“Sound advice.”
“She also said if you hurt me, she's flying here to break your legs.”
Troy laughed. “I like her more every time you mention her.”
“She likes you too. Thinks you're good for me.”
“Am I?”
“You got me to leave Chicago. Got me to stop fighting professionally. Got me to move across an ocean to live in a house that has more rooms than my entire neighborhood growing up.” I turned to look at him. “Yeah. You're good for me.”
The decision to retire had been easier than I'd expected. I had the title. Had the belt sitting in storage because I didn't know what else to do with it. Had proven whatever I'd needed to prove to myself about still being able to fight at my age.
But more than that, I had Troy. Had a future that didn't require getting hit for a living. Had work that mattered in ways the ring never quite had.
Mara had understood immediately. Told me she was proud of me for knowing when to walk away. Told me the gym would always be there if I changed my mind, but that shesuspected London had better things waiting for me than another concussion.
She'd been right.
“Dinner's at seven,” Troy said. “Adrian's hosting. Fair warning, it's going to be elaborate and there will be at least twelve people there who intimidate the hell out of me.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you're allergic to excessive wealth and people who've killed for less than bad table manners.” He stood. Pulled me up with him. “Come on. We should get cleaned up. Adrian's very particular about punctuality.”
Dinner was exactly as elaborate as Troy had warned.
The dining room could have seated thirty easily. Crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with scenes I didn't recognize but suspected were worth more than my old house. The table was set with china that looked antique and probably was.
Adrian sat at the head of the table in a suit that probably cost more than I'd made in six months of fighting. Noah sat beside him, quieter but no less commanding in presence. Viktor and Sebastian were across from them, the prince looking far more relaxed than I'd expected royalty to look.
Luka and Ash arrived together. Took seats near Troy and me with the easy familiarity that came from years of operating in each other's orbits. Dom and Cal showed up fashionably late, both of them looking like they'd come straight from work and hadn't bothered changing.
Dmitri appeared from wherever he'd been lurking. Ethan followed with a bottle of wine that Adrian accepted with what looked like approval, though his expression barely shifted.
It was overwhelming and surreal, exactly the dinner I never would have imagined myself attending a month ago.
But as the meal progressed and conversation flowed, I started to understand what Troy had meant about Ravenswood being home. These people were dangerous and connected, operating in worlds I'd only glimpsed through Troy's work with the Sentinel Network.
But they were also family.
Adrian made dry comments about the challenges of running a household this size. Noah interjected with medical anecdotes that made everyone laugh. Viktor told a story about Sebastian's recent diplomatic function that involved champagne, a minor international incident, and Sebastian's complete inability to suffer fools.
Luka asked about the rehab center with genuine interest. Wanted to know timelines and programming and whether we'd need additional security given the clientele we'd be serving. When I explained the plans, he offered resources without hesitation. Connections. Funding if we needed it. Protection if the work attracted the wrong attention.
Troy handled it all with growing ease. Made jokes. Told stories about Chicago. Deflected questions about his recovery with practiced charm that suggested he'd learned how to navigate these dinners years ago.
I watched him across the table and realized this was the most settled I'd ever seen him. Still sharp. Still dangerous underneath the surface. But no longer moving like he expected the floor to vanish beneath him.
“You're staring,” Ash said quietly from beside me.
“Am I?”
“Blatantly.” He refilled my wine glass. “Though I can't blame you. He looks good. Happy, even.”
“He does.”
“So do you.” Ash studied me with eyes that missed nothing. “Different than when you first got here. Less like you're waiting for permission to stay.”
