We celebrate.
We fuck.
And he wants to be part of that.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
Noah claps once, delighted.
I drop the mixing bowl.
Flour explodes.
Because did my sweet little baker just suggest we end the day with meat, cheese, and a full-team fuck?
Yes.
Yes, he did.
Group sex as a post-murder reward?
And that’s why he’s mine.
“I’ll text and ask if they have meat and cheese preferences,” Elliot says, wiping flour from his cuffs.
“Do not give Callum that kind of open line,” I warn. “He’ll ask for flaming hot pickled sausage and spiced nacho sauce from the gas station.”
“I’ll give him three emoji options,” Elliot says. “He can pick like a civilized menace.”
I watch them move through the kitchen.
Elliot commanding.
Noah creating.
Vitaly participating like he’s been here all along.
This is mine.
A family that kills together.
Fucks together.
And makes bread because who the fuck wants to disappoint Mrs. Patel?
Vitaly catches my eye across the kitchen and smiles.
Not the gentle baker smile.
The smile of a man who just proved he understands exactly what we are.
And deep down?
He’s one of us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
