Page 140 of Toxic

"It'll be nice to see the O'Malleys again. How long has it been?" Brody questions.

Bridget tilts her head, pinning her gaze on him. "Sean's funeral."

Silence fills the air until Aidan's phone vibrates. He glances at it then rises. "They're here."

Nora walks into the room. She chirps, "Morning. Everyone's here."

Relief fills me. "Morning. So we hear. Can you give me a moment with Bridget?"

She smiles. "Sure."

Bridget's brothers and Nora leave the room. I turn Bridget's chin toward me. "The therapist comes at ten. I'll make sure I'm free."

She exhales and rolls her eyes. "I don't need a therapist."

"We aren't fighting about this. If you want me there with you—"

"No." She shakes her head.

I study her and finally ask, "Are you sure you don't want me there?"

She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths before drilling her gaze into mine. "I'm sure."

Reluctantly, I reply, "Okay. If you change your mind—"

"I won't."

Another few minutes pass.

She motions toward the door. "You should go."

I stroke her cheek. "Keep eating. I'm making Nora give me a full report."

She gives me a defiant stare.

I chuckle, rise, and bend down to kiss her on the lips. "Glad to see you're still stubborn."

For the first time in days, her lips crack into a smile. She sings, "Not as much as you."

My grin widens. "But you love it." I wink, kiss her again, then leave the room. I tell Nora to make sure she eats then go to Tully's office.

Liam and Declan O'Malley and Maksim and Obrecht Ivanov exchange hellos with me. Everyone gathers around Tully's conference table, then Obrecht pulls a stack of photographs out of his bag. He says in his thick Russian accent, "I think I found two of them."

My pulse races. As I glance at the photos, the rage I can't seem to escape beats into me so hard, I hold my breath. There are several photos of a man with a tattoo on his forearm. It's just as Bridget described—a wolf with a sword entering its mouth and fire coming out of it.

I sniff hard, clenching my fists at my side. "That has to be him. Who is he?"

"Anthony Rossi."

"Where is he?"

Obrecht's cold blue eyes match his voice. "Dead."

"You're sure?"

"We killed him in Gary, Indiana, at the strip club when we killed Lorenzo Rossi," Maksim seethes, his Russian accent thicker than normal and filled with hatred.

Obrecht stacks the photos in a pile. He puts three more down then points. "Here's your other guy."

---