The Payback (Team Zulu 2)

As I stitched, there were so many things I wanted to ask. They were all important questions. I just wasn’t sure which should come first.

Should I pry about what had happened to his sister? Although that seemed kind of personal and something he might find upsetting to talk about.

Would Brandon tell me more about who he truly was? Why he wasn’t afraid of a building full of mobsters and how he’d come to work with a hitman?

I wanted to ask him about the scar on his collarbone that looked a lot like a bullet wound. But if I did, would he ask me about the one on my thigh? Hard pass.

There was something even more important than the many questions plaguing my mind.

I cleared my throat. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” I used gauze to wipe away fresh blood that had seeped from the wound. “When we first met, I might’ve judged you harshly. And I think it’s safe to say I’ve turned the bitch dial up to eleven on you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.” Our eyes met, and darn it, my breath caught every time.

“Apology accepted.”

“And thank you for getting me out of that place. It really sucked working there.”

“I was happy to help.”

“But you’re still a dick for smashing my phone and embarrassing me downstairs.”

“Touché.” Brandon smiled despite being a human cross-stitch. Maybe Iwasgood at distracting him?

“You said you were tracking Dante. Do you know where he is?” I asked.

“He and Maxim have retreated to his secure compound in Newtown Square. I imagine he’ll regroup and start planning his next move.”

“What’s the deal with those two and their bromance?” I glanced up to find Brandon’s eyes on me, not on the needle.

“The Russian is a hostage with a severe case of Stockholm syndrome.” Brandon grimaced as I pulled the thread through.

“He’s what?”

“Twenty-something years ago, the Bratva attempted to set up roots in Philly. A turf war erupted, and the Russians were forced back to the motherland. As part of their terms of surrender, ten-year-old Maxim, son of thepakhan—the Russian boss—remained as a gesture of goodwill and a promise of peace.”

I stared at Brandon, open-mouthed. “They left a child with the Mob?”

He nodded. “Franky guaranteed his safety for as long as the Bratva stood down. Maxim was cared for by Franky’s sister, and since he was a similar age to Dante, they grew up together as brothers. And now, his loyalty to his adopted family is unwavering.”

“What a screwed-up childhood.”

“Agreed,” Brandon said through clenched teeth while watching me work the needle. “Are you ready to tell me exactly what happened when Dante and the Russian came to your apartment?”

“There’s not much to tell. Maxim jumped me as soon as I walked through the door. Took me to the ground. I stabbed him, stomped on his face, and busted his nose, but he still overpowered me. Then we had a delightful conversation where Dante laid out his demands in exchange for Lettie’s life and mine.” I couldn’t stop the sneer from forming on my lips. “Apparently, he’d done his research and thought I might be a useful asset once I graduated and started working with the Justice Department. You know the rest.”

Not exactly true. I should tell Brandon about Kieran and the shooting. He deserved to understand the real reason I’d risked spying on Vixens and brought this mess upon us. But the coward in me couldn’t utter those words. My throat constricted at the thought of it.

The strange thing was I missed Kieran every day, although it wasn’t my feelings for him that stopped me from being honest with Brandon. It was the sickening churning in my gut whenever I spoke about the shooting. It was the way my palms grew sweaty, my heart raced, and I struggled to draw breath as though I were reliving that moment three years ago. I didn’t want Brandon witnessing me in full freak-out mode, or he’d realize how screwed up I truly was.

“You’re safe now,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”

I flicked my gaze up to his and got caught in his penetrating stare. “I know.” Even though I hadn’t known Brandon very long, we’d been through some extreme shit together. Perhaps that was why I felt like I knew him better than I did. Either way, I had faith he’d do his best to protect me from whatever we faced.

“Not sure you need me, though.” He tilted his head. “Can you really fight?”

I smirked. “Keep pushing my buttons like you did in the lobby, and you might find out.”