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“There’s more if you want it.”

“I’m good, but thanks. Who taught you how to cook?”

I finished chewing before answering. “Self-taught, I guess. Growing up with my dad, we ate simple meals. He wasn’t much of a cook. When I got older, I taught myself how to make a few different things. And I’ve only ever lived on my own, so if I wanted to stay in good condition, it became important to look after myself. I’m thirty-six. There’s only so long a guy can live off pizza and frozen meals.”

“You’ve never lived with a woman?” Cam reached for her wine.

I shrugged. “It never fit into my life. And now, being tangled up with the Mob, it’s too risky. If Franky has a vendetta, anyone close can become a target.” I gestured to her. “Case in point.”

Her head dipped in agreement before she stabbed at her salad.

“And when I was younger, I spent a lot of time deployed. My head was never in the right space for a relationship. I think women could read that and kept their distance. And let’s not forget that I don’t get along with… well, almost everyone. I may as well have a tattoo on my forehead that reads ‘doesn’t play well with others.’ Guess I’m not considered very good boyfriend material. Can’t understand why.” I gave her a wry smile and sipped my wine.

She chewed on her lip. “Military, huh?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Don’t know why I didn’t pick up on it earlier. What were you? A Marine or something?”

“Just an infantry grunt.” I didn’t want to lie to her, but I’d rather not talk about the places I’d been and the stuff I’d done. Plus, much of it remained classified.

She snorted. “I’m not sure I believe that. You seem more capable than a regular Army guy.”

“You hang around long enough, you learn a few skills.”

Cam sipped her wine. I don’t think she bought my story, but she didn’t question it any further.

“Well, maybe you don’t have much experience with women, but I can honestly say that this” —she gestured to the table— “is the nicest thing any guy has done for me.”

“Really? I don’t know which of us is the sadder case. If this is the nicest thing a guy’s done for you, what kind of assholes have you been dating?” The notion of past boyfriends who treated her like crap didn’t sit well with me.

“It’s true. I have terrible taste in men. Jerks every time.” She sighed before straightening in her seat and flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Enough about my poor life choices. What made you join the Army?”

I pushed my empty plate to the side, then leaned back in my chair. “Dad was in the Army most of his life, and he raised me in a way that made me think it would be a decent path to follow. I was keen to get out of the house, so when I finished school, I enlisted the very next day. I wasn’t interested in sitting behind a desk all my life. And being a teenager, I craved action and adventure. Seemed like a good move.”

“Was it?”

“Yes and no. I was good at it. All those years hunting with Dad gave me decent natural instincts and good marksmanship. I had a level head on my shoulders and didn’t scare easily, so ended up spending a lot of time in combat in some shitty places.”

“Afghanistan?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

Cam swished wine around her glass. “Sounds intense. Is that why you left?”

It was why I accepted my next military role, but I couldn’t tell her about Team Zulu. Outside of the guys in that unit and the senior government officials who gave us our missions, not a soul knew what we’d been a part of.

“Yeah. It got harder to go back after each deployment. The things I saw were burned into my brain, and there was only so much I could handle before my head was fried. I sensed it was… changing me. At first, I had problems sleeping. I knew something was up when I’d be stateside and certain sounds would trigger me into automatic fight readiness. I couldn’t switch off the hyper-vigilance of the combat zone. It wasn’t normal. I’d seen a lot of guys discharged with severe PTSD, and I didn’t want to end up there. All I wanted in life was a bit of land, some peace, quiet, solitude. So I quit. Spent some time living at my uncle’s ranch, helping around the place, keeping to myself.”

“How did you become a hitman, then? Sounds like you’d had enough of death.”

“I had. I saw too many innocent people killed by invading forces, or even by their own. Sometimes we could help, but not often enough. And sometimes we weren’t able to save them at all.”

Cam sighed. “That’s awful.”

“Did what I had to.” I shrugged. “Others had it plenty worse. At least I walked away with my life and all my limbs.”

She adjusted her position in the chair. “What was it like being there?”