Page 35 of Shield and Savior

I snort-laugh…very attractive, Izzy. “Oh, you have a sense of humor here, too.”

Lance’s coat vibrates, and he takes out his cell phone, frowns, and glances over to Dimitri. “I need to take this.” His eyes dart between me and his Russian friend, who merely nods back. “He’s a good guy. He’ll watch you while I’m gone.” Lance stands and puts his ear to his phone as he walks toward the lobby.

Always a protector.

This leaves me with Ian’s uncle, who has ties to the Russian mob and works at a sex club, but according to Lance is a good guy. So okay, whatever.

“I’m glad Ian and Drew have become friends. I was worried when we came up here he wouldn’t find anyone he could connect with.” I lean forward and whisper, “The kids at school seem very fancy.”

Dimitri nods and lifts a beer bottle to his lips. Clearly, he’s smart enough to hit the open bar before he sits. “Yes, I am grateful Ian finally has someone he can speak with. Coming to America has been a difficult transition.” He pulls at the paper on his beer. “Everything is different here than it was back in Russia. But even there, Ian didn’t have many friends. His father was constantly worried about his son’s safety, so he had private tutors, not many kids his own age.”

“Where are his parents?” I ask, while reaching for a mason jar of water.

His face darkens as he rips the paper once around the bottle completely. “We are the last of our family.” I choke on the water and wonder if I can fit my foot inside my mouth, too.

Dimitri watches me a moment longer then glances across the room. “Are you friends with Lance?”

Defining our relationship is hard. Are we friendly? Yes. Do I rely on him? Also yes. Do I absolutely want to see him with his shirt off? “I’m a client of Mastodon.”

He stiffens but dips his head. “You are the one Joseph is so concerned about.” I guess he’s only getting pieces of the stories too. He starts to speak but closes his mouth. After a brief, but awkward, press of silence, he says, “I think your ex is an asshole.”

“Me too. I’m forming a club. Want a T-shirt?”

This earns me a full smile and another rip of the paper. “Yes, I do.” He clears his throat and shifts his gaze to his beer. The bottle is scandalous, naked. “It is nice to see Ian laugh again. When we first came to America, I didn’t know if I would ever hear that sound from him again. I hope Ian and Drew stay friends. But you should know, Ian’s sadness is more than simply losing his parents. He may lash out and get angry. His therapist says it is to be expected with that level of trauma.”

The parent in me appreciates the warning, but the mob daughter in me understands the truth about this life. “Drew’s had his fair share of shitty experiences, too.” I laugh under my breath, “They can be trauma buddies.” But the man beside me doesn’t fully understand what I’m saying.

I can see the distance in his eyes, like he’s reliving the events. “It was a massacre that killed my brother, father, and most of our allies. But Ian and his mother were far away in a safe house. My brother’s final action was to send his wife the emergency code, alerting her that he was in danger. She packed up her son and locked them in a panic room.” The man gets quiet. “She was sick. Her body betrayed her and finally killed her. But she didn’t tell Ian how to get out of the panic room.”

I gasp, the horror of the situation almost too much for me to wrap my head around. “How long was he in there?” A scared little boy, watching his mother die and being alone with her body. Did he even know if he was going to survive?

“He was in the room for two days while his mother was alive and another twelve hours after she passed away.”

My eyes burn. What was Ian’s mother thinking and feeling as she took her last breaths? Trying to save her baby’s life but knowing it could also be the end of it. Why wouldn’t she tell him the code to get out? Did she not know? The whole thought of it makes my throat tighten

Dimitri speaks again. “Lance and Alana were on the extraction team.”

“What?” My Lance? Who practices Drew’s wax museum lines, ran into Russia to save a little kid’s life? Too many emotions fog up my train of thought.

Lance. My Lance. My protector, who wants to buy me plates and take me out for ice cream, extracted a boy and carried a corpse back to the States. From Russia. Years later, that boy would be my son’s best friend. Lance has a whole new layer of goodness.

A shadow casts over me, and Dimitri stiffens.

“Ms. Marciano?” I twist in my chair to see a balding man in his mid forties, his skin shiny from either sweat or oil. I can’t really tell. Icky either way.

“Yes?” I respond instinctively but search for Lance rather than make eye contact with the stranger.

“You look wonderful,” the strange man says. There’s something about his tone and mannerisms. It’s too formal. I’ve seen this before, but I can’t place it.

Dimitri gives a little cough while he rolls up his sleeves. For a brief second, I see the flash of orange ribbons around his forearm. The middle-aged stranger with his ill-fitting suit flinches, like there’s some unheard conversation happening between them.

The stranger clears his throat and straightens his tie. “Your father must be pleased to have you back home. I know he had such high hopes for you.”

Hadhigh hopes. Fuck you, Sweaty Man.

I look back to Dimitri, wondering if I should say something, ignore him, or bolt. But a new figure looms over him. With one hand, Lance is holding a glass of wine, his other hand slams on the sweaty man’s shoulder. “Facci, now why are you bothering Ms. Marciano?” My bodyguard towers over the shrinking man.

“I’m not bothering.” Facci appears even more shiny, like his body sweats glitter. “I’m paying tribute.”

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