Page 73 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Cereal for dinner, V?" Alina judges through the screen.

"I realized I don't like cooking for one anymore." Vanessa defends. "Besides, I'm not risking another cooking attempt after the pasta incident."

"That was one time—" Asher starts.

"One time the smoke alarm went off. Three times the pasta turned into concrete."

For a moment, comfortable silence settles as everyone focuses on their food, the satisfied quiet of people enjoying a good meal together.

"??????," Remy says after his first bite. "Delicious.This is legitimate babushka cooking."

"YouTube University," Jax mutters, but he's watching me, not Remy.

Cole takes a bite, nods approval. "Better than the shit we usually eat."

Conversation flows. Damian's rare smile when Vanessa teases him about his whiskey dinner, Alina showing photos of her latest investigation while Kade reviews something on his tablet between bites.

Stop. They're not marks. But they're not family either.

The warmth around the table feels dangerous. Too comfortable. Too right.

But what if they could be?

My fork hits ceramic with accidental force. Every pair of eyes, physical and digital, turns toward me. The room goes quiet except for electronics humming.

"I need to tell you something about my real background."

Jax's fork clatters against his plate. Under the table, his knee finds mine. Not comfort. Contact. Like he needs to know I'm still here.

Cole leans forward, mind already working. Asher goes perfectly still.

"My real name is Miroslava Sokolov." The syllables feel foreign on my tongue. I haven't spoken them aloud in almost a decade.

Dead silence.

Remy's fork pauses mid-air, something flickering across his face. Recognition?

"My family owned art authentication and shipping networks across Europe and America." Faces turn toward me, expressions shifting in real time, and Jax starts drumming his fingers. "Legitimate businesses. We'd been out of the criminal world for a generation."

Through laptop screens, Damian's expression sharpens to laser focus.

"Past tense," Kade notes, carefully neutral. "What happened?"

The question I've been dreading and craving equally.

"Alexei Petrov—the one I've been tracking—he was my father's business partner for ten years. I called him Uncle Alex."

The drumming stops. Jax's hand flattens on the table, fingers splayed wide. A vein pulses visibly at his throat.

"When I was sixteen, he decided our shipping routes and authentication networks were too valuable to share."

Tell them. Tell them how you watched it happen.

"He orchestrated my parents' assassination. Made it look like a business rival, but..." I meet Jax's eyes. His knuckles are white. "I was supposed to die with them. Alexei needed a clean transition of assets."

His chair scrapes against hardwood. Suddenly he's behind me, hands settling on my shoulders. His heat radiates through my shirt, possessive and protective. Claiming space. Claiming me.

"But you survived." Vanessa's voice comes soft through the speaker.