Page 86 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

“Come on,” Tommy practically whined. “You haven’t let me drive it once.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Marco snatched the keys from Tommy’s hand. “Last time I let you drive something nice, you dented my Lambo.”

Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically. “That was when I was sixteen! Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“When you’ve proven yourself worthy.” Marco twirled the keys around his finger.

Tommy sighed like the quintessential younger brother. “Which means never.”

Marco shot me a wink, letting me know he was teasing, though thoroughly enjoying his brother’s misery.

“I’ll come with you to pick up the food,” Tommy decided, following Marco toward the door. “At least let me drive on the way back.”

“We’ll see,” Marco replied noncommittally.

They both paused at the door, each taking their turn to give me a quick kiss goodbye. Tommy’s was playful, a gentle peck with a little nip to my bottom lip, while Marco’s lingered just a beat longer, his hand finding the small of my back to pull me closer.

“Don’t start anything fun without us,” Tommy called over his shoulder as they headed out, their bickering fading down the hallway.

I smiled to myself, the threads of our bonds stretching but remaining strong even as they moved away from the penthouse. The space suddenly felt quieter, though not uncomfortably so. Dimitri was in his office handling some business matters, his presence steady and reassuring through our bond despite the closed door between us.

A soft whine drew my attention to Beretta, our Doberman, who lay curled on his plush bed near the large windows. I frowned, noticing his food dish was still mostly full.

“He hasn’t been eating much today,” I said, more to myself than to Dimitri or Enzo as I picked up the dish. “That’s not like him at all.”

Enzo pushed off from the wall where he’d been leaning, approaching Beretta with an outstretched hand. The dog lifted his head, allowing Enzo to scratch behind his ears.

“Maybe he just needs a little exercise to get his appetite back,” Enzo suggested. “I could take him for a walk if you want.”

I hesitated, glancing at the dish in my hands. “You wouldn’t mind? I’ve got stuff in the oven...”

“Not at all.” Enzo was already reaching for Beretta’s leash hanging by the door. “We won’t be gone long. Come on, buddy.”

Beretta perked up at the word “walk,” obediently trotting over to Enzo and sitting patiently while the leash was clipped to his collar.

“Thanks, Zo. You’re the best.” I set the dish back down for later, hoping he’d eat it when they returned.

“No problem.” Enzo grinned, giving me a quick salute before heading out with Beretta.

I watched them go, noting how Niles—one of the security team who often guarded our door—nodded respectfully as Enzopassed. Then the door clicked shut, and I headed for the kitchen, excitement bubbling through me as I thought about the mini cheesecakes in the oven. I’d been experimenting with the steam function, and the results had been promising so far.

The kitchen timer dinged just as I entered, and I bounced on the balls of my feet as I grabbed the oven mitts. The rich aroma of tangy cream cheese and vanilla filled the air as I opened the door, revealing perfectly formed cheesecake.

“Oh, these look amazing,” I murmured to myself, sliding the tray onto the pot holders waiting on the counter. The second batch was ready to go in, and I carefully transferred them to the rack, adjusting the settings to make sure everything was just right.

I was so focused on my task that I didn’t hear Dimitri approach until his scent—sandalwood and honey—wrapped around me, moments before his arms did the same.

“Smells heavenly,” he said, his deep voice close to my ear, the rumble sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I leaned back against his solid chest. “I think I’ve finally mastered this recipe.”

Dimitri turned me in his arms until I was facing him, his chocolate eyes roaming over my face with an intensity that still made my heart race, even after all this time. “Yeah, Kitten, I think you have,” he agreed, “but I wasn’t talking about the baked goods.”

Before I could respond, he lifted me effortlessly and placed me on the kitchen island, stepping between my thighs as if it was the most natural thing in the world—which, I supposed, it was.

“You’re smooth when you want to be, you know that?” I teased, wrapping my arms around his neck.

His lips quirked in that rare half-smile that was reserved only for me and his brothers. “Only when it matters.”

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