The table goes quiet. Every woman in the room shifts slightly, tuning in. Saoirse's spatula pauses mid-flip.
"That's the plan," I say.
Iris leans back in her chair and studies me with those green eyes, and for a second, I see Connor in the way she holds a gaze, testing, reading, deciding. Then she nods, and the tension breaks.
"Good. He needs someone who isn't afraid of him." She steals another piece of bacon, this time from my plate. "Also, he snores. Fair warning."
"She's lying," Saoirse says. "He doesn't snore. Eat your breakfast, Iris."
I'm laughing for the first time in weeks, when the men walk in.
They arrive together like a wall of muscle and dark hair, filling the kitchen doorway in a way that would be intimidating if every single one of them didn't immediately drift toward a woman. Liam crosses to Grace and drops a kiss on Lorcan's head before stealing a sip of her coffee. A man I recognize as Killian from photos Diomid showed me once makes a beeline for Katya, sliding his hand over the curve of her belly as he bends to kiss her temple. She tips her face up into it without breaking conversation. Another man, leaner, with lighter features, Aidan, wraps his arms around Tanya from behind and murmurs something against her hair that makes her roll her eyes but lean into him with a grin anyway.
Each of them stops by Saoirse on the way. Liam presses a kiss to her cheek. Killian squeezes her shoulder. Aidan says, "Morning, Ma," and snags a waffle off the stack, earning himself a swat with the dishtowel.
"Those are for Katya."
"She has a plateful already,” he points out with a laugh.
"She's growing a human,” Saoirse argues back easily. “Sit down."
Then Connor walks in.
He's showered, hair still damp, in a clean black T-shirt that stretches across his chest and jeans that sit on his hips in a way I'm trying very hard not to notice. He smells like soap and something woodsy and male, and when he crosses to Saoirse and bends down to kiss the top of her head, I see the way her hand comes up to cup his scarred cheek, gentle and automatic, like she's done it ten thousand times.
"Morning, Ma."
"Morning, love. There's coffee."
He pours himself a cup and turns around finding me immediately. Something in his expression settles, like he was checking to make sure I was still here.
"Morning," he says, like we haven’t already seen each other this morning. I don’t know why that sends a bolt of thrill straight through me that has me clenching my thighs together.
"Morning," I say back, and I'm proud of how steady my voice is, because underneath this table, my knee is bouncing and my skin feels too warm.
He sits down at the end of the table.
Breakfast happens around us. Katya eats three more waffles. Lorcan drops his teething ring and wails until Liam picks it up and rinses it under the tap before handing it back to him. Iris and Killian get into an argument about something that happened in 2019 that nobody else remembers the same way. Tanya and Grace have a quiet conversation about a book they're both reading. Saoirse moves through all of it like the center ofgravity, refilling plates and mugs and settling disputes with a look.
It's a family. A real, messy, noisy, complicated family, and I want it so badly that it aches in a place I didn't know was empty.
Connor doesn't talk much during breakfast. He eats, drinks his coffee, listens.
When the plates are mostly cleared and Katya is negotiating with Saoirse for one more waffle, Liam pushes back from the table and looks at me and Connor.
"My office," he says. "Both of you."
Connor stands and offers me his hand to help me up. His palm is warm and rough and twice the size of mine, and when his fingers close around my hand, I feel the contact all the way to my stomach. He lets go as soon as I'm standing, but his fingertips brush the inside of my wrist on the way, and I don't think it's an accident.
Liam's office is down the hall from the kitchen, a dark-paneled room with a heavy desk and leather chairs and the kind of organized clutter that says the man who works here is busy but knows where everything is. Grace follows us in, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs with Lorcan on her hip. Connor leans against the wall near the window. I take the chair across from Liam's desk.
Liam doesn't waste time.
"I spoke with Diomid last night. Then again, this morning. We've reached an arrangement." He looks at me. "Your brother is bringing the Agapov operation under the Orlov umbrella. Territory, resources, manpower. He'll have our protection and access to our network, and in exchange, the Agapovs align with us formally. It solves his corridor problem without the Baron."
I let that sink in. Diomid, who has spent his entire adult life building the Agapov name as an independent operation, is folding it into the Orlovs. For me. To keep me out of the Baron's hands. The weight of that sacrifice presses against my shoulders.
"And Grigori?" I ask.
