32
VICTORIA
The kitchen smells like butter and fresh spinach.
I stand at the stove, spatula in hand, watching the omelet take shape in the pan. Perfect golden edges. Fluffy center. The spinach wilted just right, dark green against the pale yellow eggs.
On the counter beside me, I've already arranged bowls of Greek yogurt topped with blueberries. Simple. Healthy. The kind of breakfast the men need but rarely make time for.
They have an early meeting today. I know they've been running themselves ragged for the past week, barely sleeping, barely eating. Especially Alexei with his diabetes. He needs proper meals, not whatever he grabs between crisis management.
So I woke up early. Came down to the kitchen while the house was still quiet. Started cooking with the particular satisfaction that comes from taking care of people you love.
The thought surfaces naturally. Without the panic it would have caused a month ago.
I love them. All three of them. In different ways that somehow complement each other perfectly.
And they love me. I can feel it in the way they touch me. The way they look at me. The way Alexei almost confessed it out loud while Zakhar showed it through worship and Maksim demonstrated it through vulnerability.
We're building something real. Something that goes beyond the contract we signed.
The omelet is almost done. Just needs another minute to set properly.
I'm thinking about my plans for after breakfast. Need to meet with Jelena. Run some ideas past her about the next operation. We're low on funds again, and I've identified a promising target. Clean extraction. Minimal risk. Should net us enough to keep operations running for another few months.
The domestic peace feels surreal. Standing in this beautiful kitchen, making breakfast for three dangerous men who've somehow become mine, while planning my next heist.
Two worlds that shouldn't coexist but somehow do.
Then I hear it.
"VICTORIA!"
Alexei's voice. Roaring through the house with rage that makes every muscle in my body lock up.
Footsteps thunder down the hallway. Multiple sets. Fast. Aggressive.
The kitchen door slams open.
All three men enter. Alexei first, practically vibrating with fury. Zakhar right behind him, coiled tension in every line of his body. Maksim bringing up the rear, his expression carved from ice.
Something is very, very wrong.
"What's going on?" I manage, setting down the spatula with trembling hands. "I was just making breakfast. I thought—"
"Breakfast." Alexei's laugh is cruel. Mocking. "How domestic. How sweet. Playing house while you've been fucking stabbing us in the back."
The words hit like a slap. Physical. Stunning.
"What are you talking about?" My voice comes out small and afraid.
Maksim's eyes travel over me. Taking in my dress. The way I'm already presentable despite the early hour.
"Were you planning to go out?" His voice is calm. Controlled. Which makes it infinitely more terrifying than Alexei's rage.
"I thought I might get my nails done later." The lie tastes biiter. "Why? What's happening?"
Zakhar moves toward me. Each step deliberate.
