Page 201 of Mafia and Scars

Albert leaps rather clumsily over a row of silver hurdles labeledConfidence Jumps,then lands before a gilded archway that readsPawformance Arena.

I give a satisfied nod. Because I’d actually been thinking of making a dog area like this for Albert, and it’s just that Grigory beat me to it. “Albert’s already exceeding expectations.”

“Exceeding? Viktor!” Nikolai splutters. “The dog has a personal hydration station shaped like a rainbow!”

“It’s electrolyte-infused,” Grigory explains in an unusually helpful tone.

“And there’s mood lighting!” Nikolai shrieks. “Why is that tunnel glowing purple?”

“Ambience,” I cut in. “Albert trains better under soft tones.”

Nikolai looks moments from collapse. “We were once the most feared organization in the country. Now we’re running—what is this—a fuckingpuppy play gym?” Then he notices the new cushions Grigory added to the couch.

If You Can Read This, You’re in My Spot, Human.

Best Doggy Headquarters.

Pawdon Me, I’m Napping.

“No!” Nikolai declares. “He’s not hoggingmycouch like some furry dictator.” But then he looks down at the couch and notices that Albert has already been using it. “Is…that…dog hairon my couch?” he shrieks. “That’s going to get all over my black clothes and make me look like a fucking plushie instead of a man running a high-powered international organization.”

But before Nikolai can start whining some more, Albert bounds over, wearing a gold medal that readsMy Best Boy.He drops a squeaky dumbbell at Nikolai’s shoes.

“He’s offering you a peace treaty,” Grigory announces with pride.

Nikolai glares at the slobbery toy. “Tell your diplomat I don’t negotiate with canines.”

Albert squeaks the toy again—three times—clearly ignoring Nikolai’s hostility.

Nikolai exhales like a man who’s just seen the fall of civilization. “I can’t believe that this is what my life has become,” Nikolai groans.

And Albert wags his tail with relish, batting it from side to side. And it’s clear for everyone to see that now this doggy assault course is here, Grigory—and I— have absolutely no intention of removing it ever.

A while later, when Nikolai thinks no one will notice, I see him slip treats out of his pockets for Queenie and Albert. Yeah, he may like to complain, but I predict that by the end of the week, Nikolai will be taking afternoon naps on the office couch while snuggled up with the pets.

This office used to just be about work. But now the animals come in and keep us company, Sofia scampers in and has tea parties whenever she wants, and even Leon comes in and spends his time babbling to us. And best of all is when Avelina comes in to see me, giving me those special smiles and spreading her beaming sunshine into my life.

I told Avelina that I wanted to talk to someone about my sensory issues, and the following afternoon, we’re sitting across from a neurodevelopmental doctor. Avelina gives me a smile of reassurance.

“I think—and dream—in black and white,” I blurt out to the doctor before she even asks how she can help. My palms sweat. “Everything flattens, like an old movie reel.”

Dr. Avery has a soft expression and a clipboard balanced on her lap. She nods, like this doesn’t sound ridiculous. “Tell me more.”

So, I do. I tell her about the way color bleeds out of the world and about the grayscale that slides over my vision in my thoughts anddreams. And I tell her that sometimes, I wonder if my brain is broken in some way.

When I’m done, she sets down the clipboard. “I don’t think your brain is broken,” she says. “What you’re describing is unusual. But autism is a complex condition. It’s different in every individual because there are three main factors that interact to affect the person. We don’t know what causes autism, but we do know that the brain is ‘wired’ differently. My sense is that your brain is acting like a filter. When you’re sensory-overloaded, your mind cuts out nonessential details, like color, so it can focus on what feels critical. Shapes. Positions. Movement.”

Her words make my chest unclench a little.Not broken. Just filtering.

“Think of it as your nervous system’s emergency mode,” she adds. “Most people never notice the little things they lose under stress—because most humans filter out various details when they are thinking. You notice because your brain already processes the world in sharper detail. And when you dream, it’s at the end of the day. Your brain is overloaded from the day’s events, so your brain might suppress the color in your dreams to lessen the overload.”

I lean back, air finally moving through my lungs.

Dr. Avery continues. “Temple Grandin is a well-known person who has autism. She also has a very different way of thinking which is unusual because she is primarily a visual thinker. She has often said that she ‘thinks in pictures.’ Not all autistic people are visual thinkers like her—some think more in patterns or in words. But what we do know is that people with autism definitely do have differences in the way they think and process thoughts. This can give them particular strengths or advantages. For example, some great mathematicians attribute their extraordinary numerical skills to the way their brain thinksin patterns.”

After the appointment ends, I step out of the clinic and into the daylight, Avelina by my side. Talking to Dr. Avery has set my mind at ease, plus she has suggested CBT and other strategies that may help me deal with any worries I have.

I’ve spent years wondering why my head flicks to grayscale. Ithought maybe I was going blind, or crazy, or worse. But now? It almost feels like my brain is protecting me, trimming the edges so I can still move through the chaos without drowning. Stripped of color, I pay attention to patterns, lines, and movement. The world reduces to what matters most.