Page 189 of Mafia and Scars

“Why the hell do you want to learn to skate?” Matvey leans against the doorframe, sipping coffee like this is his personal comedy show.

I keep my eyes on the laces, threading them with precision. “Sofia likes skating with Avelina. If something happens?—”

Matvey snorts. “You’re gonna slide heroically across the ice like some Slavic Batman?”

I shoot a scowl at him. “It’s so that I’ll be able to keep up with her, smartass.”

But it’s not about their safety. It’s about the way Avelina can change when she’s on the ice. Like she’s breathing different air. I want to give it back to her. Even if it means breaking my neck.

“Fucking whipped.” Matvey pushes off the doorframe. “Come on. Let’s get this shit over with.”

Avelina is at the play park with the kids. Inside the rink I built, the cold bites my gloves, and the stiff plastic presses into my ankles like a vise. The rink is still a secret from Avelina and Sofia.

“Step on the ice,” Matvey directs me.

I put one foot down. It slides three inches sideways. And my entire body locks up.

My brain instantly calculates possible outcomes.

Fractured wrist, cracked ribs, concussion.

“This is stupid,” I mutter.

Matvey grins. “Yeah, but it’s going to be entertaining.”

I plant my other foot down, knees bending instinctively. The blades wobble, and my arms jerk out.

“Don’t flail around! Small strides. Keep your weight forward.”

I take one step. Then another. But my left foot slides too far, my right foot slips from under me, and I fall hard on my ass.

Matvey smirks. “Oh, this is gold!”

By the time I’ve made it five feet, Nikolai and Grigory have appeared.

“What’s all this?” Grigory asks. “Vik on ice? Are we selling tickets?”

“Ten thousand rubles says he falls in the next thirty seconds,” Matvey bets.

“I’ll take that,” Nikolai replies, whipping out his cell so that he can film me.The fucker.

Grigory and Matvey both come and stand on the ice near me. I grit my teeth, focusing on keeping my blades parallel. I push off again. Then my toe pick catches, pitching me forward and onto the ice.

Strong hands grab my arms. Matvey and Grigory haul me upright. “Careful, Bambi,” Grigory laughs.

“Shut the fuck up,” I huff.

Every time I gain speed, my brain flashes hazard signs.

Every time I lose balance, one of them steadies me.

And by the time I’ve made it twice around the rink, seven falls included, my legs are shaking. Not from the cold but from the constant battle between my body’s adjustments and my brain’s need for order. My movements are uneven and unpredictable. It’s chaos under my fucking feet.And I hate chaos.

But I want this. I want to see Avelina’s face when she steps onto the ice, how her spine straightens, and her chin lifts like she’s daring the world. I want her to see me there beside her—not watching from the sidelines.

I limp off the ice hours later, my ankles screaming.

Matvey claps my back. “Not bad. You only looked like a baby deer eighty percent of the time.”