Page 43 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

T he next day, the guys came back.

Of course they did.

They brought coffee and luckily, any awkwardness from the day before had melted away.

Faolan was curled in the oversized armchair again, ‘The Sparrow’ open in her lap.

Maro collapsed onto the adjacent sofa, lounging like he owned the air. “What are you reading?”

She held the book up so he could see the cover. “Sci-fi.”

“I like sci-fi,” he said mildly.

She tilted her head, considering. “I can see you as Sandoz.”

“Who is he?”

“The tortured priest guy.”

He gave a slow smirk. “Fits. At least celibacy is not a problem.”

“TMI, Maro.” She winced.

She turned the page. “He’s not just tortured, he’s thoughtful. Grieving. Completely undone by what he thought was kindness.”

Maro nodded, quiet for once. “Maybe it fits more than I like.”

There was a pause, the hum of something unsaid.

Then, softly, he asked, “Could you read something? Just a bit?”

Before she could think about how familiar it was, Faolan nodded.

The room settled. Zel sat on the windowsill, one knee up.

Lirian slouched into an armchair, eyes drifting shut, but listening.

And Thane… Thane perched on the arm of her chair, his thigh brushing her shoulder.

Ever since the night, he was never more than an arm-length away.

The morning was filled with a hand on her butt, the small of her back, being cornered against the kitchen island with his hands threading into her hair.

He was more possessive than ever and eyed Maro with a hooded gaze.

She flipped to the dog-eared section and began.

“So, God just leaves?” John asked, angry where Emilio had been desolate. “Abandons creation? You’re on your own, apes. Good luck!”

“No. He watches. He rejoices. He weeps. He observes the moral drama of human life and gives meaning to it by caring passionately about it, and remembering.”

“Matthew ten, verse twenty-nine,” Vincenzo Giuliani said quietly. “‘Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.’”

“But the sparrow still falls,” Felipe said.

Her voice trembled at the end. The line struck her every time she read it. She looked up.

Lirian’s eyes were still closed, a deep furrow between his brows. Zel was watching the light outside the window, but his hand was clenched. Maro had leaned forward, elbows on knees, his dark gaze locked on her face.

And Thane was staring at the floor.

She cleared her throat. “Right. Who wants lunch?”

Midway through the second round of coffee after sandwiches, and yet another argument about pineapple on pizza, Faolan asked, “How did you even get involved in the sting?”

The chatter died.

Zel leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Anatoly.”

Faolan blinked. “Who is Anatoly?”

“You don’t know the name?” Zel asked.

She shook her head slowly. “I mean… I’ve heard Bratva tossed around from Thane.”

Lirian exhaled, low. “Man’s a ghost to most. But to people who matter, he’s…a legend.”

Zel’s voice dropped slightly, steady. “Anatoly Vlasov. He runs the UK arm of the Bratva, but not the flashy, gold-chain, nightclub type. He wants to meet you.”

“He’s old-school,” Maro said. “We have worked with him before. His moves are a bit unconventional, but he is a good guy.”

“But not a trafficker,” Zel added quickly. “Not that kind of scum.”

“Bratva has rules?” Faolan asked dryly.

“Some branches do,” Zel replied. “He enforces his rules with an iron fist. There are lines they won’t cross; kids being one of them.”

Faolan absorbed that, uncertain.

“He’s not a saint,” Lirian said. “But he’s not the devil, either. And he gave us this job. Names. Schedules. Entry points. And he gave us an in. The rest was us. He couldn’t get involved directly, but still.”

Maro rubbed a hand over his jaw. “He risked his own people to tip us off. Said if we didn’t act within that window, the cargo would vanish.”

“But why?” she whispered. “Why help at all?”

Zel’s gaze was thoughtful “He has a granddaughter. Little. Blonde. There was a painting in his office”

“Something must have happened,” Maro said, voice unusually tight. “We don’t know. The Bratva keep it tight. And we are talking about the Pakhan’s granddaughter.”

“She was lucky,” Lirian added. “But Anatoly wasn’t going sit around and let this happen to other children, I guess.”

Faolan’s hands trembled slightly in her lap. “So…this is personal.”

Zel nodded. “We think so.”

“And he wants to meet me?” she asked, her voice small.

“He said you deserve to know what you’re dealing with,” Zel replied. “Said you’d been used as a pawn in something bigger, and that he wants to make it right, if he can.”

Faolan stared down at her hands. “I don’t know if I want to open that door…”

“It’s your choice,” Zel said. “We’ll be with you, no matter what.”

And beside her, Thane’s fingers slid across the back of her hand.

“Alright,” she said in the end.