Victoria.
She's the thing that turned survival into actually living. That transformed our brotherhood from a fortress against the world into a home that could open up and let someone else in.
I glance over at Maksim, who's sitting at the kitchen island with his phone and a small cup of espresso. The morning light catches the silver in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. Normally, he starts his days with a frown etched between his brows. Tension visible in his shoulders.
But today, there's a lightness to him. His expression is almost relaxed as he scrolls through messages.
He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow in question. I just grin and turn back to the eggs. Let him wonder.
And Zakhar. My twin. My other half. The man who's been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders since we were kids and realized no one was coming to save us.
He's always on guard. Always watching. Always feeling responsible for everyone's safety and wellbeing. It's exhausting just to watch sometimes, the way he never lets himself rest. Never allows himself to believe things are okay. Never stops preparing for the next disaster.
But Victoria has changed that. She is someone to share the load with. Someone who's strong enough to carry her own weight and help carry his when needed. Someone who sees his vigilance not as paranoia but as the love language it actually is.
Speaking of Zakhar and Victoria.
They enter the kitchen together, and I can tell immediately they just showered. Together. The evidence is obvious and makes me smile.
Her hair is still damp, falling in dark waves over her shoulders. She's wearing comfortable clothes, leggings and an oversized sweater. Her face is bare of makeup, skin glowing and fresh.
His hair is slicked back, water still beading at his temples. He's in jeans and a t-shirt, more casual than he usually allows himself. More relaxed.
They both smell like soap and shower steam and each other. The scent of her vanilla and sandalwood perfume mixing withhis clean, masculine smell. And underneath it all, the particular musk that means sex. Recent. Satisfying.
The sight makes warmth expand in my chest. Pride. Happiness. Contentment. This is my family. This is what we've built together.
"Breakfast is almost ready," I announce, grinning at them both. "Perfect timing."
Victoria moves to help me without being asked. Starts pulling plates from the cabinet with the ease of someone who's learned where everything is. Our hands brush as she takes the spatula from me to check the toast in the oven. The touch is casual. Familiar. But it still sends electricity up my arm.
Zakhar steals a kiss from her neck as he passes behind her. She leans into it instinctively, her eyes closing for just a second. Smiling that soft smile of hers.
Then she turns to me and I steal one from her lips. Quick. Sweet. Tasting like toothpaste and promise and her.
Maksim watches us from his seat at the island. When Victoria passes close enough to him, carrying the plates, he catches her wrist gently. Pulls her down for a proper kiss that makes her inhale sharply and her eyes darken.
We move around each other in the kitchen like a choreographed dance. Like we've been doing this for years. Zakhar grabbing juice from the fridge. Victoria setting the table. Me platingfood while Maksim refills coffee cups with careful attention to everyone's preferences.
Small touches everywhere. Her hand on my lower back as she moves past. Zakhar's fingers trailing across her shoulders when he sets down the juice. Maksim's palm warm against her hip as he reaches around her for the sugar.
It's intimate without being sexual. Connected without being possessive. Just the natural touching of people who belong to each other.
"Look at us," I say, carrying the plates to the table with exaggerated care. "Domestic bliss. Who would have thought the terrifying leaders of the Severyn Bratva would be here making breakfast like normal people?"
"We're not normal," Zakhar points out, but there's humor threading through his usually serious voice.
"No," Victoria agrees, sliding into her chair with a grace that makes me want to pull her back out and kiss her breathless. "You're really not. "
"Says the woman who leads a vigilante organization," I counter, sitting beside her.
She laughs. The sound fills the kitchen like music.
We settle around the table. The morning light continues streaming through the windows, painting Victoria's hair with gold highlights. The food is simple but good. Fluffy eggs with justenough salt. Toast with butter melting into golden pools. Fresh fruit. The coffee is strong and dark, exactly how we all like it.
I taste a bite of eggs. Perfect. Add a pinch more salt to my own portion out of habit. Pass the butter to Victoria when she reaches for it, our fingers tangling briefly in the transfer.
Watch Maksim doctor his coffee with the particular precision he brings to everything. Exactly one teaspoon of sugar. A splash of cream. Stirred exactly five times.
