Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Serenity
Angelo knew something about Balthazar—I could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way he'd avoided my eyes when he mentioned Crimson Stakes.
But when he got in a protective mood like this, there was no way I would be able to pry it out of him.
Something was terribly wrong, and he was shutting me out to "protect" me.
"You think they're hiding something," Joy said, setting her coffee cup down with a definitive clink.
"Yes." I rubbed my belly absently, feeling the baby shift. "But you know they won't tell us. Not until they've decided we 'need to know.'"
Gianna swept into the dining room, her expression annoyed. "I see I missed breakfast."
"Elena's just cleaning up," I said. "Maybe she can fix you up a plate. Where's Dimitri?"
"He got called into Angelo's office." Gianna dropped into a chair with uncharacteristic gracelessness. "Something's up, but neither Enzo nor my brother would tell me anything. Just 'casino business' and a door shut in my face."
The three of us exchanged looks—the universal expression of women tired of being protected from information we had every right to know.
Prudence didn’t seem to be bothered by it, but then why would she? Vampire mafia business wasn’t her concern—only my health and the baby’s mattered to her.
She sipped her coffee calmly, her focus entirely on me. “How are you feeling this morning, Serenity? Any cramping? Contractions?”
I took a moment to actually assess how I was feeling.
My back ached—that constant companion of late pregnancy—and my feet were already starting to swell despite the early hour.
But my head was clear, no dizziness or nausea.
The baby was moving, her little kicks reassuring against my ribs. Better than yesterday, at least.
No nightmares. No panic attacks. No demon visions.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. She was always so concerned about me and the baby, checking on me constantly. It was sweet, if a bit overwhelming sometimes.
Joy planted her hands on the table and stood with determination.
"We can't let their secretive ways destroy what we've been planning.
Come on, Serenity. We're finally going to make cookies today.
Let them have their mysterious meeting. We'll have flour and sugar and something that actually makes us happy. "
“But you can’t stand on your feet, Serenity,” Prudence interjected, concern creasing her brow. “It will put too much stress on your body and the baby.”
I waved away her worry with a smile. "I'll sit at the counter on one of the stools.
I can roll cookie dough sitting down just fine.
" Prudence had been so good to us, so dedicated to keeping me and the baby safe.
The least I could was include her in something fun.
I looked at her hopefully. "You can even help if you want. The more hands, the merrier."
Elena emerged from the kitchen with a steaming plate of food for Gianna. "I heard you out here, ma chérie. Eat while it's still hot."
"Thank you, Elena," Gianna said, breathing in the aroma of biscuits and gravy appreciatively. "Why don't we put on some Christmas music? The men are being all mysterious and brooding, and we need to lift this gloom."
"That sounds like a great idea," Joy said, her face brightening. "Or maybe watch a Christmas movie while we bake. Serenity and I used to watch It's A Wonderful Life every year while we made cookies."
The memory warmed me. Those afternoons in Joy's house with her family bustling around, flour everywhere, George Bailey on the TV, laughing until our sides hurt.
Her brother, Steve, constantly sneaking raw cookie dough when he thought we weren't looking.
"We'd always cry at the end," I added with a smile.
"Every single time," Joy confirmed, her eyes softening. "And Steve would make fun of us for it."
Elena wiped her hands on her apron, looking pleased. "The kitchen is clean and ready for you. You can start on your cookies whenever you like."
Gianna picked up her plate eagerly. "I'll eat this in the kitchen. No point missing the fun."
The five of us made our way into the large kitchen—all gleaming marble countertops, professional-grade appliances, and the lingering scent of chicory coffee and butter.
I looked at the high stools positioned at the center island and bit my lip.
I wasn't sure I could climb up there by myself anymore.
My center of gravity was completely off, and the thought of trying to hoist myself up was daunting.
"My shadows will help you," Joy said softly, reading my hesitation. She raised her hand. "Help her."
Shadows detached from every corner of the kitchen—from beneath the cabinets, from the space behind the refrigerator, from the morning light streaming through the windows. They flowed across the floor like living silk and gathered beneath me, solid and soft against my skin.
Then they gently lifted me, cradling me as if I weighed nothing, and set me carefully on the stool. The shadows lingered for a moment, making sure I was steady before melting back to their natural places.
"Thank you," I said, grateful and a little amazed.
The shadows adjusted, molding themselves around me like a custom cushion—supporting my back, easing the pressure on my hips.
It was more comfortable than any chair I'd sat in lately.
No matter how many times I saw Joy's powers, they still took my breath away.
"Anytime," Joy said with a warm smile. "That's what best friends are for." She picked up the TV remote control and flipped through the apps until she came across It’s A Wonderful Life.
Something in my chest loosened. This—sitting in the kitchen surrounded by women who cared about me, making cookies while a Christmas movie played—this was what I'd been craving. Normal. Safe. The fear from yesterday felt a little more distant.
Elena looked at us expectantly. "Which cookies do you want to make first?"
Mom's face flashed in my mind—her smile, the way she'd dust powdered sugar on my nose while we baked, her laughter filling our kitchen. An ache bloomed in my chest. "Mexican Wedding Balls. They were Mom's favorite."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus on the practical. I counted on my fingers. "We need butter, flour, powdered sugar, pecans, and vanilla."
"You just sit there, ma chérie. I'll get all the ingredients for you," Elena said warmly, already moving toward the pantry.
Prudence slid onto the stool next to me, settling in with the ease of someone planning to stay awhile. "Do you have a recipe for the Mexican Wedding Balls, or did you memorize how to make them?"
Joy pulled out her phone. "I took a picture of your mom’s recipe years ago,” she said softly, pulling up the photo. “I never wanted to lose it.” She enlarged the photo. "First thing—we need to preheat the oven to 325 degrees."
Gianna moved toward the oven. "I'll get it started."
Lorenzo appeared in the kitchen doorway, his large frame filling it before he moved to lean against the wall near the entrance. His arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes alert despite his casual posture.
Angelo's overprotectiveness struck again, though I had to admit having Lorenzo here gave me some comfort. "You're on guard duty?"
He shrugged, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Think of it as wanting to learn how to bake cookies."
"Right," Joy said with obvious skepticism. "Because you strike me as the domestic type."
"I contain multitudes," Lorenzo said dryly.
Gianna laughed. "If Angelo told you to stand there and watch us make cookies, just admit it. We all know my brother is being ridiculously overprotective."
Lorenzo's expression remained carefully neutral, but his silence was answer enough.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling a little. At least if I had to have a guard, Lorenzo was good company. And honestly, after seeing Balthazar through that veil, I couldn't entirely blame Angelo for the extra precaution.
Even if it was annoying.
Joy came alongside me with the recipe, holding it where I could see. "First step—we need to chop up the pecans in a blender. Not too fine, just coarsely chopped."
"I can do that," Prudence said, reaching for the bag of pecans Elena had laid on the counter. She examined the bag with a practiced eye. "How much do we need?"
Joy consulted the recipe. "One cup, but I think we should double it.”
Two dozen cookies wouldn't last long with this family—not with vampires who could eat and Lorenzo eyeing the ingredients like he was already planning which cookies to steal first. My mouth was already watering just thinking about the buttery, nutty sweetness melting on my tongue.
The baby leapt in my belly as if she wanted some too, a firm kick right against my ribs.
"I agree with you, little one," I murmured, rubbing the spot.
Everyone moved around me—Elena pulling out bowls, Gianna gathering ingredients, Joy reading the recipe, Prudence offering to help.
And here I sat, unable to do much more than direct traffic from my cushioned perch.
It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I was used to being capable, independent.
Now I could barely stand for more than a few minutes without my back screaming in protest.
I glanced at the recipe Joy held. "Elena, I need a measuring cup and measuring spoons."
Elena retrieved a glass measuring cup, several mixing bowls—including a large one for the powdered sugar coating—and a set of silver measuring spoons, arranging everything within easy reach of my stool.
On the television mounted in the corner of the kitchen, George Bailey was running across the frozen pond, desperate to save his little brother from falling through the ice. The familiar scene tugged at my heart.
I reached over and squeezed Joy's hand. She looked at me, surprised, then her expression softened as she squeezed back.