Page 193 of Mafia and Scars

Weeks passed before I met Viktor. And it didn’t take me long to realize how special he was. He didn’t coo at me or try to grab me like others had. His eyes were quiet but kind, like he knew what it was to be afraid and not say it out loud. I crept closer, one paw at a time. And the first time he whispered, “You’re safe now,” I knew he was the one. That’s when I knew he had a good heart. The kind you can feel, not just see.

Now, I live in his big house filled with warmth and laughter. And with Albert. Yes,my Albert. Viktor found him too. The day he brought him home, I nearly fell off the windowsill from shock. Albert barked once, his tail going wild, and I ran straight into his fur. We haven’t been apart since.

And Sofia… She’s my favorite mini-human. Small, gentle, and sweet. She never grabs or squeals like other children. She just sits cross-legged on the floor, whispering secrets into my fur. I don’t always understand the words, but I understand her. When she’s too quiet, her hands twist in her lap, or her breathing is fast, I pad over and press my head against her knee. She blinks, startled, then strokes my back in careful, even lines. The rhythm slows her heart. I can always feel it.

And when Sofia gets overwhelmed, she curls into herself like afrightened bird. That’s when I know she needs me most. I climb into her lap, paws gentle against her, and purr deep from my chest. And I stay with her until her fingers relax—and her breathing evens out. She’ll whisper, “You always know, Queenie.” And I’ll stay until her world feels calm again.

Sometimes Viktor watches me curled on Albert’s back, and he smiles that tiny, rare smile. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to.Love doesn’t need words.

He shows it when he strokes my fur after a long day, when he fills my bowl before his own dinner, and when he sits in silence beside us, just being there.

I used to think my heart broke the day my first human left me. But now I know it didn’t break. It was just waiting. Waiting for Albert. Waiting for Viktor. Waiting for Sofia. Waiting for this new family. Waiting formy forever.

CHAPTER SIXTY

VIKTOR

We just finished dinner in the courtyard. I stack the plates largest to smallest and with the used cutlery aligned at twelve o’clock, then carry them to the kitchen. This routine calms the noise in my head—noise that’s left after my work day.

After depositing the dishes in the sink, I walk down the hall to the den where I find Grigory and Nikolai arguing about a card game while Matvey deals to the large group of men around the table.

In the den sits a book I’ll continue reading tonight. It’s about companion planting and good soil health. The first chapters are already flagged with sticky tabs placed just so. I sit in my favorite armchair and pick it up.

“Viktor?”

Sofia’s soft voice draws my attention. She’s just come into the den with Avelina. The little girl is standing before me with a book hugged to her chest. The cover is bright and depicts a cat with wide eyes, andthe title readsAll Cats Have Autism. It’s the book that I got Sofia a while ago. Until now, Sofia has barely looked at it.

She steps closer but not too close, stopping at a distance we both can process without our bodies firing alarms. Her thumb taps rhythmically onto the cover. “Will you read this? With me, please,” she says. “Here.”

I glance at the table. But the others are busy with their card game. I’m nervous about reading a book that mentions autism in front of the others, but they’re not paying any attention to us. Sofia’s shoulders are hunched up. Hope and worry war inside her. “Sure,” I say. “Come sit next to me.”

Her shoulders drop a little. We sit on the couch. I place the book squarely on my knee, aligning the spine with the seam of my pants—because if the world’s going to tilt, I need one straight line.

Avelina slides onto the armrest beside Sofia, her fingers brushing her hair once.

Sofia gazes at the book and leans against me like I’m someone she trusts. Queenie hops up and settles herself in Sofia’s lap, and automatically, Sofia begins to stroke her fur, drawing comfort from the rhythmic movements and softness beneath her fingers.

I open the book. The first page shows a cat lazing in a sunny garden by itself.

I start reading. “Some cats like quiet. It helps slow their racing thoughts.”

The next page shows a cat lining up toy mice in a perfect row. Sofia frowns at the picture.

“Some cats like things in order. Lined up just so. It keeps them calm,” I continue. “Like my gardening tools,” I say to Sofia.

Her little nose wrinkles. “And like my coloring pencils,” she murmurs.

We move through the pages. A cat hiding when new people visit. A cat who doesn’t like the feel of its new collar. The book is gentle. Sweet. But real in how it depicts things.

“What does it say there,” she asks, pointing to a cat swaddled in a blanket.

“Cuddles and big squeezes can feel like a shield. Weighted blankets too.”

She nods. “It’s not just me.”

“No,” I say softly, “It’s not just you who feels like that.”

The next page shows a cat staring at a clock.