Page 114 of Mafia and Scars

“It’s notAlbert,” Sofia pipes up. “He’s a prince, so you have to call himYour Royal ExcellencyorPrince Snugglefloof.”

“What?!” Grigory exclaims. “He’s a guard dog, not a prince!”

“Viktor says he’s a prince,” Sofia insists earnestly as she looks up at Grigory with her huge eyes. “And he’s definitelynota guard dog. He’s a golden retriever.”

Grigory glares at her. “What’s his breed got to do with anything?”

“Viktor says he’s the equivalent of a canine hoover. He’ll do anything for a treat,” Sofia replies, parroting what she’s heard Viktor say many times before.

“He’s perfectly trained,” Grigory grits out. “Sit!” he commands the dog, who obediently settles on his fluffy haunches at his feet.

But all Sofia has to do is rattle the wrapper of a doggy treat—and the animal dashes off, deserting Grigory and pawing at Sofia for the snack.

“See?” Sofia says, complete innocence written all over her face in the way only a six-year-old can have.

Albert snuffles his snack and then snuggles into Sofia’s side.

“You’ve turned him into a…a…a cuddle monster!” Grigory screeches.

“He’s not amonster,” Sofia corrects him. “He’s a fluffy puppy prince. And I think you should get him a throne.”

“Albert, come here right now,” Grigory commands, his eyes flashing in a menacing manner.

But instead, Albert snuffles his snout up against Sofia’s hand.

“He wants more bows on his ears,” Sofia giggles as she adds another one. “He’s such a little cutie pie, isn’t he?”

“Cutie pie?” Grigory wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Uh-huh,” Sofia replies with a sweet smile. “I think he’s the cutest floofball that I’ve ever seen. And I think he wants to be my baby.My furbaby.And I might need to get him a pink onesie and a sparkly stroller so that I can take him to the park for walkies. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my cutie pie?”

Grigory’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before he can finally speak to me. “But…but…why does he prefer Sofia to me?” Grigory wails.

“Because I’m cute,” Sofia answers in a solemn voice. “And adorable.”

I mean, my daughterisjust repeating what people always tell her. And all I can do is shrug, not quite knowing what to say without hurting Grigory’s feelings.

“Mama, can we take photos now?”

“No, no, no! No throne, no photos, no onesie, and no sparkly stroller—absolutely not!” Grigory barks. But he immediately softens when Sofia’s chin wobbles. He clears his throat. “I mean…maybe later,” he mutters. And then he adds under his breath, “Much, much later.Preferably never.”

And although I’m usually still cautious around Grigory, I know I’m about to explode into giggles. “Oh, come on. It’s harmless,” I say. “Albert doesn’t seem to mind.”

“He’s a cute little boo-boo-buttercup, isn’t he?” Sofia chirps as she pats the animal on the head.

Grigory looks horrified at his dog being described in such a manner, and his jaw works furiously before he forces a smile thatlooks like it’s been stapled onto his face. “Yes, he’s a…boo-boo-buttercup,” he forces out in a weak voice.

And I lose it, snorting loudly as the man shoots me a murderous glare while Albert sits there, crowned and caped, the picture of canine happiness.

Because I’m definitely taking a photo of this. And it’s definitely going in the Bratva family photo album.

But the next thing that happens completely shocks me because this man, who towers like a skyscraper and looks like he could give grizzly bears self-esteem issues,crouchesdown to my six-year-old’s level and admits defeat. “So, you better tell me who else you have there.” His deep, rough voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. And it’s…careful, like he’s afraid he’ll scare her.

Sofia proudly lifts her stuffed rhino. “This is Mr. Hugglehorn.”

Grigory examines the stuffed toy with exaggerated seriousness, brow furrowing as if it’s a priceless artifact. “Hmm. Very strong. Very fierce. I would not fight this one.”

Sofia gives a small giggle. “But you’rewaybigger than him.”