Chapter 11
eleven
KITANIA
The cinnamon-sugar scent filled the kitchen, wrapping around me like a warm hug as I carefully arranged the last batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. For a moment, I let myself believe this was normal—that I was just baking treats on a lazy afternoon, not stress baking because renovations had started on the penthouse and that text message I’d received the other night kept swimming through my mind. And worse? I hadn’t told my mates, not wanting to worry them when I knew they were doing everything in their power to take the monster down.
I ran the back of my hand along my forehead, reminding myself to breathe.
The heat from the oven had flushed my cheeks, and a few strands of hair had escaped my messy bun to stick to my damp neck. But I didn’t mind. There was a certain comfort about pressing my fingers into the dough, about transforming raw ingredients into something delicious. Something that brought people joy.
I’d been on edge all week, jumping at shadows and flinching at loud noises. Baking had always calmed me, even in the worst foster homes. The precise measurements, the methodical steps, with just enough room for creativity. It made me feel in control when everything else felt chaotic.
A low whistle from the doorway broke through my thoughts.
“Well, well. What have we here?”
I turned to find Enzo leaning against the doorframe, his brown hair pushed back from his forehead, darkened with sweat at the temples. His fitted tank top clung to his chest, and a sheen of moisture glistened on his forearms. The scent of exertion, bergamot, and spice rolled off him in waves.
“I see someone’s been busy,” he said, eyeing the cookies with obvious desire.
Before I could answer, he darted forward, snatching a cookie from the rack. I tried to protest that they were still too hot—but he was already taking a massive bite.
“Careful, they’re—”
“Hot!” Enzo’s eyes widened as he frantically fanned his mouth. “Fuck me, that’s hot.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “I tried to warn you.”
He swallowed with effort, then shot me a wounded look. “Your sympathy is overwhelming, sweetheart.” Despite the burn, he popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure. “Worth it, though. Damn, Kit. These are good.”
Something warm fluttered in my chest at the simple praise. It was still strange to me—being valued for such small things.
“They’re just snickerdoodles,” I said, busying myself by wiping down the counter.
“Nah.” Enzo shook his head, reaching for another. “These are little circles of heaven. Where’d you learn to bake like this?”
I shrugged. “Here and there. I mostly taught myself, following family recipes. The rest I picked up from cooking shows when no one was home.”
The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted whatever Enzo was about to say. We both turned to see Giovanni in the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the whole thing. His short hair was damp with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to the sculpted, sweaty planes of his chest. My heart stuttered at the sight of him.
Gio’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Enzo’s hand, halfway to snatching up another cookie.
“You stealing my Omega’s treats, ‘Zo?” His voice was gruff but held a thread of amusement. “Those are meant for her Alphas.”
Enzo’s mouth curved into an exaggerated pout. “What about the sad, lonely Beta who has no one to make him delicious snickerdoodles?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “No one to care if he wastes away from cookie deprivation?”
Gio rolled his eyes, crossing the kitchen to stand beside me. His earthy scent—soil after rain mixed with iron and musk—enveloped me, making my knees weak.
“Then I suggest you find yourself a pack,” Gio said, “and find your own Omega who can bake you treats.”
Something flickered across Enzo’s face when he glanced back at me—too quick to read. Then his familiar grin returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Nah, I’ve got a friend who’s a great baker. What do I need a pack for?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles. “Besides, you guys keep me busy enough. When would I find time for a social life?”
Gio grunted, the sound skeptical, but relented a moment later. “Speaking of keeping you busy—” His focus shifted to me, and heat bloomed under my skin. “How’d you like to help me teach my girl some self-defense?”
Enzo’s eyebrows shot up as he studied me with new interest. “Yeah? You wanna fight, sweetheart?”
Gio’s eyes narrowed at the nickname. Before I could answer, he slung his sweaty arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him in a gesture that screamed possession. The move was casual, but the intent was clear… Mine .
My breath caught as his scent intensified. It was earthy and heady—delicious enough that I wanted to turn my face into his armpit and breathe deep. The primal part of me, the Omega, preened under his attention, even as my rational mind struggled to maintain composure, because actually following through on those instincts would be embarrassing.
“I... um...” I swallowed hard. “I’ve never really fought before, but I want to learn.”
“That’s okay,” Gio said, his thumb tracing small circles on my shoulder. “You have to start somewhere, and we’ll teach you everything you need to know from the beginning. I know you want to learn how to protect yourself in case there’s ever a time we’re not there. Much as I hate that thought, it'll make us all feel better.”
The thought sent a chill through me, despite the heat of his body pressed against mine. He was right. As much as I wanted to believe there’d never be a repeat of that night, I knew better than most how quickly things could change from feeling safe to being in danger.
“I know,” I agreed softly. “I’m gonna try my best.”
Gio’s approval washed over me like a physical caress. “Good girl.”
I shivered instantly. God . Didn’t my Alphas know what those two little words did to me?
Gio pressed a kiss to my temple, then grabbed a handful of cookies from the rack, breaking one in half to pop into his mouth. “Meet us in the gym in fifteen minutes. Wear something you can move in.”
Before I could process what was happening, he was guiding Enzo back toward the hallway, both men disappearing with at least a dozen of the cookies that had been cooling on the racks.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, the realization hitting me like a splash of cold water.
Wait—fifteen minutes? What had I just agreed to?
The gym’s harsh fluorescent lights bounced off the mirrored walls, making me squint as I stood awkwardly on the training mats. My reflection stared back at me from every angle—hair slicked into a ponytail, workout clothes clinging to every curve, and eyes wide with uncertainty. The space smelled mildly of sweat and disinfectant, with undertones of each of my men’s scents. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, hyper aware of the two men in the room—Gio, who was watching me from across the mat and Enzo, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“Relax,” Gio ordered gently, crossing to me. “You look like a rabbit about to bolt.”
“Is that so wrong?” I sassed, eyeing the various punching bags and weight machines with suspicion. His comparison was apt. “Rabbits are quick and careful. Besides, this isn’t exactly my natural habitat.”
Enzo chuckled from his position against the wall. “Don’t worry. We’ll be gentle.”
Gio shot him a sardonic look that would have melted a lesser man before returning his attention to me. “Forget him. Focus on me.”
He stepped closer, his movements fluid and controlled. Unlike me, he looked completely at home here, like a predator in his natural element.
“First, your stance.” He demonstrated, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. “Stable base. Makes you harder to knock down.”
I mimicked his position, feeling awkward and stiff.
Gio circled me slowly, his gaze assessing. “Not bad, but...” His hands came to rest on my hips, adjusting how I stood. Warmth radiated from his fingertips through the thin fabric of my leggings. “Turn more like this.”
My breath hitched at his touch. His thumbs pressed into the small of my back, urging me to straighten my spine. Then his hands slid up to my shoulders, gently adjusting my posture.
“There,” he murmured, and I felt the word warm against my ear. “Feel the difference?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The heat of his body so close to mine was scrambling my thoughts, sending tingles racing across my skin. At least the physical distraction was taking the edge off my anxiety.
“Now for your hands.” He moved to stand in front of me again, raising his own in a defensive position. “Protect your face. Tuck your chin. Fists tight, but not so tight, you cut off circulation.”
I followed his instructions, clenching my hands into fists.
“Not like that,” he said, taking my right hand in his. His fingers dwarfed mine as he uncurled my fist. “Don’t tuck your thumb inside—you’ll break it on impact. Wrap it outside, across your knuckles.”
He molded my fingers into the proper position, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who’d done their fair share of violence.
“Now—” He stepped back and raised his hand. “Hit me.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me. Hit me. Right here.” He tapped the center of his palm.
I gave a weak punch, barely making contact.
Gio’s expression remained neutral. “Again. Harder this time.”
I tried once more, putting slightly more force behind it.
“Kit.” His voice dropped, taking on the edge that made my Omega instincts snap to attention. “Stop playing. Hit. Me.”
Heat crawled up my neck—embarrassment mixed with a flicker of irritation. He was attempting to help, but the command in his tone awoke something rebellious in my chest.
“I’m trying,” I growled, frustration leaking into my words.
“Try harder,” he countered, gentle yet firm. “You’ve got more in you than that, Sweetness. I know it.”
I knew he was pushing me for my own good, but at the moment, it was hard to remember that I’d asked for this. That I needed Gio, the trainer, not Gio, my Alpha.
My jaw clenched. “I know…”
His eyes darkened. “Then show me.”
Something in me snapped. The memory of every time I’d felt powerless, every moment of fear and uncertainty, coalesced into a burning point behind my sternum. I threw my weight into the punch, connecting with Gio’s palm with enough force that I felt the impact vibrate up my arm—not pain, but power .
Gio’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “There she is.”
Pride bloomed in my chest, foreign but welcome.
“Again,” he instructed.
We moved through a series of techniques—blocks, strikes, how to break different holds. With each successful movement, my confidence grew. My body, so often a source of vulnerability, began to feel like something I could control. I may be small, but I was learning that I was mighty.
Sure, I’d never in a million years be as strong as Gio, but I could use the parts of myself that others perceived as weaknesses and transform them into strengths. Being short and petite made me fast and nimble compared to a man of Gio’s size, and I used it to my advantage.
From the sidelines, Enzo occasionally offered advice.
“Turn your hip more into it,” he called as I practiced a sidekick. “More power that way.”
I glanced over, surprised to find his gaze fixed on me with unusual intensity, eyes sharp and assessing, like he was taking mental notes on what I excelled at and what I needed to work on.
“Here,” Gio said, reclaiming my attention. “If someone grabs you from behind—” He positioned himself at my back, wrapping a muscular arm around my throat in a loose hold. “You’ve got options. Stomp the instep, elbow to the ribs, or—”
“Or,” Enzo interrupted, pushing off from the wall, “you can use their weight against them.” He approached, motioning for Gio to release me. “Mind if I show her?”
Gio stepped away, his posture subtly shifting to something more alert, more territorial. “Go ahead.”
Enzo took Gio’s place behind me, chest pressed against my back. His heart beat steady against my shoulder blades as his arms encircled me—not threatening, but close enough that my skin prickled with awareness.
“When they’ve got you like this,” he said, voice low near my ear, “they think they’re in control. But you’ve got leverage.”
As he demonstrated the escape technique, I caught a whiff of something that didn’t belong—smoke and a hint of alcohol beneath his usual scent. When I turned to look at him, his eyes met mine with an unreadable expression before his familiar smile slid back into place, masking everything he didn’t want me to see.
The truth was, I’d been worried about him since Nick’s death, but there was nothing I could do if he wouldn’t let me in.
“See? Easy,” he commented, releasing me. “Try it on Gio.”
The rest of the session passed in a blur of movement and sweat. After an hour, my muscles ached, but I felt more alive than I had in weeks. My body hummed with a strange new energy as I circled Gio on the mat.
“Come on,” he encouraged. “One more sequence, then we’re done.”
I fainted left, then struck right as he’d taught me, using his own momentum against him. To my shock, I managed to land a hit on his shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but solid contact.
Gio froze, genuine surprise replacing his careful instruction. “Holy shit. You actually got me.”
The wonder in his voice was better than any formal praise. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
“Water break,” he announced, pride evident in his tone. “You’ve earned it.”
I gulped from the water bottle Gio tossed me, letting the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. As I lowered it, I caught Enzo watching me again. There was an almost proud expression on his face, but it was tinged with something else I couldn’t identify—something I wasn’t sure I wanted to look too closely at.
When he noticed my gaze, he arranged his features into an encouraging smile. “You’re learning fast. Keep that up, and you’ll be a dangerous little thing.”
The words were innocuous enough, but for some reason, his tone felt insincere. Not that he didn’t believe what he was saying. More like he was hiding whatever had been on his mind before he realized he’d been caught staring.
I gathered my towel and empty water bottle, following Gio toward the door. As we left, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Enzo’s gaze on my way out—the weight of it laden with an intensity that had nothing to do with friendship.
And it had me wondering…
What did he really want from me?