Page 48 of Mafia and Scars

I move a single inch, and Viktor’s head snaps toward me.

“Don’t worry, I’m not getting up,” I assure him as I rearrange the pillow behind my head. Ever since I made my way down the stairs this morning, it’s been like this. A cold glare or a reminder from him that I should be resting. My body is weak, but I can only sleep so much, and I’m getting restless after spending most of yesterday either in the hospital bed or Viktor’s bed.

At that moment, the person I’m dreading to see barges in.

Babulya. Oh nooo…

Viktor immediately leaps to his feet and puts himself between his grandmother and me.“I swear, Baba, I’m not lying,”he pleads in rapid Russian.“Avelina really is the ex-partner of an old army comrade.”

Viktor told me that he tried to explain everything to her yesterday, but she wouldn’t listen, stormed off, and has since refused to speak to him.

At that moment, Babulya stops glaring at me for long enough tonotice Sofia and Leon, who are playing quietly with building blocks behind the couch. Babulya’s eyebrows shoot up. “You were telling the truth, Viktor, when you said she was ill and needed help looking after her children?”

Viktor explains it all to her again. And I know the exact moment the information sinks in. Because Babulya’s face softens like someone just flipped a switch. Her fierce warrior-grandma expression collapses into wide-eyed horror, and then, just as suddenly, she’s misty-eyed. She lets out a dramatic gasp—theatrical, like a soap opera star discovering her twin has been evil this whole time—and clutches her chest.

“Oh, the poor family!”she cries, then sweeps past me in a blur of apron and determination. Babulya collapses to her knees, as if Sofia is some kind of royalty.“Ohhhh, my precious girl!”she declares.“You must call me Baba!”

And Sofia, despite often being wary around strangers, shoots a shy smile at the beaming woman while I gape. Luckily, I’ve raised Sofia to be bilingual in English and Russian, so she has no problem understanding Babulya.

Leon starts to wail, so Viktor picks him up and puts him in my arms.

I start to soothe my son, but it’s too late. Babulya’s already snatched Leon from my arms like a grandma-shaped hawk swooping down on prey.

“Oh, my angel!”she croons, bouncing him expertly on her hip.“Let your Baba make you better,”she trills while patting his curls like he’s a petting zoo exhibit.

“Viktor,” I hiss under my breath. “Is this safe?”

“She raised me,” he says with a shrug. “I lived, right?”

Leon gurgles happily, drooling all over Babulya’s apron. Instead of looking horrified, she beams like he just recited poetry.

Then Babulya starts scolding me.“You are too thin! Your hair needs an oil treatment! You are now my granddaughter, so you will sit down and eat my pancakes!”

My jaw drops. “Er…pancakes?”

As if on cue, Babulya marches toward the kitchen, baby in one arm, Sofia skipping at her side, barking orders like a scary general.

And Viktor gives me an almost-smile. “Welcome to the family. Resistance is futile.”

“Your delivery is here, boss.” A man with a buzzcut and outfit similar to about fifteen other men I’ve seen today pokes his head into the rec room during the afternoon. Sofia sits on the ground by my side while Leon bounces in a chair that most certainly wasn’t here last night.

“Put it by the door!” It’s a gruff order from Viktor. At least he’s that way with everyone and not just me.

Leon’s huff at being in the seat too long hit my ears, and I move to stand.

“Stay!” Viktor huffs at me.

I freeze.

Viktor switches his glare to one of his men. “Andre, you get him!”

Andre and I exchange a look. Viktor is really taking this whole bedrest thing far too seriously. Andre rolls his eyes not so subtly and hefts Leon from the seat. Seconds later, Leon is in my lap, his chubby hands roaming over my face and playing with the ends of my hair that hang over my shoulder from my ponytail. My gaze shifts around the rec room. I don’t remember so many toys and puzzles here when I walked past this room yesterday, but maybe I hadn’t been looking too carefully.

“What did you order?” I ask Viktor, trying to make conversation.

“What?”

“The delivery?” I point at the boxes.