Page 74 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Mikhail Volkov acquired me afterward. Convinced me I'd chosen to become a weapon rather than a victim." My laugh sounds hollow. "That I wanted the training, the kills, the whole life."

"So, the Petrov connection isn't just operational," Alina states matter-of-factly, pen moving across a notebook that has suddenly materialized. "It's personal."

"Has been for years. I've been hunting him since I killed Mikhail when I was twenty." I watch them process with rapid efficiency. "And now that we've been tracking his American operations through Viktor and Gideon..."

"He'll come for anyone you care about," Damian finishes, voice carrying anticipatory violence.

"Let him come." Jax's voice drops to something barely recognizable as his hands grip my shoulders harder. "I'll put a bullet between his eyes myself."

Cole clears his throat. "Jesus, Nitro. Breathe."

"This changes our approach," Kade says, already strategizing. "We can use this."

Damian's voice cuts through like a blade. "How do you want him to die?"

Notifthey'll kill him.How.

The way he offers violence like a gift makes something warm and dangerous unfurl in my chest.

This is what having people means.

"Slowly," I answer. "Very slowly."

"That can be arranged," Damian says with satisfaction that makes Vanessa shiver visibly on screen.

"Tomorrow we strategize properly," Cole cuts in. "Tonight, we eat."

The team continues eating, conversation shifting back to lighter topics—Vanessa updating Asher on her latest tech equipment acquisition, Xander explaining mathematical beauty of controlled chaos theory between bites of egg.

I start gathering empty plates. Jax loads the dishwasher with sharp movements. Every time I pass behind him to clear dishes, he tenses. Tracks me. His reflection in the window shows his jaw working.

When Asher hands me his plate, Jax's grip on a glass tightens.

When Cole makes a joke about Russian grandmothers knowing their way around kitchens, Jax doesn't laugh.

Remy leans close—too close for casual conversation. His breath warms my ear as he drops his voice low enough that only I can hear.

Behind us, water runs over dishes.

"Miroslava Sokolov." The Russian pronunciation perfect. "I remember when your family disappeared from the society pages. People in certain circles noticed."

The tap turns off. Silence. He's listening.

"Your parents' foundation work was well-regarded," Remy continues, still too close, his cologne mixing with the scent of dinner. "Cultural investments, charitable galas. When families like that just... vanish, it leaves ripples."

"What happened to your family..." His hand hovers near my shoulder, not quite touching. "That kind of loss changes everything."

The recognition in his voice catches me off guard. Not pity—understanding. Like he knows what it's like to have your entire world ripped away.

A dish shatters against granite.

We both turn. Jax stands at the sink, blood dripping from his knuckles onto white porcelain.

For a moment, I think he's going to say something. Demand explanations or stake his claim.

But he sets the dish towel down with deliberate control and walks away.

Just walks away.