Page 43 of Mafia and Scars

“Uh…nice to meet you?” I croak, the statement sounding more like a question as I clutch the blanket to my chest like it’s going to shield me from whatever wrath she’s about to unleash.

The woman flares her nostrils. And with a voice like an enraged opera singer, she lets out a screech of Russian that I’m pretty sure translates to:“You shameless floozy, get out of his bed before I roast you like Sunday chicken and thenthrow you out faster than last week’s garbage!”

I squeak. “Wait—no! I’m not…there’s been a misunderstanding!” I snatch my glasses off the nightstand and put them on as if they can protect me against her wrath.

Her gaze drops to my tangled hair and Viktor’s oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. And yeah, okay…it looks bad.

“Misunderstanding?”she scoffs in Russian as she shakes her fist and continues shrieking at me.

“Viktor!” I yell like a damsel in distress.

Thirty seconds later, Viktor barrels through the door, dressed only in boxer shorts and with droplets of water clinging to him. “What’s wrong? I was just showering in the bathroom down the hall?—”

Then he sees the elderly woman.

His face falls faster than a toddler dropping their ice cream cone.

And he suddenly looks like a man deeply regretting every single life choice that led to this moment.

But before he can say anything else, the old woman whips a wooden spoon out from somewhere like some kind of magic trick and strikes him with it.

“Babulya, no hitting!”he cries in Russian, hands flying up like he’s facing a wild bear.

Oh my God, she’s hisgrandma…?

“No hitting?”she repeats, affronted as she repeatedly swats him.

Viktor grunts.“Ow! Baba! I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow…”

I gape. “Where did she evengetthat spoon? She didn’t have it a second ago!”

“She always has it,” Viktor mutters, rubbing his arm. “Even though we have a room fully stocked with guns, the wooden spoon is her weapon of choice.”

Babulya starts screaming again, smacking Viktor repeatedly while gesturing manically at me like she’s trying to exorcise me from the room.

Viktor blocks a hit to the head and shoots me a desperate look. “She was staying with a friend when you arrived. And I was going totext to let her know about you before she got back. Because now she thinks you’re…er, uh…a lady of the night.”

My jaw drops. “What?!”

“I’ll explain to her that you’re definitely not a hooker!” Viktor promises, ducking another swing. “But maybe I better get dressed first...”

I yank the blanket tighter around me as Babulya shrieks like a banshee. “This is worse than a telenovela,” I whimper as Viktor shoots me a look of apology.

Viktor winces as the spoon smacks him again. “Trust me,” he growls, “you have no idea.”

And then he manages to drag his grandmother out of the room as he protests his innocence and tries to explain who I am.

I’m left in a stunned state. Because of Babulya. Because of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.And because of the way Viktor looks at me.

I shake my head. I’m reading too much into it. He’s just being kind.

I mean, I know I’m not the sort of woman that men go for. Since I’ve split from Geliy, two of my single girlfriends dragged me on a couple of girls’ nights out when Geliy was spending time with the children. I went along more to keep my mind off how much I was missing the kids. And even though I wasn’t interested in finding a new man, I couldn’t help noticing how men would flock around my girlfriends while completely ignoring me like I was invisible or something. And I know it’s because of my curves—and I know it’s because I’m notskinnylike my girlfriends. Geliy always used to tell me that I was lucky he stayed with me and that most men would be put off by my body.

So, I know that Viktor can’t like me like that. I’m just reading too much into things. And I saw last night how many pretty women they have working at the compound as maids and in the kitchen, so I know there’s no reason he would ever give a girl like me a second glance.

Sofia pokes her head inside when it’s time for bed. Then Viktor brings in Leon—in his car seat which is an odd choice to carry a baby in.

“I’ll let you guys get changed into your pj’s,” Viktor says, looking away after he deposits Leon onto the bed by my legs. My brow puckers as he heads out quickly.