Page 118 of Mafia and Scars

Because men like Gennady never let you go.

I should delete the email. Pretend it never came.

But that won’t stop it. Won’t fix it. Won’t stophim.

And I realize, with bone-deep fear, that I don’t know how to protect this life I’m building.

I was stupid. Naive.

To think that I was safe.

To think that I could put my past behind me.

And to think that I could actually be happy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

VIKTOR

The morning is sunny, and Sofia hums beside me as she crouches down, reaching into the raised garden box with her tiny, gloved hands. The gloves are a little too big for her, borrowed from Avelina and rolled at the wrist, but she insisted because “gardeners use gloves, Viktor,” and apparently that’s what she is.

I make a mental note to order her some gloves that fit as we harvest carrots. Or rather, she’s pulling them with all her might while I supervise and try not to laugh when they come flying from the dirt and smack her in the chest.

“I got it!” she says triumphantly, holding one like a trophy.

“You did,” I say, reaching over to brush dirt from the ridged root. “That’s a good one.”

She giggles and adds it to the small pile in the basket. Queenie is curled beneath a shady patch of tomato plants nearby, her bushy tail flicking lazily. My eyes flicker to her every so often. I think she likes being here with us. Or maybe she just enjoys sunbathing out here.

After the basket is half full, Sofia sighs and wipes her forehead.

“Let’s take a break and have some water,” I suggest. Pushing to my feet, we walk to the bench on the far side of the garden. I move toward the shed and take a small tin that I’ve stashed here just for her. I hold the tin out like it’s a secret treasure.

Sofia’s eyes widen. “Lollipops!”

My lips twitch into a small smile. “Just don’t tell your mom.”

Her brow furrows. “It’s bad to lie.”

She has a point. “We’re not, um, lying. I just don’t want her to feel left out.”

Sofia hums, then nods. She plucks a grape-flavored one from the bunch before settling on the bench. I take a cherry one for myself as we relax in companionable silence, enjoying the sunshine and sugar.

Albert wanders in through the gate. He’s obviously just woken up from a nap and has come to find us. He comes to a halt and stretches out on a patch of grass, panting in the heat and letting his eyes slip shut as he rests his head on his front paws.

Sofia and I watch as Queenie stalks over, her tail high, and pauses a foot away from him. She sniffs the air. Albert opens one eye and pricks his ears slightly. Without warning, Queenie scampers forward and nudges her nose gently against his.

Sofia gasps. “Aww! Queenie gave the doggy a nose boop!”

I bite back a laugh. “Anose boop? That’s the technical term?”

She nods, serious. “Yes, I think it is.”

My lips tug up before I turn back to Queenie and watch her do it again. Then she curls up next to Albert and snuggles into his side.

“Why do cats do that?” Sofia asks.

I look down at her, considering. “I think it’s Queenie’s way of saying,I trust you. Or maybe…it’s her way of saying to Albert that she wants to be best friends with him.”