Page 136 of Mafia and Scars

That’s the best I can give her. Because I don’t know if that’s true or not.

Late at night, when I know everyone is sleeping, I find myself alone in the kitchen, replaying those words over and over again. I’m hovering at a four…or maybe a three now.

It’s the lowest it’s been since we moved to the States.

My gaze moves to the doorway as I sip my glass of vodka. The only thing that’s changed is…Avelina and the kids.

They all make the chaos in my head quieter in so many different ways. And for the first time in my life, I’m not masking or surviving. I’mliving.

But I don’t know how to keep them safe without drowning in noise again—surveillance rotations, meeting times, potential breach points, contacts to get in touch with.

The alcohol burns as I finish it, setting the glass in the sink before I kill the lights in the kitchen and head down the hall to the office. My fingers tap the keys, quickly accessing the feeds of the cameras around the house.

It’s to settle my nerves. My new habit since Avelina told me about Gennady.

The perimeter looks quiet. Front gates secure. Men alert at their posts. Patrols steady. No signs of movement.

But then I switch to the outer feeds—the ones that watch the neighborhood beyond our gates—and something shifts in my gut.

A black SUV idles two streets over. Engine running. Headlights off. Wrong place. Wrong make. Because it sure as fuck doesn’t belong to us. No plates I recognize. Tinted windows a little too dark—like ours.

It could be nothing. But it could be everything.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Nikolai’s name flashes across the screen.

“What’s wrong?” I say without greeting.

“You gotta come to the warehouses,” Nikolai grits out. There’s a lot of movement—and not the good kind. Grigory and Matvey are on their way.”

My pulse slows to a dangerous crawl. My eyes flicker to the SUV again.

And now, I’m sure it’s not one of ours.

But it roars off before I can take any action.

And later, after visiting the warehouse and looking at what’s been happening there, I know something’s going on. Something that’s not good. But I haven’t been able to figure out yet just what it is…

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

AVELINA

Today, I’m working in the office, and I feel Viktor’s eyes on me before I even look up.

Viktor’s gaze feels like a quiet weight on me, and I shift in my chair. My glasses slip down my nose a little, and instinctively, I push them back up. I hate how self-conscious they make me.

Geliy used to roll his eyes whenever I wore them.“They’re ugly. And make you look ugly. Like a frumpy nerd,”he’d say.“You look much better without them. Why can’t you just wear contacts?”

So, I did, even though they irritated my eyes, making them dry, gritty, and really sore by the end of the day.

Now, sitting here in front of Viktor, I can feel that old self-consciousness rising again—like an echo of a voice still whispering in my head. I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the screen instead of the way he’s watching me.

“You’re staring?” I say finally.

I try to make my tone light, but my words come out far more nervous than I mean them to.

“It’s the glasses, right?” I murmur.

“No.”