me and Aisling—not even Sandro—because I didn’t want to breathe life into the worst mistake of my life.