Page 128 of Mafia and Scars

Love.

And it terrifies me.

Because if I name it—even just in my head—then I have something to lose.

Avelina. Sofia. Even little Leon with his banshee wails.

They’ve become mine.I want them to be mine.

And if anything were to happen to them because of me—if I wasn’t careful enough, fast enough, brutal enough…

I rake a hand through my hair and stare out into the dusk.

I refuse to let that happen.

And I’ll burn the whole damn world down before anything happens to them.

But still, there are those whispers in the back of my mind.

That I’m too different.

That Avelina might be kind and patient now, but that might not last.

That I might not be enough.

I’m not used to this kind of peace. Not used to belonging anywhere.

I can learn.

I can try.

But…it’s fucking scary.

Even if I’m still learning how to love, even if it’s scary—especially because it is—I want to try.For her and for whatever heaven she gives me.

Even if it goddamn wrecks me in the end.

Because she’s worth it.

CHAPTER FORTY

AVELINA

In the yard the next day, the soft haze of heat settles over the path where my little girl, Sofia, sits. And nestled in her lap is Viktor’s cat, Queenie.

I lean against the frame of the kitchen door, watching the two of them like they’re a picture I never want to fade.

Sofia’s soft voice floats through the air—quiet, but full of something warm and real—as her fingers trail through Queenie’s thick fur. The cat lets out a low, approving purr that fills the air like a tiny, contented engine. Her fluffy body rises and falls with each rhythmic breath, her eyelids half-mast in pure bliss.

It still amazes me how this gentle creature can do what therapists, teachers, and even I sometimes can’t. Queenie doesn’t ask Sofia to speak, or make eye contact, or join in games she doesn’t understand. She just exists beside her—warm, patient, and endlessly forgiving. No rules. No expectations. Just quiet, completelove.

Sofia whispers something too soft for me to catch, her cheek pressing against Queenie’s head. The cat responds with a slow blink, the feline equivalent of a promise:You’re safe. I’ve got you.

And for the first time all day, Sofia isn’t stimming. She’s not pacing or twisting her fingers or humming under her breath to hold off stress and a meltdown. She’s here, grounded in the present moment, every muscle loose, her body at peace.

I stay where I am, afraid that even one step forward might break the spell. And Queenie stretches, a long lazy motion, and rests one paw on Sofia’s knee as if to say, I’m not going anywhere.

I breathe in slowly, letting the peace of the moment sink deep into my bones. Because for once—just once—my little girl isn’t overwhelmed or lost in her own world. She’s here. Calm. Happy. Whole.