Chapter 287: Fan-f*cking-tastic

Alina ran her hand along the smooth edge of the cot, her touch soft and thoughtful. “It still needs to be stained and built,” she murmured, half to herself.

Before I could even open my mouth, Hunter perked up like she’d just given him a mission from God. “I’ll do it right now,” he declared, already grabbing for the pieces leaning against the wall.

Alina’s face lit up with that bright, unguarded smile that made everything feel right in the world. “Thank you!” she said, clapping her hands together once in pure delight.

I chuckled, because I knew exactly what that bastard was doing. Classic Hunter move, find a project, avoid the hard conversation. He’d sooner rebuild the entire house than tell Alina that Isla was coming for dinner tonight.

“Coward,” I muttered under my breath with a grin as he hurried out of the room, balancing planks and hardware in his arms like some kind of overgrown toddler.

When he was gone, I turned back to Alina. She was still admiring the room, her hand drifting from shelves to a tiny onesie hanging nearby.

“Mason and Nico were at the house today,” I said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

Her head turned slightly, curiosity flickering in her expression. “Oh? How did that go?”

“Pretty good, all things considered,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “The guy we picked up, Matthew Valensky. He's just a kid, really. Got mixed up in the wrong shit trying to make money for his family. We cleared it up. He’s going to be working with us now, where he can stay safe and make honest cash.”

She nodded slowly, absorbing that, and I could see the understanding in her eyes. She knew what it meant to do bad things for the right reasons.

After a beat, I cleared my throat. “Uh… Mason and Nico also asked something else.”

Her gaze flicked back to me, suspiciously. “That tone sounds like I’m not going to like this.”

I gave her my best disarming smile. “They wanted to see if we could try dinner again. Tonight.”

Alina blinked, stepping back slightly. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. With Isla.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

I let out a small sigh and moved closer, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But Isla’s my sister, Alina. Not just my sister, we're triplets, we’ve always been close. She’s… she’s just struggling. Losing Mia wrecked her. I think she’s stuck between missing her best friend and being scared to let anyone else in. I think once you two get to know each other, you'd get along like a house on fire.

Alina’s lips quirked into a crooked little smile. “You think we’d get along like a house on fire?”

I laughed softly. “That’s the hope.”

“You know, it’s not good for a house to be on fire, right?” she teased, folding her arms.

“Yeah, well,” I said, smirking, “neither of you were exactly known for being calm and reasonable kids. There’s a reason Mum never let you play together.”

Her expression softened into something almost nostalgic. “Because we both don’t play well with others,” she murmured.

“Exactly.”

She sighed, long and quiet, and I could see the battle playing out in her head. Finally, she nodded once. “I’ll try...for you guys. But I can’t promise anything.”

I smiled, feeling that familiar warmth in my chest that only she could bring. “Trying is more than enough, little fighter.”

Her hand came to rest over Bean, and she smiled faintly. “Guess it'd be nice for Bean to have a good relationship with their Aunty.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “It’s going to be okay in the end.”

God, I hoped I was right.

Alina

So, Isla and her husbands are coming for dinner. Fan-fucking-tastic. I’d already survived one of the family’s legendary dinners without stabbing anyone, so technically I’m batting one for one. Still, the thought of sitting across from Kaiden’s sister again made my stomach twist. I looked down to Bean and I sighed, rubbing the spot.

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered to the bump. “We’ll play nice this time.”

But I couldn’t just show up to dinner. Not again. Not empty-handed, not defensive. If I was going to do this, I’d do it properly. So I decided to cook. Something from home. Something that tasted like comfort and belonging and long winters spent in a kitchen filled with steam and noise and laughter, even if my version of family had always been more chaos than warmth. I rummaged through the pantry and fridge, mentally listing what I could make.

I decided on pelmeni — little Russian dumplings filled with seasoned meat. Simple, familiar, filling. Olivier salad — diced potatoes, eggs, pickles, peas, and a creamy dressing; the kind of dish that tastes like my childhood and New Year’s Eve combined. And for dessert, Syrniki — sweet, fluffy cottage-cheese pancakes fried until golden and served with honey and jam. Something hearty, something sweet, and something safe.

When I told Kaiden my plan, he blinked at me like I’d announced I was building a bomb shelter in the kitchen.

“You’re going to cook?”

“Yes.”

“For Isla?”

“Unless you’d prefer me to serve her to the pigs.”

That earned me his low, soft laugh, the one that always melted through my edges.

“Okay, little fighter,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You cook. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Except he didn’t. He hovered, pretending to scroll on his phone but really just watching me knead, chop and taste. Every now and then I caught him smiling, quiet and distant, like he was seeing something fragile he didn’t want to disturb.

“You know,” I said, rolling dough under my palms, “you could help instead of staring.”

“Didn’t want to ruin the art,” he said. “You look… happy.”

That stopped me for a second. I hadn’t realised it, but he was right. I was humming under my breath, sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily back, hands busy with something that didn’t involve blood or threats. Just flour. Maybe that was the strangest thing of all, this little spark of hope in my chest that tonight could actually go well.

Kaiden leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes soft. “Whatever happens, Alina, this means a lot. You doing this… it’s a good thing.”

I nodded, brushing a streak of flour off my wrist. “I’m not doing it for her,” I said honestly. “I’m doing it for you, Hunter and Bean.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes it so good.”