The front door opened behind us, and two men stepped cautiously into the villa as though they were approaching a wild animal that might bite them.
Misha and Danil.
Both of them froze the moment they noticed me standing in the kitchen.
Danil cleared his throat awkwardly. “Morning, boss.”
I quirked a brow at them and watched them with narrowed eyes. “Morning.”
After a pause and some awkward shuffling, Misha gestured vaguely towards the counter.
“We, um, we were told … there were pastries.”
Addy spun around immediately, lighting up and clapping excitedly. “Perfect timing!”
Both men visibly relaxed. I watched this exchange with the same baffled fascination I had felt ever since this pattern started two weeks ago.
My soldiers, men who had broken bones on my orders and enforced territory lines with brutal efficiency, now stopped by the villa every morning for baked goods as if it were a neighborhood café.
Addy slid a plate across the counter with the solemnity of someone conducting an official ceremony.
“Cinnamon rolls,” she announced, spreading her arms wide.
Misha took one carefully, while Danil snatched two.
“Thank you,” Misha uttered, his words interrupted by the bite he took.
“You’re welcome,” Addy replied cheerfully.
Danil bit into one and closed his eyes. “This is better than last week’s.”
“That’s because last week you said the frosting ratio was wrong. Which, by the way, was extremely rude feedback for someone receiving free sugar.”
“Youaskedfor feedback.”
She glared at him, but there was no real heat in her eyes. “I thought you’d be nicer about it.”
Misha snorted with amusement and shook his head. I watched the three of them and how comfortable they were around her.
Toocomfortable, perhaps.
“So,” said Danil, leaning against the counter and chewing thoughtfully. “Boss says our night rotation is changing again.”
Addy glanced up. “It should.”
“Why?” Misha asked.
Addy wiped flour off her hands and walked over to the island where a stack of papers sat beside my laptop — security schedules, dock manifests, logistics reports.
She flipped through them with the casual familiarity of someone who had already memorized half the data.
“You’re overlapping the north and south patrols by twenty minutes.”
“That’s reinforcement,” Danil replied automatically.
“No,” Addy said, shaking her head as she stepped closer. “It’s a hand off problem.”
She tapped the schedule. “You’ve got two teams on the ground at the same time, but no one clearly responsible. Each group assumes the other is covering transitions.”