Page 163 of Mafia and Scars

And the truth shatters me. Because I thought our beautiful babies were born out of love.

His jaw tightens. “Tell me the truth. Did you get pregnant on purpose? Just to trap me?”

For a second, I can’t even comprehend what he’s asking. This is a stranger wearing the face of the man I once adored. “No!” I choke out. “Of course I didn’t. How…could you even think that of me?”

His expression doesn’t flicker. “Well, that’s what my mother thought. She even said it at the time. And I reckon she was right all along…”

I shake my head back into the present. It’s all in the past now. I don’t regret leaving Geliy. But I feel so sad for the children—Sofia is so young to have to deal with this.

My thoughts keep rattling through my brain. About Geliy’s death. And about Gennady…

I’m sitting in the back seat of one of Viktor’s SUVs, hands folded tight in my lap, knuckles pale against my jeans. The windows are dark and tinted so heavily I can’t see the world outside unless I press my forehead to the glass.

But I don’t do that.

Because inside the car feels safe.

Or it should.

Except my chest hasn’t unclenched since we left the Kremlin.

I’d rather driven myself, but that’s not an option with my car in the shop. Something about the alignment, or the tires, or all of it—I stopped listening. Maybe it was just the universe telling me not to leave the house. But I need to go and buy Sofia new clothes.

So, here I sit while Artyom, one of Viktor’s soldiers, drives me to the mall. Maybe the change of scene will help me.

But I know it won’t…

I’ve tried looking at the silver lining. I protected my family from Gennady. I did what needed to be done.

But I don’t think I’ve really felt settled since I killed Gennady.

The sound of the car striking him still echoes in my dreams sometimes. But it’s the silence afterward that haunts me. The weight of it. The way Gennady slumped, the life just seeping away little by little.

But I’d done it. Clean. Deliberate.

And I haven’t cried over it once.

That’s what lingers.

“Miss Avelina.” Artyom’s voice is clipped and cuts through the silence.

I blink, looking up from my hands. “Yes?”

His gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowed. “Not to alarm you, but we’ve had the same black SUV two car lengths behind us since we joined the main road.”

Ice slides down my spine.

That’s a long way to have the same car following us—multiple blocks and exits later.

I shift forward in my seat, trying to glimpse in the mirror what he sees. And the way his hands tighten on the wheel tells me this isn’t paranoia. It’s instinct.

I lick my lips. “Do you recognize it?”

He shakes his head once. “No. There’s nothing to tell me who it might be. And it’s matching our speed and lane changes exactly.”

I swallow. Dread settles in my gut.

Artyom calls Viktor on the Bluetooth.