Little trouble- Daya

"Anyway, let's get back to the conversation, who is Chris in the end? You have too many children in your family. Can you tell me everything in more detail, I don't understand anything at all." - I interrupted, because I was interested in it. To be honest, you can get confused, and even worse, break your head with all this confusion.

"Alright... let's start with me," Grace said. "I'm Jamie's stepbrother, the youngest one. I have two biological brothers, they're also Jamie's stepbrothers. My brothers are Danny and Michael. Michael is the oldest of the three of us. Then there's Wendy, she's older than all of us, and she's from a children's home. She's 20, and she's not biologically related. And then there's Chris, the eldest among us, he's a stepbrother for us, while Jamie is his biological sister. He's 22 and he went to study in the US a long time ago. Did you catch any of that? Because it seems like you're a bit lost."

"I got some of it. There are quite a few of you," I replied.

"Yeah, we're a bit of a bunch," Grace shrugged. I started sautéing the golden onions and sprinkling salt on them.

"So, if I understand correctly, when Chris isn't around... the mafia stuff falls on Jamie's shoulders? She doesn't have any friends or boyfriends?"

I asked the last question without much thought, just trying to keep the conversation going.

"No boyfriend? Didn't she... Didn't I introduce you to her? Are you having amnesia or something?" Grace exclaimed and, secretly taking out his phone, tapped on it. I placed two plates with food on the table. Grace clapped his hands and grinned with satisfaction. We started eating and talking.

"Phew," the brunette exhaled after we finished eating, and flopped onto my bed. "Bro, I'll tell you honestly, you cook really well. I'd hire you as my personal chef."

I smiled and sat down to do my homework. Grace didn't even think about things like homework. I asked him about it.

"Aren't you planning on doing your homework?" the brunette shifted towards me and raised an eyebrow.

"Nah, why bother?"

"What do you mean, why??" I almost exclaimed, staring at the mafia son. Something snapped inside me. I knew I'd sound like a crazy nerd. "What about passing exams? What about grades? What about your future? Didn't you think?"

"I'm doing fine in school, you can tell that to my sister. She's the one who only knows how to kill and threaten. I only transferred because I had to keep an eye on her – the boss of the Young Mafia."

I chuckled. How would I know how a mafia kid studies? Suddenly, someone burst through the front door and shouted through the house.

"Juliane, I'm home!" My younger sister, only she could scream like that. "I've already finished my homework and want to go out with my friends."

Grace slumped in surprise and muttered something disapprovingly. I headed for the door. I was curious about my sister's reaction to Mort. She was supposed to know who he was.

"And what if I check?" I sarcastically asked, watching my sister drink water. She had golden hair that she was trying to cut into a bob (I didn't let her), and the same light-blue eyes as mine. She made an annoyed noise and stomped her foot, like an irritated rabbit. Clearly not happy with my statement.

"Who's shouting like that?" Grace asked, coming out of my room and leaning against the door. Perhaps Juliane didn't fully realize who was in front of her, which is why she cast a disapproving look at my friend and said,

"Did you finally find a friend for yourself? Great!" She glared at me angrily and stormed into her room. "You're having fun, and I'm left alone! You want me to be forever alone?! Fine, I'll be alone! And it will be your fault!"

Grace first looked at my sister, then at me, and, doing that same thing again, burst into laughter. He probably had never seen such pestering sisters. Well, why be surprised? His sister would probably beat him up for something like that.

"Why is she angry?" he asked.

"Oh, she can be angry about anything," I said, rolling my eyes. "Probably this time it's because I said I'd check her homework."

"You're such an unfair brother... just give her a break."

We chuckled and sat down on the couch. After a couple of minutes, an excited cry resounded. Grace looked concerned and got up, probably as worried as I would be if I didn't know what it meant. But unfortunately, I knew.

"You might want to hide," I warned.

"What?" he exclaimed, but I was already pushing him into the closet. The brunette quickly, like a fish, jumped in, and I closed the door, trying to muffle my laughter. Juliane rushed into the living room. She started looking around, searching for someone. And that someone was a mafia son.

"Where is he?" she asked. I raised an eyebrow and also looked around.

"Who?"

"Don't pretend. Your friend! Grace Mort – the popular actor, model, and one of the mafia guys. Seriously, you didn't know?"

"Who? Who?"

"What's this nonsense? I did see him!"

"Who? Grace! What does this mean? What's happening?" I pretended to be annoyed, but inside something cracked. I knew what it meant. But unfortunately, I knew.

Suddenly, something strange happened. Perhaps Mort slipped on the closet door and began to fall right onto my sister. They comically spun in the air and tumbled to the ground. Grace groaned weakly and rubbed his sore spot, specifically his head. My sister stared at him in shock. Of course, from the side, it looked funny – seeing a scared Juliane sitting on Mort's legs and covering his mouth with her hand to keep from shrieking. Oh, these fans.

He slowly, leaning on his hands, sat up and looked at my sister, then at me, as if saying, "Aren't you going to help? You're just standing there!" and then again at my sister.