And I had a job to do.Men bled.Bones broke.Bullets had to come out of people before they died.There wasn’t time in my life for distraction.Especially not the kind that wore tailored shirts and observed the world like a chessboard.
His gaze swept the room now in one quiet, assessing pass.He didn’t speak immediately.Archie rarely wasted words before deciding if they were necessary.
His eyes landed briefly on the medic across the room.Then on Gianni.Then on me.Something shifted in the air when his attention settled there.Subtle.Almost invisible.But I felt it.
It wasn’t obvious.Archie wasn’t the type of man who stared like a fool or lingered long enough to draw attention.But there was something in the way his gaze sharpened—something quietly attentive that made it impossible not to notice.
“Well,” he said mildly.“The surgery looks like it was relatively successful.”
Gianni gestured lazily toward his leg.
“Depends on your definition of successful.”
Archie moved closer, his gaze dropping briefly to the fresh stitches I had just finished tying.
“You’ll live.Same way I did.”
“How comforting.Why does it feel like you’re gloating, Archie?”
Archie’s mouth twitched slightly.Which, for him, was practically laughter.
“You shot out my knees, remember?”
Archie moved to the counter beside me and rested his hands against the edge, studying the instruments I had spread out with quiet curiosity.
“You were nearby?”he asked.
“I was dragged here,” I corrected.
His eyes flicked toward me again.
“Yes,” he said calmly.“That sounds more accurate.”
Gianni leaned back in his chair, frowning as he looked at the quiet interloper.
“Why are you here, Archie?”
Archie glanced at him.
“I came as soon as I heard.First, to gloat,” he smirked.“Then to offer any assistance should you need it.”
Gianni huffed.“You should see the other guys.”
“I suppose I already have,” Archie said, rather cryptically, a wistful look on his face.I could only imagine the crazy Russian had already sorted out the gang of merry men who thought it wise to try to mug my cousin Gianni.
His attention drifted back to me.
“Any serious injuries?”
“Nothing catastrophic.”
I began gathering the instruments, rinsing them carefully in the basin.
“Shame.”
“Yes.”
I dried my hands on a towel and glanced over my shoulder at Gianni’s leg.