Page 112 of Bratva's Mercy
But the thought of putting Maxim and Leo together made my stomach tighten. Leo and Maxim in the same building was the kind of disaster that didn’t need help becoming worse. Leo could be calm when he wanted to be, but Maxim’s name still triggered him. And Maxim had already made his opinion of Leo clear.
“Look, I know I shouldn’t have said anything?—”
“It’s fine, Nik. I appreciate the honesty, though I don’t think I’ll have to choose between them.”
Nik made a sound of disbelief. “I hope you’re right. I’ll drop by at nine-thirty, and we can ride over together.”
“Cool. See you then.”
The call ended, and I lowered the phone to the desk. For a moment, I stayed where I was, surrounded by the office Leo had made for me, listening to the faint sounds of him moving somewhere downstairs. Plates. A cabinet door. The soft mutter of his voice, probably insulting me under his breath for taking too long.
I should have been thinking about Maxim.
About the club.
About security.
Instead, I looked around the room again and felt that smile threatening to come back.
I’ll give anything to not have to choose.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and forced myself out of the chair before I could think too deeply about Nik’s warning.
The smell of food hit me as soon as I stepped out of the office. For a second, I stood in the hallway and just breathed it in. Garlic. Butter. I followed the sounds of domesticity coming from the kitchen and found him at the island, carefully plating our dinner like we were sitting down at a restaurant instead of eating takeout in my kitchen.
Of course, Leo didn’t eat straight out of cartons. He’d taken out the new plates we’d bought, the ones I’d agreed to because he’d informed me that responsible adults had matching dinnerware. He’d set two places at the island, folded napkins beside the plates, and lit a candle in the center.
I stopped in the doorway.
He didn’t notice me right away. He was too focused on spooning pasta onto one plate, his brows drawn in concentration as if portion sizes were as serious as the surgeries he carried out. His hair was slightly messy from whatever he’d been doing while waiting for me. He looked comfortable in my kitchen. More than that, he looked like he belonged there.
“You said five minutes,” I said.
Leo glanced over his shoulder. “I did.”
“What happened to starting without me if I didn’t meet your deadline?”
He turned back to the food, his voice quieter. “We’re having dinner together. I didn’t want to eat alone.”
I walked closer, watching him add a side of roasted vegetables and a small piece of garlic bread to each plate. Thecandlelight flickered across the counter, making everything feel warm.
“Brad and I barely ate together,” he said, almost absently. “Our schedules were too different, and I was always at the hospital, or he was already asleep when I got home or at work. Sometimes we went months without sharing a proper meal.”
He froze, silence following. His shoulders stiffened first, then his hand tightened around the serving spoon. I saw the exact moment he realized what he’d said and who he’d said it to. The air changed between us, not because I was angry, but because he expected me to be. Or worse, he expected himself to fall apart.
I stayed still, waiting to find out which would happen.
He didn’t fall apart, and I didn’t get angry.
I crossed the last few feet between us. “I would have adjusted my schedule for you,” I said. “So you’d never have to eat alone.”
Leo turned his head slowly toward me, his expression unreadable. His frown deepened before he dropped his gaze back to the plates.
“You don’t believe me,” I said.
“I do.” His voice came out low. “That’s the problem.”
There were plenty of things I could have done. I could have touched him. Kissed the side of his neck. Made some stupid comment to lighten the moment before it got too serious for either of us to handle. But I stayed where I was and let the silence breathe, because Leo didn’t need me crowding him. He needed space to feel what he’d just admitted without me turning it into something else.
