Page 36 of Mafia and Scars

“Viktor,” I bark, announcing myself as I answer. My single word is abrupt and sharp.

“Uh...” The woman on the phone pauses. “Hi, this is Maureen Harris, from St. Joseph’s. EMTs found your businesscard on a Ms. Nosova.”

My brow puckers. “I don’t know any—” The wail of a child rings out, and I yank my phone away from my ear.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” the woman says loudly.

“I don’t know any Ms. Nosova,” I reply with clear irritation in my voice at being disturbed by this stupid phone call.

“Her full name is, let me see, Avelina Nosova. Does that ring a bell?”

My stomach drops as a child’s sobbing and a baby’s wailing fill my ears.

“Oh honey, she’s going to be okay, I promise,” Maureen soothes. “They’re just taking your mom back to run some?—”

I’m on my feet before the last word leaves the woman’s mouth. My phone shoves roughly into my back pocket as I grab the keys from my end table. Jacket yanked on, I run down the stairs, shouldering past a few of the men, earning grumbles and curious expressions.

My heart is in my throat by the time the key is in the ignition.

Traffic is a blur as I accelerate, weaving haphazardly in and out of lanes.

My phone rings from where I’ve tossed it into the seat beside me. Grigory’s name flashes across the screen. I ignore it.

As soon as I throw the SUV into park in the emergency bay, I’m sprinting out of the car. My heart’s racing. My chest feels constricted.But why?Why do I care that some nurse called me about Avelina? Why does it matter that I’m almost certain Sofia was the sobbing I heard and Leon was the wailing.

“I need Avelina Nosova!” I blurt out the words to the desk worker.

“I’m sorry?”

“Which room?”

She checks her monitor, but she’s taking too long.

I give up and dash down a random hallway.

“Sir! Wait, you can’t?—”

But her voice fades as I rush past empty beds and rooms, peering into each as I go.

Wiping my palms on my black combat pants, I clench my fistsagain and again, trying to soothe the way things are rushing in my head.

I freeze in a doorway. Avelina is hooked up to some machines, her skin pale, Leon in her arms.

A woman in a loud floral dress and a lanyard sits beside her. The woman is straight-backed as she sits in the chair. I haven’t got a clue who she is.

“We’ll try one more time, but that’s it,” the woman clips in a cold voice.

“He has to pick up,” Avelina croaks, her fingers tightening around the thin hospital blanket. I can see her whole body trembling despite the warmth of the room, and her knuckles are white with the strain.

He? Does she mean Geliy? My jaw tightens.

The other woman brings the phone to her ear and gives a huff of impatience. “Well, he hasn’t the last three times. If he doesn’t answer this time, Child Protective Services has no option but to take your children.” She must be a social worker. “It’ll be until you’ve recovered because you clearly can’t care for your children adequately in your current state. The well-being of the children must come first.” There’s not a single ounce of compassion in her harsh tone.

Avelina’s breathing becomes rapid and shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts. The monitor beside her bed begins beeping faster, matching her escalating distress. “Please don’t take my children away from me!” Tears start rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Her voice quickens. “Leon is just a baby. And Sofia won’t cope without me!”

A second woman with a similar lanyard—who looks like another social worker—scoops up Leon from Avelina’s arms and starts to take him out of the room. Leon starts crying as if he senses something is wrong. I don’t even know where Sofia is right now.

Avelina’s voice cracks completely. And she breaks into sobs that shake her entire frame. Panic and terror flood her features as she tries to sit up despite the IV lines, her movements frantic and unsteady.