Page 132 of Mafia and Scars

She stares, hesitating. Then she crawls into my lap. She’s so small that it aches.

I sigh, leaning back, settling her in.

She clutches my shirt.

“The vet is taking good care of her,” I murmur, wishing I could instantly make everything better for both Queenie and Sofia.

“Is she coming home soon?” Her voice is tiny.

I hesitate. “I hope so. She’s strong—like you.”

She sniffs. My gaze follows hers to the armchair Queenie usually claims. The space seems more than empty right now—hollow, cold, and lonely. Albert gives a small whine as his head drops onto his front paws—he’s missing his best friend.

A thought flickers in my head.

It’s a little stupid. Maybe embarrassing. Probably useless.

But my mind is made up.

Because I’d do anything to take away that sad, empty look from this little girl’s eyes.

The store smells like cheap plastic and too-sweet perfume. The kind of place I’d never step into unless someone held a gun to my head.

Or unless a certain little girl is hurting.

Bright colors immediately assault my senses. Dolls, dinosaurs, and beeping plastic monstrosities line the shelves, making my eyes want to pop and escape their sockets.

I don’t know where to start. I didn’t have toys growing up—we were too poor. And I’ve certainly never been in a toy store.

Shifting from foot to foot, I rub the back of my neck. I haven’t got a clue how to fucking act in this place or where I can find what I need.

I stride through and scan the aisles, sweat breaking out on my forehead. I hate places like this. Crowded. Loud. Disorganized. It’s like a fucking zoo. Nothing makes sense. Kids run past, squealing about action figures. Two girls play tug of war and shriek over a Barbie doll they both insist they saw first. A boy crashes into me and bounces off, no apology. And I feel the deep urge to pull out my notebook and jot down a fucking nine.

I grit my teeth.Focus, Viktor.I pull out my phone and search:Plush cat toy to reduce anxiety in a child. But too many options pop up. Beanbag cats. Heated ones. Battery-powered purring ones. What the fuck? I don’t want a robot. I want something soft. Something close to Queenie. It has to be non-stimulating and calming.

A sales clerk appears. Longish blue hair, maybe twenty, and wearing a ridiculous uniform. I wince as his bright hair and even brighter uniform overstimulate my senses. His badge readsLawrence. He flashes me an obviously fake smile that makes him look likeThe JokerfromBatman. “Looking for something for your kid?” he chirps in an overenthusiastic and much too loud voice.

I hesitate. Sofia isn’t mine…but I wish she was. “Stuffed toy,” I snarl. “Cat. No bright colors. No electronics. No noise.”

Lawrence blinks. His creepy smile drops as he notices my menacing appearance. “Uh, um, of course…follow me, sir,” he stutters, like I’m a grizzly bear in a pet store and he’s afraid I’ll maul him.

I trail him as we walk past aisles of complete chaos. Lawrence keeps flicking his obnoxiously swishy, bright hair every two seconds,and that repeated movement is overstimulating my vision. Why do I feel the sudden urge to flee—to run for the fucking hills as fast as my legs will carry me? “Why the hell is this place so fucking manic?” I growl under my breath, careful to make sure that none of the little rascals hear my cursing.

Lawrence darts a look at me. “It’s a toy store. This is how they’re supposed to be.”

“Can’t you ban kids from the place?” I snap. “They’re too much. I can’t focus with all the goddamn noise they’re making.”

“Children are who this place is for,” Lawrence squeaks. “It would be bad for business if we were to ban kids…” His voice trails off as his eyes run over my tattooed arms and large muscles. “Um, sir, what line of business did you say you were in…?”

“I didn’t,” I hiss at him. I can see he’s weighing up whether to call for security.Calm the fuck down, I tell myself. “Just show me the stuffed cats, and then I can get the hell out of here.”

He nods quickly and speeds up his walk, finally stopping at a wall of plush animals. Including cats of all sizes.Thank fuck for that!

He plucks a gray one off the shelf. “Bestseller. Embroidered features. Superb quality.”

I take it. Roll it between my hands. Then I press my thumb to its nose. And I look up and glare at Lawrence. “It’s plastic!”

Lawrence gulps hard. “Huh?”