Chapter 11
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Meridian Tower penthouse, casting long, golden geometric patterns across the hardwood floors. For the first time in over two years, the air inside Ezra Blackwood’s headquarters did not smell of ozone, tension, or impending violence. It smelled of freshly brewed Colombian coffee and lavender.
Nessa stood by the kitchen island, dressed in an oversized white linen shirt, her auburn hair falling loosely over her shoulders as she poured hot water into a ceramic dripper. Behind her, the city of Toronto hummed with its usual morning urgency, but up here, it felt like an entirely different planet.
Ezra stepped quietly out of the master suite, wearing a simple black t-shirt and grey lounge pants. The sharp, intimidating edge that had defined his posture since the day he took over the syndicate had softened into something grounded. He wrapped his arms around Nessa’s waist from behind, resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder.
"You’re up early," Ezra murmured, his morning voice deep and gravelly against her neck.
"My internal clock still thinks we have a six a.m. sparring session at the warehouse," Nessa replied, smiling softly as she leaned back into his embrace. "Though I have to admit, trading the heavy bags for a quiet morning coffee is an upgrade."
"Pavl is downstairs waiting with the quarterly logistics reports," Ezra sighed quietly, kissing the side of her temple. "Some things in the empire still require attention, even if we’ve cleaned house."
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"Tell Pavl he can wait another twenty minutes," Nessa turned around in his arms, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. "Or I might just go down there and show him how a proper morning workout is actually done."
Ezra laughed, a rich, genuine sound that still occasionally surprised him. "Heaven forbid. Pavl is still having nightmares about that hip throw you executed at the dry docks. He checks his corners every time he walks down a hallway."
