Chapter Two
Juliet
Everyone’s off tonight, which means it’s time for a Vitaly debrief.
And also pasta.
I’m make stuffed shells.
Not because I’m trying to cosplay a Stepford nightmare or because I’m secretly harboring a Betty Crocker kink.
No.
I do it because my men are apex predators with trauma and cravings.
And I keep them fed and worshipped.
Because they’re perfect.
Because I take care of what’s mine.
Also because they’ve all been doing their part to help me assess our newest acquisition and that burns calories.
Emotional and physical.
That requires carbs and dairy, with a side of garlic bread.
Pasta is peace.
Pasta is power.
It’s also a metaphor that Elliot will appreciate.
They keep me stuffed; I keep them stuffed.
Also?
Callum’s been edging with hints that he got intel at the bakery.
I want the dirt.
And if he doesn’t give it to me voluntarily, I’ll stab him in the thigh with a salad fork and make him beg to confess between bites.
The table’s set.
Wine poured. White for the fragile, red for the damaged.
The shells?
Perfect. Obviously.
Everything I touch bends to my will.
Eventually.
Orion walks in first.
All heat and threat.
Immediately crowding me at the stove, grabbing my waist like he’s claiming territory.
He buries his nose in my neck.
Breath warm. Stubble scraping my skin.
“Smells fucking amazing, sweetheart. Is this the part where I tell you I’m starving or just bend you over the table and say thank you?” he asks.
God, I love him.
“Save that for dessert?” I nip his throat.
“You trying to get bred on the goddamn counter?” Orion says and lifts me.
“Someone say dessert?” Noah trails behind, lugging his guitar case and all that earnest, boyish heartbreak.
Oh.
My precious baby.
I want to nibble his jaw.
He stops short at the sight of dinner, presses a hand to his chest like I just shot him.
“You cooked without me?” His eyes go wide, mock wounded. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”
I roll my eyes and snatch his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. “I can cook unsupervised. I’m a grown-ass woman.”
Elliot’s already in his seat.
Tie loosened.
Eyes glinting over the rim of his glass.
“Can you, darling?” His voice is pure sin in a suit.
Callum plops down beside him, looking way too pleased with himself.
“She burned water last week,” he says and flashes me a shit-eating grin, that grin that says ‘I know what you look like with my come dripping down your chin and I’m never letting you forget it.’
I whip the towel at his face. “Excuse me? You want to talk kitchen disasters, or should I tell everyone what happened with the immersion blender?”
“Baby, water doesn’t burn,” Orion says, but he’s grinning, all dimples and bad intentions.
I ignore their slander, because if I let them, they’d roast me into oblivion.
And I have more important things to discuss than my one, ONE, tiny kitchen mishap that definitely involved a naked man and questionable use of olive oil.
“Callum.” I sit, fold my hands, stare him down. “Tell me about the woman.”
Elliot doesn’t miss a beat.
Slicing into a shell and feeding me a bite.
Fork to lips.
Like he’s both my lover and my captor.
“What woman?” he asks.
Noah perks up. “Does the Russian daddy have a wife we need to off?” He says it so sweetly, like plotting a murder is just another Monday night.
I chew and swallow, eyes on Callum. “First of all, I’m not getting daddy vibes from him. At all. Not my kink.”
Elliot plants a kiss on my mouth, low and lazy. “Mm. He looks like the kind who says please and thanks you after. You’ll eat him alive.”
“Not with that woman he didn’t,” Callum says. “Couldn’t make out shit she was saying. All Russian, but you didn’t have to be a linguist to know they were threatening each other.”
He pauses.
Then adds, “Sexually, probably.”
I snort.
It is absolutely not sexual.
He is mine.
“His immigration paperwork listed a female sponsor. Not a spouse. Someone needs to dig. Preferably someone who speaks ‘I’ll slit your throat and bake a cake after,’” I say.
Elliot drums his fingers on the table, already plotting bloodless murder. “Give me her name. I’ll have everything she’s ever done and everywhere she’s ever lived by lunch.”
“I’ll get the inside info. He hired me,” Noah says, pride leaking out of him like honey. “Nobody makes a latte like I do. And once he’s part of the family, it’ll be a family business anyway.”
Oh.
My perfect, dangerous boy.
I reach over, grab his face, and kiss him until I taste the smug on his tongue.
“That’s why you’re my favorite today. Tomorrow’s up for grabs,” I say.
I lean back in my chair, spearing another shell and pointing the fork at them. “Alright. Assignments.”
Elliot sighs dramatically, sipping his wine like he didn’t just offer to commit digital homicide on a complete stranger. “You do realize you’re treating this like a hostile acquisition, yes?”
“Not hostile,” I say, batting my lashes. “Sensual. Strategic.” I swirl the fork. “And he doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to love being part of our domestic situation.”
Noah raises a hand like we’re in class. “Do I still get to seduce him with latte art and morally questionable compliments?”
“Obviously. You’re my man on the inside,” I say, tossing him a kiss. “Make yourself indispensable. Learn his patterns. Find out if he sings when he bakes.”
I pause.
Then add, “Bonus points if he talks dirty to the dough.”
“He’s taking longer than Noah did,” Orion says. “It’s the sweet boy energy. Makes her edgy.”
I set my fork down. “Sweet men take more finesse. They need wooed.”
Elliot tsks. “I’m slightly offended. I have the shortest notes and the fastest stalk time.”
“Bullshit,” Callum says. “My notes were fucking doodles of cock. She didn’t even stalk me properly. Barely earned my dick.”
“It’s a nice cock,” I say. “And you screwed up the process because you’re too wild to be stalked like a gentleman.”
Orion points a piece of bread at Callum. “Women like a little mystery. Something complicated. Like me. Sexy as hell and also deep.”
“Deep?” Noah teases. “I’m complicated. Look sweet but…”
Callum laughs. “You are sweet.”
Orion winks at Noah. “That’s why she’s all over Vitaly. He’s got that mixed signal. Looks like he could make you disappear but bakes.”
Callum picks up a shell and feeds me from his fingers. “I can be sweet. Can’t bake for shit and don’t speak Russian, but I can speak in tongues. Clit, mouth, or nipples?”
My nipples go diamond-hard.
Aching to be bitten.
Chewed.
Sucked until I whimper.
“Complicated?” Elliot says.
Callum stretches out in his seat, kicks his feet up onto Elliot’s chair, immediately getting swatted for it, and grins at me like the devil he is.
“And what’s my job, Madness?” Callum asks. “Seduce the mystery bitch and see if she screams my name in Russian?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll know more after we plant the nanny cam,” I answer.
Elliot actually chokes on his wine. “Excuse me? Planting what?”
Noah freezes, fork midair.
I grin. “You heard me. If I can’t figure out what he’s hiding by breaking into his house again, I’m going to watch him until he shows me.”
Orion whistles low. “Goddamn, I love when you get feral.”
“Thank you, baby.” I pat his cheek. “I’ll handle the house. His street’s quiet. Noah can drop a few in back rooms at the bakery.”
Orion pulls me into his lap.
Arms wrapping around my waist.
“You’re not going alone,” he says.
Oh.
My fierce protecter.
“I’ll be fine,” I protest.
His grip tightens. “Not a request, sweetheart.”
I melt into him.
Because of course I do.
“Fine. You can be my lookout,” I say.
Callum salutes me with his wine glass. “If I see you running, I’m filming it. Your ass in that skirt? Shit, I’d pay for that content.”
“Pervert,” Elliot says.
“You’re the kinkiest one at the table, sir,” Callum shoots back.
“Gentlemen,” I say, slicing another shell and licking the fork slow. “Focus.”
Elliot exhales through his nose, finally returning to the game. “I’ll track the sponsor. Cross-reference her name with Vitaly’s records. See if there’s any property, financial ties, employment overlap. Whatever she is, she’s not irrelevant.”
“She’s a problem,” I say, voice dropping to something sharp and sugar-sweet. “And problems either solve themselves, or they get solved.”
Callum’s hand slides up my thigh under the table.
Possessive. Dangerous.
“Fuck, I love when you talk like that,” he says.
I don’t stop him. I never do.
Noah hums like he’s composing a love song in his head. “So... you’re breaking into his house again, planting surveillance, and I’m using my day one training to bug my new boss?”
“Exactly,” I say. “Best. Tuesday. Ever.”