Page 32 of Mafia and Scars

She meets my gaze. “Yes. But thank you for the meal.”

Panic churns. “Stay.” I swallow hard. “You should stay.”

Her chest rises. “Oh…”

Leon begins to cry again. Sofia yawns, tucking into her side.

“You look worn out,” I say, wincing as I realize she might think I’m criticizing her appearance when all I can think is that she’s utterly beautiful. “And the kids look really tired,” I quickly add.

She exhales. “Okay.”

Relief bursts through me. “There aren’t any spare rooms made up, but you can sleep in my room.”

She’s about to refuse. “I can’t?—”

But I hold firm. “Fresh sheets were put on this morning, and I’ll be gone all night.”

“What do you do for work?” she asks before giving a small laugh. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know from Geliy that you can’t talk about a lot of the sorts of work you do.”

“Come on.” I guide her upstairs. “I’ll show you the room.”

She follows, holding Leon, Sofia clutching her hand.

In my room, I gesture to the bed. “You and the baby can sleep here.” I pull out the sofa-bed. “This folds out, so Sofia can be near you. There’s lots of space for you all. And there are extra blankets and pillows in the chest.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

Sofia’s small face lights up at the sight of Queenie, but the cat is crouched beneath the bed.

“She’s shy,” I say quietly.

“Shy? Why?” Sofia asks.

“She doesn’t like strangers,” I explain.

Sofia nods. And I sense the little girl’s unspoken appreciation for the explanation.

“Good night,” I whisper.

“Good night,” Avelina replies, softness in her voice.

The night air bites, sharp and cold against my face as I step out of the SUV. The city is humming—neon lights flickering, alleyways breathing shadows—but I don’t notice any of it. Not really. Not when my mind’s still echoing with her voice. Avelina. Sweet, soft, and utterly out of place in my world.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her.

I shouldn’t be seeing her in my head when I’m out here, about todo the kind of work that leaves blood on my hands and gunpowder in my lungs.

But I do.

I slam the car door harder than necessary and crack my knuckles.Focus. Tonight’s job is simple. A warehouse issue. A group of idiots who thought they could skim off our supply chain, reroute shipments, and lie to our faces. I don’t tolerate disrespect. Neither does the Pakhan. And I’m the one sent to remind them of that.

I stride into the warehouse. Every man in there stiffens. I see their hands twitch toward weapons they won’t get a chance to use.

“Which one of you geniuses thought stealing was a good idea?” I ask, voice calm, low. The kind of tone that tightens the air like a noose.

No one answers.Fucking cowards.

I move fast.