Page 25 of Mafia and Scars

I don’t know the first thing about babies or comfort. Panic constricts my chest as I take a sudden step back. The baby’s little arms are flailing around. And if I pick him up, his tiny grabby hands are sure to touch me.And I can’t let that happen. Because I can’t stand the touch of others.Already my skin crawls with the phantom sensation.

“What’s with all the noise?” Igor grumbles from the doorway.

“Come pick him up.”

Igor, still bleary-eyed with sleep, looks at me and then at the kid. “What?”

I gesture toward the baby. “Pick him up.”

“But—”

His words cut off as whatever expression he seeson my face has him snapping into action and grabbing the kid. It’s an order, not an option.

“Um, now what?” he asks in confusion.

“Take him downstairs for breakfast. He’s probably hungry…or something.”

Igor does what he’s told, and I hunt for what I hope is a diaper bag, or even better, something to tell me where the fuck Geliy is. Instead, I find a crumpled-up piece of paper. I scan the contents—all thirteen fucking words he’s managed to scribble to me:Leon’s mom should be here tomorrow. If not, call Child Protective Services.

Wow, he’s definitely not going to be getting a father of the year award. What a complete fucking moron.How could anyone be okay with dumping their kid and Child Protective Services being called?

I shake my head and head downstairs. The men crowd around the long kitchen table, getting their normal breakfast or coffee. The wailing lungs of Leon continue. The men grumble. Some glare. Some cover their ears. And I nurse my coffee as far away as I can, next to the fridge.

“Fuck!” Igor says.

“What’s that smell?” Yuri asks.

“God, it’s awful!” another says in response.

A few men gag. Igor, who’s holding the baby, makes a face and turns a shade of green. “He smells, Viktor.” And they all look to me like I have some baby fucking manual on me.

My eyes narrow. “So,change him.”

“But it stinks!” Igor responds.

“You deal with blood, gore, and worse things on a daily basis. Man the hell up and change his diaper!”

“Aww, but why me?” he whines.

“Because you’re holding him,” I say, stating the fucking obvious.

“But—”

“Do it—that’s a goddamn order!”

But silently, I agree. It stinks to high heaven, and how such a tiny boy can scream bloody murder for so long is beyond me.

It’s only been fifteen minutes since I was rudely awoken, and I’malready at a nine. I’m not sure how much more of it I can take before I’ll have to leave. Already it’s too much. The noise. The chaos. The unpredictability of everything is pushing down on my chest like a heavy brick. I hate it. I hate the way that one simple little human being has thrown me into a spiral.

This is my worst nightmare. And it’s just another reason why relationships and babies canneverbe part of my life. Exes who randomly leave or show up and kids who cause a commotion when you least expect it sound like a personal hell for me. Yeah, the thing with partners, babies, and kids is that they’re really unpredictable. And my autism means Ihateunpredictable things in my life. A life with chaos like this is an impossibility for me. I push from the counter I’m leaning on, coffee cup clutched in my hand tightly.

“Boss?” Igor asks.

I glare down at Leon, who’s bright red in the face and thrashing his tiny fists like a drunk boxer. My head feels like it’s been split in two by an axe. “Enough,” I tell him firmly. “You are nine months old, not a warlord. Stop with the?—”

He lets out an ear-splitting screech that rattles my teeth.

I’ve faced ambushes, explosions, and men twice my size armed with machetes. None of that prepared me for this baby.