"Pride cometh before the fall," I chanted.
He snorted and let out a breath. "Told you it was stupid."
"And it is." I reached for his hand and didn't let go. "Because had I been given a choice, it would have been you."
"Before or after the ass-iness."
"Before." I nodded. "Definitely before. Russians love a good challenge. Hell, you're like my catnip. You rarely smile, you get drunk for no reason, and you like to shoot things. My hero." I batted my eyelashes.
"Too bad I hate vodka."
"I won't tell Dad."
"Oh good. Maybe he won't shoot us next time he sees us then."
I bit back a grin. "I didn't tell you, not because I was trying to hide anything from you…" I licked my lips. "Have you read your folder?"
"Shit, not you too. How the hell do you even—" He paused. "Right, you were in my office."
"Guilty." I winced. "But you should probably read your folder before you go getting all pissed off at everyone."
"What if I don't want to?" He squinted. "What if what's inside of that folder makes me feel worse than I already do?"
"Could you?"
"Could I what?"
"Feel worse?"
"There's always a chance." He squeezed my hand. "Are we having a heart to heart right now?"
"Yup."
"Shit."
"You love it." I tugged his hand hard enough so that he would lean forward. "I'll even let you kiss me."
"Oh, you'll let me, huh?" His grin was wide, unapologetic. I loved the way his eyes almost seemed to darken when he looked at me. He got this lazy, seductive look on his face that had me feeling weak in the knees.
"Uh-huh," I breathed, my voice airy.
"Hmm… I think I like this side of you Andi, falling on your own sword and all that… just to make me feel better."
"Well, you did jump out of a plane with me today, so basically we're stuck with each other."
"Yes, skydiving does mean forever," Sergio said with a serious nod. "Good thing we're already married."
"Right?" I laughed.
He pulled me onto his lap. My legs wrapped around his waist as our mouths touched briefly, for maybe two seconds, before he pulled back. "You're really pretty."
"Wh-what?" All joking left my system. "Since when do you give compliments?"
"Since now." His voice was raspy. He tucked a piece of my blond hair behind my ear and cupped my face. "You're really, really pretty. I'm sorry I didn't say it before."
"You're saying it now."
"And I'll say it every day."
Until I die
, I wanted to add, but it seemed too morose and depressing, so instead I added. "Until forever?"
"Until forever," he repeated, his lips meeting mine briefly before he kissed my jaw and then placed a hot open-mouthed kiss to my neck.
"Get a room," a male voice called out.
Sergio grunted, "Bastard," under his breath as he broke our kiss.
Phoenix was standing by the back door. "Sorry to interrupt the special moment, but food's getting cold."
"So eat it!" Sergio yelled back.
"Families eat together." Phoenix smirked. "Come on, Sergio, get out of the tree. Andi won't let you fall."
"You're not funny!"
"He's hilarious," I added.
Sergio shot daggers my way. "People used to cut themselves in his presence. Believe me when I say, this is new."
"I know." It slipped before I knew it.
Sergio paused. "Just how long have you known Phoenix, Andi?"
I swallowed and looked down. "Truth?"
"If you don't mind."
"I've known of him for years. I didn't actually meet him until we were at Eagle Elite, but I had his background memorized."
Sergio
I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT ANDI HAD SAID
. Just how long had she been watching us? And what more did she know about our family? Hell, what more did she know about me?
Family dinner didn't end in bloodshed, but everyone was pretty quiet throughout the rest of the meal, which wasn't at all normal for any of us.
Hell, normal would have been Tex trying to shoot me with one hand while offering me pasta with the other.
Instead, he was silent.
Nixon looked pissed.
Chase was ready to join him in what I assumed would be a really heated discussion with Frank, once Trace went to bed.
And that left me and Ax.
My brother had been invited to family dinner because he'd been welcomed into the elite fold, not because he actually had any power or say over what happened. It was not like I had any power either.
Then again, sometimes I wondered if they only invited me so they could keep a watchful eye on my activity — keep your friends close, your enemies closer and all that.
I eyed the bottle of vodka and grimaced. I'd mistakenly admitted to Andi that I'd never tried the good stuff.
The good stuff, according to her, being Stoli.
I wasn't convinced.
I should have kept my mouth shut — because by the time we arrived back at the house she was ready to add getting drunk with me to the top of her honeymoon list.
"Isn't that…" I hated being an ass, but it needed to be said. "…really unhealthy if you're already sick?"
"Riddle me this, Italy." Andi grabbed my hand then lifted it into the air, twirling beneath my arm as we walked into the house. "If you only had one day to live, would you drink water all day, hoping it would prolong those twenty-four hours into twenty-five?"
"You have more than a day to live."
"Answer the question."
I let out a heavy sigh. "No, probably not."
"My point exactly, amigo. It's about quality of life."
"So I'm Mexican now?" I grimaced.
Andi winked and tugged me into the smaller of the two living rooms. Brown leather couches were focused in around a small fireplace, while the back side of the room was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. It resembled more of an office than a living room, but it had a certain coziness about it that the other larger room didn't.
"You..." She poked my chest. "…grab the vodka, and I'm going to go change into something more comfortable."
My mind whirled at that statement, was
comfortable
code word for lingerie? Or was she seriously going to go put on sweats? And why the hell was I still staring at the damn vodka bottle, wondering what she was doing upstairs?
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
I was starting to get worried when, in a flurry of activity, Andi rushed into the room, only stopping long enough to grip my shoulders then hoist herself onto my lap.
I loved how small she was.
Miniature-sized.
My eyes drank in her nearly white, see-through tank top and black spandex shorts.
I cupped the sides of her hips; it made me feel huge — and like I was actually able to protect her. Though the thought was short-lived. I could protect her from environmental things but not internal. That was my horrible reality.
"Okay, my Italian lover," She grabbed the glass bottle and unscrewed the top then tilted her head back and took a long swig. I expected her to wheeze, cough, or at least stutter a bit. Instead, it may as well have been water with the reaction she had.
Damn, her eyes didn't even water.
"Your turn…" She held out the bottle then bit back a grin.
Reluctantly, I grabbed the bottle from her and eyed it warily before taking a long sip — one that matched hers.
The minute the alcohol touched my lips, I regretted ever even agreeing to her plan. It tasted like shit, nothing smooth about vodka as it pours down your throat.
I barely held back a cough as I handed back the bottle and wiped my mouth.
"Good?" She tilted her head.
"Great," I lied, while the vodka cheerfully burnt a hole through my esophagus. "It's like lighter fluid, Andi."
"Now there's a thought. What if I drink, then you light a match, and—"
I covered her mouth with my hand. "No pyrotechnics."
Her tongue reached out and licked my hand.
I jerked it back.
"So that's it? You're just going to give up, huh Italy? You know wine's a chick drink, right?"
I gripped her hips between my hands and squeezed. "You may as well just rip up the Italian flag and burn it! Who says that?"
She took another long swig of vodka and whispered, "Russians."
"I drink whiskey more than wine." Why the hell was I defending myself? "Not that it matters."
"Does that make you feel like more of a man?"
"Does it seem like I need to feel more like a man, Andi?" In frustration, I nipped her lower lip.
Andi leaned backward. "You sure you want to kiss lighter fluid?"
My eyes narrowed as I took the bottle from her outstretched hand. "One more drink."
Famous last words.
Because we finished the bottle.
Because I was completely unable to let the girl drink me under the table. It was a guy thing — not even a pride thing, but a pure masculine need to make sure the pixie didn't destroy me in something I should be able to beat her at.
"Tell me." Damn Russian wasn't even slurring her words, while I was trying to figure out just how many logs I needed to put back on the fire. Everything was double. I blinked a few times at her, hoping to clear my head.
"Tell you what?" There. That sounded good, no slurring, no hesitation. We'd moved from the chair to the floor. She was still semi-straddling me, her left leg behind me, while her right was across my lap. I liked it too much to complain about the fact that I couldn't feel my ass anymore.
"What's the worst thing you've ever done?"
"Andi—"
"Fine, I'll go first." She scooted closer to me, laying her head on my shoulder and wrapping her hands around my arm. "I shot a husband and wife in front of each other."
Horrible that in that moment I wanted to shrug and say,
"Big shit. That all you got?"
Instead, I nodded slowly, my brain still buzzing from the alcohol, my tongue heavy. "That's not so bad, Andi."
"Story's not over." She patted my knee. "I shot the husband and wife in front of their kids. Granted their kids were in high school and well on their way to being spies, but hey…" She shuddered. "…I let them live… tried to walk away, then got a text… no loose ends."
"So you went back." I filled in the blank.
"We always go back, don't we, Sergio? People like you and me. We do the job, we get it done, we try to keep our emotions out of it — and the scary part? We're good at it, aren't we? Until one day, you wake up—"
"And suddenly you feel," I finished, "everything."
"Maybe that's our punishment for being so damn good, Sergio. You think? This feeling of invincibility wears off, and humanity kicks in."
"Humanity sucks," I grumbled, trying to keep the emotion from my voice.
"Sometimes…" Andi pressed her cheek to my shoulder. "…sometimes I think I was given cancer as a punishment."
I jerked away from her like she'd just shot me in the stomach. "Andi, no, you can't believe that. Tell me you don't really think that."
She shrugged.
"If that was the case, I should already be dead, and that's the truth." I turned and cupped her face in my hands. Tears were welling in her pretty brown eyes. "I count them."
She blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I count every single person I kill." I licked my lips. Maybe if I bit down on them, I'd stop talking; instead, everything came out so fast you'd think I was confessing my sins at church. "It started out as a way to keep control over what I did. If I counted, they were just a number, right? They weren't actually a person. So I started with one, then two, then three… after a while it became this weird obsession."
Andi trailed her fingertips across my jaw. "What do you mean?"
I tensed, but the alcohol didn't allow me to stay that way. I pulled back from her enough to pull up my shirt and turn. I'd always kept the tattoo semi-hidden. She hadn't seen it when I was in the shower because my arm did a good job of covering the tally marks.
I had exactly thirty-seven.
For every life I'd taken.
And space to continue — because I wasn't naïve enough to believe that would be my final number, not by a long shot.
"You tattoo them?" She trailed her fingers over the small black marks. "Why?"
"To remember." I shrugged, pulling my shirt back on. "Or to remind myself. I don't know…"
"One of them looked new." Her eyes met mine. "The FBI agent?"
"How do you even know about that?"
She shrugged. "I know a lot of things I shouldn't know. I know she was going to get killed the minute she stepped foot back in the building. I also know you did her a kindness, even though you probably regret having to be the one to do it."
"But that's the thing…" I let out a bitter laugh. "I don't regret it one bit. I gave her control over what happened to her. I could see it in her eyes. She was begging me, Andi. Begging me to end her, so I did."
"She was already dead."
"Does that make taking her life right? Or my right?" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It's late. We should probably go to bed."
Andi gripped my hands then lifted herself onto my lap, straddling me for the second time that night. "What are you afraid of?"
"You sure get deep when you drink vodka." I tried ignoring her question; confession time was over.
"Italy…" she warned, kissing both cheeks, "tell me."
I sighed and hung my head. "Then bed?"
"Show me yours, I'll show you mine…"
I blew out air between my cheeks. "I'm afraid that one day I'll stop being afraid. And that's the truth."
"Fear makes it real."
"Fear makes me real." Shrugging, I tried to explain. "It means I'm still human. The minute you stop feeling fear…"
"You turn into a sociopath." She winked. Leave it to Andi to add in some humor to my morose thoughts.
"Right." I chuckled.
"Bed?" She tilted her head.
"Not so fast." I gripped her hips. "What's your fear?"
"You mean other than the dark?" she whispered, the heat of her tongue colliding with my neck, making me want to maul her against the floor.