Cyrus’s eyes meet Ace’s over my head, that silent communication passing between them. “Let’s say we have something to discuss with you. His hand settles protectively at the small of my back.
Ace takes my bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder without comment. “Not here,” he says, glancing toward the window where the stranger had been watching. “At home.”
Home. It’s still strange how naturally that word fits now—their penthouse becoming my sanctuary rather than my cage.
As we move toward the exit, I find myself nestled between them in their practiced formation. Ace is ahead, constantlyscanning, while Cyrus flanks my other side, his body angled to shield mine.
“We’ll take the service entrance,” Ace decides, redirecting us toward the back of the studio.
I should be terrified. There are Russian criminals watching me, using me as a way to get to the twins.
But walking between these two lethal men, I feel oddly calm. The twins radiate deadly focus; they’re hyperaware of every shadow, every sound—as they guide me through the darkened hallway toward the back door.
“Car’s waiting,” Cyrus says. “Felix confirmed the perimeter is clear.”
I nod, trusting them completely. Whatever they’ve planned for tonight, whatever threat lurks in the shadows, I know with bone-deep certainty they’ll protect me. Not because I’m weak, but because I’m theirs.
And they are mine.
39
ACE
The table looks understated but elegant. Three crystal glasses catch the light from the pendant fixtures hanging above. The wine, a cabernet I had Felix source from a private collection in France, breathes in a decanter at the center. White candles in silver holders cast a warm glow across the linen tablecloth.
Cyrus outdid himself with dinner. Salmon perfectly cooked, with roasted vegetables and a dill sauce. The aroma fills the penthouse, rich and inviting. Neither of us is particularly domestic, but for Keira, we’ve both made exceptions.
She sits across from me now, her violet-blue eyes reflecting the candlelight as she takes a sip of wine. The soft curve of her throat works as she swallows, and I track the movement, memorizing it like I do everything about her.
“This is amazing,” she says, setting her glass down. “What’s the occasion?”
Beside her, Cyrus shifts in his chair. His knee brushes mine under the table. He’s nervous. So am I, though I’d never show it.
“Does there need to be one?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
Keira raises an eyebrow. “You two don’t normally do a candlelit dinner.”
“Maybe we’re evolving,” Cyrus offers with a small smile.
The weight of what we need to say hangs between us. Three words that have never crossed my lips for anyone but Cyrus. Three words that would make Keira truly ours beyond the terms of any contract.
I watch her cut into her salmon. Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth as she catches me staring.
“What?” she asks.
Words stick in my throat. This isn’t like me. I take, claim, and possess. I don’t ask. I don’t hope. I don’t wait for permission.
Except with her. Everything is different with her.
“Nothing, you’re just so beautiful,” I murmur.
We continue to eat, but there’s this tension in the air so thick it feels like I’m suffocating.
The plates are cleared, wine glasses nearly empty. Cyrus catches my eye across the table and gives me that subtle nod to tell me it’s time. My throat tightens.
“Keira.” Her name falls from my lips as Cyrus and I simultaneously reach for her hands. “We need to tell you something.”
She looks between us. “That sounds ominous.”
