Page 33 of Mafia and Scars

The first man goes down with a snap of my elbow to his throat.

The second tries to run, so I shoot him in the leg and let him scream.

The rest start babbling apologies, excuses, and pathetic pleas.

But I don’t hear them. All I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

And all I see is her. Her green eyes lighting up as she smiles at me like I wasn’t born with blood on my hands.

I grab another man by the collar, slam him against the wall. My fists do the talking. My rage, my confusion, my sick ache for something I shouldn’t want, all pour into the violence. And it helps. For a while. It scrapes the edge off the chaos in my mind and dulls the screaming thoughts.

When it’s over, the air is thick with blood and pain, but she’s still there in my head.

Avelina.

It seems all sorts of wrong her being in my head and in my home.

And yet…

I don’t want to let her go just yet.

CHAPTER TEN

AVELINA

The concrete floor is cold and unforgiving beneath my cheek.

My ribs scream with each shallow breath as I curl tighter into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“Get up!” Gennady’s voice booms above me, echoing off the training facility walls. “You think this is a game? You think you can half-ass your routine and fucking waste my time?”

His boot connects with my ribs again. I bite back my cry. I’ve learned not to make noise because it only makes him angrier.

“I’ve seen toddlers with more backbone than you!” he snarls. “You’re thirteen, not three. So, fucking act like it!”

I try to push myself up, my arms shaking with the effort. My auburn hair falls in my face, matted with sweat and tears.

“You want to compete? You want to represent your country? Then you better learn what real training looks like!” Another brutal kick, this one to my stomach. “Champions don’t cry. Champions don’t give up. Champions don’t lie on the floor like pathetic little orphans!”

The word ‘orphan’ cuts deeper than his boots ever could. Because that’s all I am to him. A throwaway child with no one to protect her.

“Again!” he barks. “Get on that ice and fucking do it again until you get it right. And if you fall one more time, you’ll be sleeping on this concrete floor for the rest of the month.”

My legs wobble as I stand, every muscle in my small body protesting. But I nod, keeping my eyes down. “Yes, Coach.” I try to tug down at my dress. It’s too small, but I try to straighten where it gathers. I’m beginning to think they deliberately give us dresses that are too tight. Because then they have ammunition when they tell us that we’re “too fat” and that’s the reason our jumps aren’t high enough.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Coach Gennady,” I say louder, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“Better. Now move, you stupid cunt…!”

My eyes snap open, heart hammering against my ribs. It was just a nightmare! But Gennady’s voice still echoes in my ears. I press my hand to my chest, feeling the phantom ache where his boots used to land.

The room is quiet except for the kids’ soft breathing. Viktor’s room smells like him—something clean and masculine that makes me feel strangely safe despite the violence of my dream.

I don’t know why I keep having these nightmares lately. Maybe it’s just the stress of the last few weeks catching up with me. Losing my job, missing Leon while I was away, being back in Russia for the first time since I left as a teenager. All those buried memories have been stirred up and brought to the forefront of my mind.

Russia was supposed to be behind me. But the moment I stepped off that plane in Moscow, it all came rushing back. The cold, the fear, the constant feeling of being watched and judged and found wanting.