Page 37 of The Vagabond

“She’s my wife,” he replies. “Where she goes, I follow. Especially when I hear my sister-in-law had a panic attack so bad she couldn’t breathe.”

Mia steps in front of him, arms crossed. “Brando?—”

“No,” he snaps, not looking at her. “We’re doing this. Right here, right now.”

I rise slowly from the couch, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Brando—”

“Don’t lie to me, Maxine.” His voice tightens. “Don’teverlieto me about being okay when you’re not. That’s not how this works.”

I fold my arms around myself, trying to hold in the pieces.

“I just needed space,” I whisper. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Handle what?You shouldn’t be out here on your own, pretending you’re ready when you’re not.”

“Iamready,” I snap, louder than I mean to. “I was doing okay. One bad night doesn’t mean I’m broken again.”

Brando exhales sharply and scrubs a hand over his face.

“You’re not broken,” he says, softer now. “But you’re bleeding, Max. And when people bleed, they don’t go out into the world without stitches. They rest. They recover. Where they’ll be protected.”

“I don’t want to be caged again,” I whisper. “I can’t go back to the estate.”

“You’re safer there.” He fixes me with that cool disposition of his. “You’ll be surrounded by people who love you and care about you. A panic attack would have been a non issue at the estate.”

Brando takes a step toward me. I don’t move.

“I just want you safe,” he says. “That’s all I’veeverwanted.”

I swallow hard. I want that, too. I just don’t want to feel like I’mfailingbecause I needed help.

“I’ll stay a little while longer,” I say finally. “If it happens again, I’ll come back to the estate. I promise you.”

It’s the only thing I know to say that will make him back off. Brando stares at me for a long moment. Then he nods.

“One week,” he says. “Then we talk again.”

It’s a compromise. But I know what he’s really thinking. That if I don’t agree, he’ll carry me back to the estate himself.

16

SAXON

I’m parked across the street like a goddamn creep, pretending it’s all part of the job. Like this is work and not obsession. Like I’m surveilling a suspect and not the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

Maxine Andrade.

I tell myself I just want to make sure she’s safe.

That’s the lie I live in now—wrapped in layers of justification and thin excuses. But the truth? The truth is uglier. I just want to see her. Even from a distance.

Mia Gatti pulls up first, her black SUV aggressive as always. She’s out the door fast, practically sprinting inside. A few minutes later, Tayana Kamarov follows. Same energy. Tight lips. Stormy eyes.

They don’t leave that night. That sets off a dozen alarms in my brain. What happened? Is she okay? Who did this? No answer. No movement. Just hours of lights flickering behind drawn blinds.

---