Ravenous Revenge

Chapter Seven-Lyssa

I walk into my penthouse, and something feels off. Over the years, I've learned to trust my gut. I quickly pull my Beretta out of my purse, screw on the silencer, and move through my space, staying low and light on my feet. I keep close to the walls, clearing the main level before heading up the stairs toward my bedroom. The light is on. The sound of movement is clear. Someone's in my room.

I slide to the side where the door opens inward, creeping in slowly, gun drawn. The tension coils in my chest, but what I find inside shocks me. A woman, about 5'5", wearing a black hoodie, stands in the middle of my apartment. Without hesitation, I press the tip of the silencer to the back of her head.

"Move and I'll shoot. Who the f**k are you, and why are you in my place?" I grit out, my voice cold.

The figure freezes, then hisses, "Holy f**k, Lyss. I swear to f**k, if you shoot me, I will haunt your ass!"

I know that voice. Wait. s**t. I'm an i***t. I literally just told her to come here.

"Kat?!" I exclaim, dropping the tension in my hand.

"In the flesh!" She spins around, and I'm met with my mildly annoyed cousin.

I immediately step back, lowering my gun. A relieved sigh escapes me. I wasn't in the mood for body cleanup tonight. I've got enough in my head already.

I grab Kat in a tight hug. Despite everything, she's one of the few people I can say I love. The calm that washes over me feels like a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Her scent brings back memories—tainted by pain, but good enough. Her embrace feels like home. Maybe I've just been away for far too long. Kat and I have a bond resembling Leo and Ares's. It's not always front-and-center; it's easy to compartmentalize when I'm on missions. But now, with her in my arms, I realize how much I've missed it.

"I missed you, too," she huffs, trying to extricate herself from my grip.

"For f**k's sake, I'm so sorry. I forgot I told you to come over. Then I go waving a gun in your face. I'm an ass," I mutter, guilt flaring.

I give her my best puppy-dog eyes; she rolls hers before punching me in the arm.

"What are best friends, cousins—might as well be sisters—for, if not to almost shoot them in the head?" she teases.

We laugh. It's been too long. Her familiarity grounds me, making the chaos of the Ares mission feel a little more manageable. I hadn't realized how off-balance I'd been, how much it'd affected me.

I smirk at her. "You owe me."

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Oh, really? How so?"

I lead her to the dining room, my mind already shifting gears.

I grab the file on Leo Mikhailov, slide it across the table to her, and watch her eyes widen as she flicks through it. The flicker of sadness that crosses her face catches me off guard. It's not the kind that's easily explained—it's the kind that comes from something buried deep, something that lingers in the shadows of her past. Kat's been through her own share of trauma, and though we rarely talk about it outright, I've learned to read it: a hesitation, a shift in expression, a gaze lingering on details most people would skim.

This file, especially the parts about Leo, seems to stir something in her I can't quite pinpoint. Is it a memory? A reflection of her own pain? Or something else—something unspoken that ties her to the web of violence and survival we both know so well? For a moment, she looks like she wants to say something, her fingers pausing on a particular page, but then she closes the file and snaps her mask of confidence back into place. Whatever she felt, she locks it away again—and I let her. For now.

"Wow. A Russian slumming it with an Italian? Who would've thought?" She pauses, studying the file more carefully. "All that aside, he's hot. What do you need from me?"

I lean back in my chair, a sly grin spreading. "A distraction."

I shrug nonchalantly, offering her a mischievous grin.

Her eyes twinkle as she mirrors mine. "Leave it to me, cuz."

We retreat to the kitchen for food, the earlier tension dissipating as we start to strategize. There's something about planning with Kat that makes the world slow down. Her presence grounds me; for all the violence and chaos, moments like this remind me there's still a sliver of normal.

We spend hours hashing out ideas, laughter echoing through the penthouse as we dream up crazy scenarios. With Kat, everything feels possible—even the impossible.

Afterward, she heads to her hotel, promising to get back to me with a plan. I lock all my research in the hidden safe and double-check security. With Ares having my number, he could try to track me, and that might be part of the plan. As the door shuts behind Kat, I lean against the counter, thoughts racing.

The plan is set. The mission is still the same. But now there's something else I can't shake—maybe the weight of Ares in the back of my mind, Kat's visit reminding me what I'm fighting for. I don't know. For the first time in a long while, I feel something beyond the cold, calculated focus of my missions: a hint of fear, or maybe something like hope.

Whatever it is, I'll deal with it later. Right now I need to sleep. Tomorrow will bring its own set of challenges.

And Ares? He's just one of them.