Octavia
I roll my eyes at both of them before turning back to the chaos I created, collecting the bowls and brushing flour from the kitchen island.
Markev drops onto one of the stools, a lazy grin playing at his mouth as he watches my every movement with the attentiveness of a besotted puppy.
My eyes roam around the kitchen. We are alone, yet in this house, even the walls are inclined to listen.
I turn back to Adriano. “Do you have something for me?”
He shakes his head once before answering. “Absolutely nothing. The man is a ghost.”
I don’t like that answer.
The psycho straightens in his chair. The change in him is immediate, his posture goes rigid, his expression hardens, his eyes darken to something close to black, as if a switch has been flipped.
“He’ll strike again,” Markev says flatly.
“Definitely,” I agree.
“He’s waiting,” Adriano adds. “Whoever this is, he’s careful. The payments are clean, no names and no trails.”
“Which means,” Markev says, his voice dropping, “either he’s powerful in his own right, or someone powerful is backing him.”
I fold my arms. “So you’re certain the men who attacked me weren’t his. They were contractors, trained assassins who sell their services to anyone who pays.”
“Yes,” Adriano confirms. “There is no direct link. They were not his men.”
“What doesn’t make sense,” I say, “is how terrified they were of him. They chose death over talking.”
Markev exhales slowly. “That’s because the man behind this is intelligent. Think about it. If you need someone killed or taken, you don’t hire loyalists, you hire men who have something to lose.”
He continues. “He finds their weaknesses, families, children. He owns them before the job even begins. That is real power.”
I nod. “One of them asked me to shoot him, said it was the only way his daughter would live. Which tells me he was blackmailed with her life.”
Adriano grimaces. “That makes this even more tangled.”
I snort softly. “I’m not afraid of some faceless bastard hiding behind hired men. If he wants me, he can come and do it himself.”
Markev’s eyes snap to mine. “Nobody fucking kills you.”
I open my mouth to answer, but the oven timer chimes. I switch it off, slide the tray out, and set the cookies by the window to cool, cracking it open for a breath of air.
I finish tidying up, wash my hands, and turn, straight into Markev’s chest.
I stop in my tracks.
He is already looking down at me, adoration evident in his expression. He lifts a hand to my face, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek.
“You had a little flour here,” he murmurs.
I glare up at him.
He only grins, then presses a kiss to the top of my head. I breathe in his familiar scent, and I feel… safe.
He steps back, still smiling, and I finally exhale.
“Alright,” I say, turning toward the window. “Who wants cookies?”
“I do,” Markev answers immediately as he takes his seat again.
“Share,” Adriano adds, sliding onto the stool beside him.
Markev doesn’t even glance his way. “I don’t share my woman’s food.”
I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “First, I’m not your woman. Second, I didn’t cook for you. I certainly didn’t expect you to be so crazy as to come into my father’s house.”
He laughs. “Stop lying, gorgeous. One, you’re mine. No question about it. And two, you know I’m unhinged. This is the least insane thing I could have done.”
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth as I plate the cookies and set them down in front of them.
Adriano reaches for one, and, remarkably, Markev doesn’t throw a tantrum, or a blade.
I turn to grab drinks.
For now, at least, the kitchen remains intact.