Page 145 of Ruthless

I raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"You guest lecture for one session." His mouth quirked. "Give them the field perspective."

"Me? Teaching therapists?" I laughed. "What would I even say?"

"You'd have to leave all weapons at home," he warned. "And possibly wear a tie."

I groaned. "The things I do for love."

Vincent's smile could still stop my heart. "Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering, I leaned across the console and kissed him, my hand curving around the nape of his neck. He sighed against my mouth, melting into me with the same responsiveness that had captivated me from the beginning.

"That's a yes," I confirmed when we broke apart.

Ana's car already sat in the driveway, her cottage windows glowing warmly in the fading light. As we approached our front door, the scent of garlic and herbs wafted from inside.

"She used her key again," I noted, not actually bothered.

"Family privilege," Vincent reminded me, unlocking the door.

Our home welcomed us with warmth and light. Modern design tempered with comfortable furnishings, security systems disguised as smart home technology. Plants occupied nearly every surface—Vincent's ever-expanding family that I'd learned to water correctly after multiple lectures on "drowning the poor things."

Ana appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Finally! I was about to eat without you."

Eight months had brought remarkable changes in her. The confused, wounded woman from the tribunal had grown stronger, more confident, her accent now a blend of her recovered Bosnian heritage and American upbringing. She'd kept her charity work but refocused it entirely on trafficking victims from war zones, using her personal experience to drive systemic change.

"Smells amazing," Vincent said, hugging her before heading to the kitchen. "I'll open the wine."

Ana turned to me, her ice-blue eyes—so like my own—sparkling with barely contained excitement. "I have news."

"So I heard." I kissed her cheek. "Good news, I hope?"

"The best." She glanced toward the kitchen, lowering her voice. "I've been offered a position running the International Children's Rights Initiative. Full directorship."

The world tilted briefly beneath my feet. "That's incredible, Ana. You deserve it."

"It means more travel," she continued, excitement bubbling through her voice. "Geneva, New York, sometimes conflict zones. The board wants me to start next month."

"Travel?" I struggled to process this development. "Conflict zones? Is your barista boyfriend going with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "His name is Eli, and he's a coffee artist. Also, he has a degree in international relations and speaks four languages. And no, we're not at that stage yet."

"You'll need additional security," I said automatically. "Especially in conflict areas."

"Luka," she sighed, "we've talked about this. I want a normal life."

"Normal life, abnormal brother," I reminded her. "Security stays. Non-negotiable."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But nothing obvious. I don't want to alienate the communities I'm trying to help."

"They won't notice a thing," I promised. "And Ana? I'm proud of you. Truly."

Vincent returned with wine glasses, his eyebrows raised at our whispered conversation. "What are you two conspiring about?"

Ana's smile widened. "I got the ICRI directorship."

Vincent's face lit up as he set down the glasses and embraced her. "Ana! That's wonderful news!"

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