Page 149 of Mafia and Scars

Something real.

Something lasting.

Without a word, we make our way back into the house, his fingers laced tightly around mine. Like he’s worried that we’re going to fall apart if he lets go of me. The rowdy poker game is still going strong, but neither of us even looks that direction.

We head upstairs. His free hand taps steadily against his thigh. His movements are subtle, but I know what they mean. His brain is cycling through something. Some pattern, some loop. Trying to solve a problem that won’t sit still within his mind.

He sits down on the bed.

“Viktor?”

He nods. It’s not cold, but it’s distracted.

I sit beside him. Not crowding him, but just close enough that he knows I’m here.

He leans forward. “I thought I understood control. That if…I kept everything calculated and structured, then I’d never feel helpless. Or weak.” He speaks without looking up. “But today, watching Sofia cry, watching you worry... I could plan every exit strategy, secure every route, kill every threat, and it still wouldn’t have done anything. You’d still be hurting, Sofia would still be hurting…and I’d be hurting too. I can’t save the people I love from pain, especially when I can’t really understand it or predict it myself.”

The wordlovehangs between us. He doesn’t take it back, and part of me thinks he’s not even aware he’s said it.

But I don’t flinch. This isn’t just about Queenie. It’s also about him and us. And everything he doesn’t know how to say out loud.

My heart thunders against my ribs as it clicks. I reach for his hand, my fingers sliding over his.

He tenses for a second, like always, before slowly threading them with mine.

“None of us is in control,” I say gently. “Not really. But you tried. The fact that you do try, regardless of things not making sense to you, means everything.”

He turns toward me. “Why?” His question is curious. Him trying to understand how to be, as he calls it, normal.

“Because you stayed when it was easier to leave. You showed up when you could have just walked away. That’s what is important.”

He draws in a slow breath. My chest aches at what he’s going through in his mind right now.

“I don’t understand it still, but I want to.” He pauses. “I used to think I was broken and incapable of all this. But with you—and even with the children—it’s like I feeltoo muchall the time.”

I squeeze his hand. “That’s being human.”

He leans back a little, finally exhaling like he hasn’t breathed all day. “I would’ve burned down whole cities for you all today,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against the back of my hand, his gaze fixed on it. “And I wouldn’t have even stopped to question it.”

I smile. And we sit like that for a while before we both lie back, tangled in each other’s arms. Just being.

And the thought of how far we’ve come hits me. From curious glances and wary apprehension to…this. Something steady. Something that feels right in all the fragile, broken ways I’m scared to acknowledge.

This dangerous man is still ruthless. Still frightening in every way. But he’s also gentle when he thinks the world isn’t watching. So loyal to us and his brothers that I don’t know what to make of it. And that’s the big difference.

“Do you think Queenie will really be okay?” I ask softly, breaking the silence as we lie there.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure she is.”

I nod, resting my head against his shoulder as I curl into him. His lips press to my temple, and I know without a doubt that this man will protect us. Always.

But he’s not just protecting us.

He’s choosing us.

And I’m not afraid to choose him back.

To be the quiet when he needs it. The calm in the storm.