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I perked up at the tidbit of information. That was something I could work with. “If you get me a list, I can dig up helpful information. Create it, too,” I said nonchalantly, carrying the bowl of eggs to Niko. The shirt I wore rode up my thighs when I hopped up on the counter next to where he worked. The kitchen lights reflected off the faint pale lines of my scars.

His gaze flicked to them briefly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he grabbed a whisk and went to work on the bowl I’d brought him.

“You talking about blackmail?” he asked, his tone neutral, lightly dancing around the topic. A reminder that while he was easy to be around, he didn’t trust me.

“Yeah, I mean blackmail,” I said with a chuckle, mesmerized by the quick flicks of his wrist as he broke up the yokes. “Who taught you to cook?” I asked, deciding to navigate us into easier conversation topics. Or so I thought, but his body tensed and his words were tight when he replied.

“My mother taught me.” He poured the mixture into the heated skillet, not looking at me as he worked with confidence. “She taught me and my sisters.”

His jaw ticked, as if he hadn’t meant to mention the part about his siblings. A pang of sadness hit me. It wasn’t necessarily that I wanted siblings. The worry I’d have for them in this life would drive me to the point of insanity, but there’d been so many moments I’d longed for someone to be by my side, supporting me.

“How do they feel about you leaving the Bratva?”

“I have no clue. They’re back in Saint Petersburg. I haven’t spoken to any of them in over ten years,” he responded, removing the skillet from the heat to flip the omelet with an expert jerk.

My focus was fixated on his movements, so it took a moment for his words to register. I may not have had any family, but even I knew it was a long time to not speak to them.

“Why so long?”

As soon as the words slipped out, I wished I could shove them back in. An angry sneer streaked across his face as he slid his creation off onto a plate, perfectly folding it over.

“Sorry, that’s not any of my business,” I mumbled, holding my hands up in surrender.

The lines between his brows softened at my tone, giving me the impression that the look hadn’t been meant for me. “My father forbade any communication with them. If I do, he’ll sell them off.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, as if he hadn’t just told me his father had threatened to sell his sisters and his mother into the sex trade.

His massive hands landed on the counter, caging me in. Heat radiating from his bare chest. My finger had a mind of its own. It came up and traced the Cyrillic tattoo on his chest. The air between us crackled with tension.

“What does it mean?” My words were barely above a whisper.

“Blood decides nothing,” he responded, pulling a fork loaded with omelet up to my mouth. His pupils dilated as my lips wrapped around the prongs. Flavor exploded in my mouth, and my lids dropped closed, a moan slipping out.

“That is the best fucking thing I’ve eaten in my life,” I responded, my eyes fluttering open.

He studied me for a moment. “You really don’t know how to cook?” he asked, placing the fork back on the counter.

Normally I’d bristle at the question because there was so much to unpack with my answer, but something about Niko was disarming, and he’d shared something vulnerable with me.

“Nope.” I popped the P while wiping down the counter to stay busy, uncomfortable at the admission I’d made. “Dominick didn’t like to feed me as a kid. Knowing how to cook would’ve made it hard to keep me hungry.”

An uncomfortable silence grew between us as he stared at me. His attention was so acute it practically burned.

“He really didn’t feed you? Or let you learn?” Niko asked. His tone was devoid of emotion, but the deadly swirling sea was back in his eyes. His gaze was so intense that it was hard to hold. It was like he wanted to claw inside my body and pull out my secrets.

And I found myself wanting to let him.

All I could manage was a small shake of my head. My normally smart mouth was at a loss for words. His free hand came up and threaded in my hair, right at the base of my scalp, and he moved even closer into my circle. He pushed between my thighs, his bare skin brushing against my silk-covered nipples, causing them to pebble.

“You’ll never go hungry while you’re in my care.”

Heat curled in my core at the word care. No one had ever cared for me before, and suddenly it was the only thing in the world I wanted.

My tongue popped out, swiping along my bottom lip. The orgasm I’d given myself not ten minutes before clearly hadn’t been enough to quell my need.

“What if food isn’t what I’m hungry for?” I asked, barely above a whisper, not sure what he’d do. I was technically Caleb’s wife, but he didn’t seem to care when his brothers touched me. Something had simmered in Caleb’s eyes last night, but I wouldn’t have categorized it as jealousy.

Niko’s oceanic eyes widened, his nostrils flaring, as the grip on my hair tightened.

“What do you want me to fill your mouth with then, little one?” he asked, gripping my waist, pulling me off the counter, and pushing me to my knees. His tone was sweet, but his actions were commanding—the two sides of his personality warring for dominance.