Dimitri meets Mac’s outburst with a cool expression, crossing his arms over his chest so biceps the size of my head pull against the fabric of his plain t-shirt. It’s a pose that most would assume was deliberately meant to intimidate, but his voice is calm. “Hasshe complained?”
Mac’s lips purse unhappily, turning down at the corners as he begrudgingly admits, “Of course fucking not. She wouldn’t.” He shoves another resentful bite into his mouth.
Dimitri nods in satisfaction. “Just as Nicole does not complain when you ask her to look at your moles for cancer. Because she is part of this team.”
At that, Mac leans forward onto his elbows and points the tines of his fork at Dimitri. “Don’t you dare tell her that. After what she’s been through, I promised I’d keep her as far away from the action as possible.”
Dimitri scoffs, though I can see the skin over his knuckles flash white as his hands clench into fists. He doesn’t like thinking about Eleanor’s brush with death because it reminds him of Nicole’s.
“Your protective instincts cloud your reason. Obviously, I am not suggesting we put a gun in her hand and start her on the front line. She is far too soft and weak; and she is a terrible liar.” He gestures to the kitchen around us. “Her contribution is done in here. It is important, and she takes her job seriously—that is why she makes separate meals for me and Nicole. She does not need you to fight unnecessary battles for her when she is doing her job. You make her little.”
“Belittle her,” I correct, scraping one of the last bites off my plate.
“That is what I said,” Dimitri dismisses.
“Fine,” Mac huffs, shoving another too-large bite into his mouth, then tucking it against his cheek to say, “As long as it’s just the basic stuff. Last time she spent two hours making those stupid dumpling things you like, and we missed our show. And I’ve been out on surveillance nonstop, and it’s been too fucking long since we… I’m pent up, you feel me?”
Dimitri and I exchange a look, and I roll my eyes. “Pent up already after a week and a half? Lucky sod.”
Mac blows out a long breath and rubs his eyes. “Sorry, I’m just… antsy or some shit. Pissed someone got to Alfano first and worried about everything with the General. And I guess I’m missing my girl.”
“It is part of the job,” Dimitri replies, though there’s an edge to his voice that snags my attention.
He’s said those same words before—a common admonishment when we veer off topic, as we so often do—but this time his tone is almost… conciliatory. Dimitri understands the source of Mac’s distraction now, and for the first time I can really remember, he’s sympathetic to it instead of irritated by it.
Perhaps having someone to come home to changes one’s perspective more than I realized.
Dimitri turns back to me. “You are heading out?”
Pushing my empty plate away, I sit back in my chair and lay a hand on my happy stomach. “You got the email I forwarded from the General? Figured I’d start recon on the next potential target.”
“Da. The email was very… brief. Is that the usual missive—with minimal information like that?”
“Yep. It’s only ever a list of names, a short description, and reward values.”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “No indication of urgency? No requested date for completion?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
When Dimitri’s scowl deepens, Mac glances at me, then asks, “Is that normal?”
Dimitri shrugs. “Not much about our handler is normal.”
My brows shoot up—he’s never voiced that particular opinion before. “Oh? How so?”
“We may choose our targets, but we are not bidding for jobs? And there is no deadline?” he snorts, like the very idea is ridiculous.
Mac scratches at the stubble on his jawline thoughtfully. “You think this means the General is new to this? We’ve only been working for him for what, four years now?”
“New… or unconventional, perhaps. Like no handler I have known.”
“Or he just doesn’t care who gets it done,” I interject. “I’ve been reviewing our old jobs, like we talked about. Nearly every person whose name we’ve been sent is dead or missing-presumed-dead, even if we didn’t take the job. Seems like if we don’t take it, the General sends it to someone else.”
Mac’s eyes flash. “We’re not the only hitmen on his payroll.”
I nod. “A harrowing thought.”
There’s a beat of tense silence, then Mac hunches forward and shoves another bite into his mouth. He chews, then tucks it against his cheek to ask, “You find anything else?”
