Page 16 of The Vagabond

I wanted to know. I needed to know.

But that would mean crossing lines I couldn’t uncross. Digging into Gatti territory. Risking the Bureau’s wrath. Risking hers.

I tried to bury myself in the work. Intel. Recon. Surveillance. I told myself the mission mattered. That there were lives at stake. That I was doing something noble. But nothing felt noble anymore. Not since her. Now everything was gray. Bleached of meaning.

God, I would have given anything to hear her laugh. Just once. Even if it was at me.

I lit a cigarette with shaking hands and stepped outside intothe icy dawn. Smoke curled from my mouth as I stared at nothing, as the cold bit into my bones and tried to wake me up. It didn’t. Because I was still dreaming of her.

And I knew—Iknew—that no matter where she was now, I was going to find her again. Because I would tear through every shadow, break every chain, and rip the stars from the sky before I let it end like this.

8

MAXINE - ONE YEAR AGO

Blood stained the corners of the ring.

You could see it if you looked hard enough—dried rust smears, smudged footprints, little crimson memories no one cared to scrub clean. The crowd loved it. Men in leather jackets. Women in diamonds. Everyone sipping from tumblers and pretending this was sport, not savagery.

I sat in the front row, feet flat on the ground, spine straight. I was wearing a borrowed jacket that smelled like mothballs and stale aftershave.

The Russian who had just bought me sat beside me.

He hadn’t spoken much since we arrived. Just a grunt here, a nod there. His hand rested on my knee—possessive, not affectionate—and I let it. Because I had learned what happened when I didn’t.

He had just struck a deal with Kadri. I didn’t know the details. And I didn’t ask. I had stopped asking questions the day I realized every answer would cost me another piece of myself.

But there was something tight about his jaw. Something uneasy about the way he kept glancing at me from the corner ofhis eye. Like I was a box he was about to check off a long, bitter list.

The bell rang. The crowd surged with excitement. The fighters circled.

One of them was a beast of a man—tattooed, scarred, built like he had just stepped out of a war zone. The other? He was young. Sharp. Fast. Beautiful in the way only danger could be. Dark hair clung to his brow, sweat glistening on his shoulders. He moved like lightning—coiled and ready.

And the second I saw him, something inside me sparked.

I knew that face. Not from real life. From a photograph. One of many Kadri had once shown me in a sick little attempt to break my spirit. He had laughed as he flipped through them. Wedding photos. Family shots. Happy moments I hadn’t been present at.

“Your sister’s moved on,” he had sneered. “Brando Gatti married her. The world spins without you, Maxine. That’s why this is the best place for you to be.”

I had stared at one picture for too long—Brando with his arm slung around a younger man.

Laughter in their eyes. Brothers.

And now, here he was. Rafi Gatti. In the flesh. Throwing punches like he was fighting something far bigger than the man across from him.

My breath caught in anticipation. He was losing. Getting battered. But he kept coming.

My fingers dug into the hem of the jacket, knuckles white. The Russian didn’t notice. His focus was on the ring—where my eyes were locked on Rafi.

A part of me wanted to stand. To scream his name. To beg him to see me.

Because if he saw me, if he really saw me, maybe he would notice. Maybe he would know. Maybe he would tell Brando, orperhaps he would drag this whole hell down just to pull me out of it.

He stumbled when a hit landed hard on his jaw. He fell against the cage, then dropped to the mat like a puppet whose strings had been cut mid-performance. And then, as he lay there with his gaze ghosting the distance, his eyes found mine.

Just before the lights went out for him, he saw me.

His pupils dilated. His lips parted. Recognition slammed into his face like the final blow. He looked at me like I was a ghost. And maybe I was. Because for the last year, I hadn’t really been living. Just existing. But in that moment, as the crowd roared and the world faded, Rafi Gatti looked at me like I mattered. And it was enough. Just barely, but it was enough.

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