Chapter 49
Justice
The witty, extremely discreet, and personable Vic is taken aback by my statement. His Adam’s apple lobs in his throat. Mobsters aside, he hadn’t expected Brody MacKenzie to be engaged. I’m pretty sure he’s served mafia dons and their mistresses. Vic probably expected this was a dinner between two lovers who were at odds. Or perhaps, the skyrocketing emotions are jolting my core, and the only person worried is me.
As Vic walks away, taking the empty plates from our second to last course, Brody runs his thumb over the shallow dip of my throat. The nightlife in the city below is the perfect backdrop, as he claims me in his arms.
“Can I tell ya why I did what I did, Lass?”
I hesitate, heart slaughtering my breastplate. “Will it bring me comfort?”
“If I told ye I put ye first, Justice Flowers,” Brody begins, the weight of his tenor speaking straight to my spirit, “would ye feel better?”
I sip at the crisp wine. “Convince me that—”
“That ye are my number one, eh? Okay.”
At first, the hammering of my heart in my ears complicates my ability to hear. He’s mentioning Wilmer, Marcus, and my recent Boston trip—same as he had when Mia rapped on the truck window. Brody’s story pulls together like a puzzle. It’s the kind that you aren’t aware of what you’re creating until everything stitches together.
“There was an attempted robbery next door,” I murmur, drawing truth from the bits and pieces.
“Aye, Bawbag Hank grabbed Wilmer after he fled. Fecking idiot was at the wrong house then.”
I drop my gaze. The look that flashes across Brody’s face scares me. Wilmer’s already dead, but I wonder what fate would’ve played out had he chosen the right house.
I chew on my bottom lip. “I’m not afraid of Wilmer. I wasn’t in high school.”
I’m drawn back to Brody’s intensely attractive face. “Justice, I’d not put ye in that situation.”
“But you’d consent to marriage?”
“I’ll not be marrying the lass. Don’t make me say it again.”
I run a hand along my forehead. “You may have to ‘sayit again,’ Brody. You put me first by playing into the McFarlands’ hands?”
“Wit was the more imminent danger, Justice?” His hand slams onto the table. The tapered candles wobble in their silver stems, the firelight flickering.
I call Vic over, avoiding the pained look on Brody’s face. He dropped a bomb. The truth should’ve remedied all that’s wrong between us.
“For your dining pleasure, the last course is a panna cotta with wine-infused apricots—”
“We’re done, Vic.” Brody’s rigid mouth pulls momentarily into a smile. “Ye did well, mate.”
“I’m not done,” I say.
Vic winks. “Don’t worry, Miss Justice. Should we leave them packed, sir?”
My bottom lip drops. Hell, I’m the reason Brody acted cordially this evening.
“Is it good? Wit do ye suggest?”
“Marvelous, sir.” Vic kisses his fingertips.
“Set it out, then go.”
The thought pops into my head to take my leave, but Brody offers me the you-better-not look my parents gave on occasion—at church—when I was little. I fold my arms.
Brody gestures to his wallet.