She raised an eyebrow. "Do we?"
"We'll make time."
We finished showering and dried off, moving around each other with an ease that surprised me. There was no awkwardness, no morning-after regret. Just two people sharing a space like they'd been doing it for years.
I gave her one of my shirts to wear while she waited for her clothes, and the sight of her in it—the fabric hanging to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows—did something to my chest that I wasn't prepared to examine too closely.
"Coffee?" I asked.
"God, yes."
We moved to the kitchen, falling into the same rhythm as yesterday. I made coffee while she perched on one of the island stools, her bare legs crossed beneath her. The domesticity of it should have felt strange. Instead, it felt right.
"I could get used to this," she said, watching me pour.
"The coffee?"
"All of it." She accepted the cup I handed her, wrapping her hands around it. "Waking up here. Having breakfast with someone. Not being alone."
"You don't have to be alone anymore."
"I know." She took a sip, her eyes distant. "That's what scares me. I've been alone for so long, I'm not sure I remember how to be anything else."
"You'll learn. We both will."
Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. Kirill's particular rhythm—two short raps, a pause, one more.
"Come in," I called.
He entered looking as immaculate as ever, not a hair out of place despite the early hour. His eyes swept the room, taking in Keira in my shirt, me in just a pair of sweatpants, the two coffee cups on the counter. If he drew any conclusions from what he saw, his expression didn't show it.
"I have an update," he said. "The Petrovics are still dark, but Cormac has been active. He's been making calls to associates in Boston and Philadelphia. Trying to rally support."
"Support for what?"
"For another attempt at the girl." Kirill's pale eyes flicked to Keira. "He's not giving up. The Petrovic alliance is the only thing keeping him relevant. Without it, his power base collapses."
I felt my jaw tighten. "What kind of timeline are we looking at?"
"Hard to say. He's having trouble finding allies—no one wants to go up against us directly. But desperation makes people dangerous. He might try something reckless."
"Let him try."
"That's not strategy, Rodion. That's bravado." Kirill's voice was flat, uninflected. "We need to be proactive, notreactive. Waiting for him to make a move puts us on the defensive."
"What do you suggest?"
"We take out his support structure. The people he's trying to rally—we get to them first. Make it clear that helping Cormac means making enemies of the Rysev family." He paused. "I've already started making calls. Demyan is doing the same from Chicago. We isolate him, cut off his options, force him into a corner."
"And then?"
"And then we deal with him. Permanently."
I glanced at Keira. She was listening intently, her expression calm but focused. No fear, no panic. Just careful attention.
"What about the Petrovics?" she asked. "If Cormac is desperate, won't they push him to act faster?"
Kirill turned his gaze to her, that unnerving assessment I'd seen him do a hundred times. "Possibly. But the Petrovics are patient. They won't risk a major operation unless they're confident of success. Right now, they're not confident."
