Page 27 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

He smirked. “The plan’s already in motion.”

“Good.” I looked back toward the house, wondering if the mole was inside, just waiting for any tidbits he found useful. Waiting to betray us yet again. “It’s time to see who moves first.”

eleven

KITANIA

The cinnamon-sugar scentfilled the kitchen, wrapping around me like a warm hug as I carefully arranged the last batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. For a moment, I let myself believe this was normal—that I was just baking treats on a lazy afternoon, not stress baking because renovations had started on the penthouse and that text message I’d received the other night kept swimming through my mind. And worse? I hadn’t told my mates, not wanting to worry them when I knew they were doing everything in their power to take the monster down.

I ran the back of my hand along my forehead, reminding myself to breathe.

The heat from the oven had flushed my cheeks, and a few strands of hair had escaped my messy bun to stick to my damp neck. But I didn’t mind. There was a certain comfort about pressing my fingers into the dough, about transforming rawingredients into something delicious. Something that brought people joy.

I’d been on edge all week, jumping at shadows and flinching at loud noises. Baking had always calmed me, even in the worst foster homes. The precise measurements, the methodical steps, with just enough room for creativity. It made me feel in control when everything else felt chaotic.

A low whistle from the doorway broke through my thoughts.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

I turned to find Enzo leaning against the doorframe, his brown hair pushed back from his forehead, darkened with sweat at the temples. His fitted tank top clung to his chest, and a sheen of moisture glistened on his forearms. The scent of exertion, bergamot, and spice rolled off him in waves.

“I see someone’s been busy,” he said, eyeing the cookies with obvious desire.

Before I could answer, he darted forward, snatching a cookie from the rack. I tried to protest that they were still too hot—but he was already taking a massive bite.

“Careful, they’re—”

“Hot!” Enzo’s eyes widened as he frantically fanned his mouth. “Fuck me, that’s hot.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “I tried to warn you.”

He swallowed with effort, then shot me a wounded look. “Your sympathy is overwhelming, sweetheart.” Despite the burn, he popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure. “Worth it, though. Damn, Kit. These are good.”

Something warm fluttered in my chest at the simple praise. It was still strange to me—being valued for such small things.

“They’re just snickerdoodles,” I said, busying myself by wiping down the counter.

“Nah.” Enzo shook his head, reaching for another. “These are little circles of heaven. Where’d you learn to bake like this?”

I shrugged. “Here and there. I mostly taught myself, following family recipes. The rest I picked up from cooking shows when no one was home.”

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted whatever Enzo was about to say. We both turned to see Giovanni in the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the whole thing. His short hair was damp with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to the sculpted, sweaty planes of his chest. My heart stuttered at the sight of him.

Gio’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Enzo’s hand, halfway to snatching up another cookie.

“You stealing my Omega’s treats, ‘Zo?” His voice was gruff but held a thread of amusement. “Those are meant for her Alphas.”

Enzo’s mouth curved into an exaggerated pout. “What about the sad, lonely Beta who has no one to make him delicious snickerdoodles?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “No one to care if he wastes away from cookie deprivation?”

Gio rolled his eyes, crossing the kitchen to stand beside me. His earthy scent—soil after rain mixed with iron and musk—enveloped me, making my knees weak.

“Then I suggest you find yourself a pack,” Gio said, “and find your own Omega who can bake you treats.”

Something flickered across Enzo’s face when he glanced back at me—too quick to read. Then his familiar grin returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Nah, I’ve got a friend who’s a great baker. What do I need a pack for?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his ankles. “Besides, you guys keep me busy enough. When would I find time for a social life?”

Gio grunted, the sound skeptical, but relented a moment later. “Speaking of keeping you busy—” His focus shifted to me,and heat bloomed under my skin. “How’d you like to help me teach my girl some self-defense?”

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