Page 72 of Hard Knot

Of course, we learned later that her enthusiasm had less to do with nurturing his culinary interests and more to do with covering up other activities. The constant baking, the elaborate meals—they were all carefully orchestrated to mask the scents of blood and death that permeated the Giovanni mansion.

Nothing covers the metallic tang of blood quite like fresh-baked bread and complex spices.

But Carter had genuinely loved it.

He'd light up whenever he mastered a new technique or successfully recreated some complicated dish. It was one of the few things that made him seem like a normal kid and not the heir to one of the most powerful criminal empires in existence.

That all changed after the incident.

When his parents were attacked, leaving them permanently wounded and unable to maintain direct control of the empire, Carter had to step up. At sixteen, he'd been forced to transform from an aspiring chef into a ruthless leader overnight.

The kitchen had gathered dust after that.

The elaborate spice collection his mother had curated went unused.

The copper pots and pans that had been his pride and joy were relegated to storage.

Until last night.

Watching him cook for Elizabeth had been like seeing a ghost of the old Carter. The way his hands moved confidently with the knife, the little smile that played at his lips as he explained each step to her—it was like stepping back in time.

He'd made something Russian, probably trying to impress her after that little display with Holmes. The kitchen had filled with the aroma of garlic and dill, and for a moment, it felt like home. Like we were just normal guys having dinner with a girl, not three of the most dangerous Alphas in the underground trying to maintain our cover in this academic farce.

Elizabeth had watched him with genuine interest, asking questions about techniques and ingredients. She'd laughed at his terrible attempts at Russian pronunciation, correcting him with a patience that suggested she actually enjoyed teaching him.

They didn’t leave me behind, which is something that commonly happens because I’m generally quiet. It’s not like I’m not interested in the conversations being said, but I guess it’s in my persona to blend with the crowd versus stand out.

But Elizabeth wouldn’t have that.

She’d bring me into the conversation when I went on too long in my silent observation, asking questions that allowed her to learn more about my hobbies and interests. Didn’t realize how much I do like to talk until last night.

That I’m not completely an introvert, but it depends on the type of company around me.

Most surprisingly, she'd helped clean up afterward. No Omega we'd ever encountered would dream of doing something so...domestic. They usually expected to be waited on, and treated like precious dolls rather than equals.

But Elizabeth had rolled up her sleeves, metaphorically because she was in that sinful bodysuit, and jumped right in,hip-checking Carter out of the way to take over washing duties while he dried the plates and cutlery.

It was...nice.

Normal in a way our lives rarely are.

Too normal, probably, but I didn’t hate it.

It’s a level of peace and serenity I didn’t think I’d enjoy.

I try to recall more in detail, thinking back to the kitchen once more, the events playing in my head yet again, like a recording that needs to be remembered and replayed for further analysis.

I remember I ended up joining them for dinner, the three of us falling into a surprisingly easy conversation about cars and electronics. It was strange, talking to someone who seemed genuinely interested in our passions and hobbies outside of the usual blood and violence that consumed our daily lives.

Many Omegas used to say we weren’t interesting because we didn’t keep up with the current trends in luxury and drama. Hearing it so many times, I figured they were right, but Elizabeth had such a different reaction last night.

She lit up when Carter started talking about the engineering behind his Ferrari collection, asking detailed questions about torque and aerodynamics that proved she wasn't just pretending to be interested. And when I'd mentioned my latest drone modifications, she'd leaned forward with genuine curiosity, wanting to know about the AI systems I'd integrated into the control mechanisms.

When was the last time we'd talked about normal things?

We'd gotten so caught up in the underground world — in survival and power plays and constant vigilance — that we'd almost forgotten who we were beyond our roles as leaders in this dark empire.

Cars, cooking, technology...they'd become distant memories, hobbies we'd abandoned in favor of maintaining our grip on power.

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