Page 55 of Mafia and Scars

“If you like her, you should ask her out.”

My attention snaps back to Matvey.

“Preferably before you start killing our men, yeah?”

“I don’t—” I start to protest, clearing my throat when my voice nearly cracks with the lie.“I don’t like her.”

Matvey’s brow arches, and I can see the skepticism practically slide across his expression. “No?”

“No.”

He hums again. “Right.”

“I don’t date,” I grit out. “You know that.”

“No, you don’t. All the more reason to ask her out if you like her.”

“I don’t,” I croak, hoping I sound convincing. Because the thought of asking her out does something to me. It makes my heart race with anxiety—that’s definitely it—at being rejected or laughed at.

But something in the back of my head flickers to life at the idea, and a spark of something ignites at the thought of asking her out. Of going on a date with her...

But it’s a fool’s dream.

Someone like me? On a date? It’s laughable at best.

Matvey looks hard at me before shaking his head and heading back to the rec room. I follow him and watch as he picks up the puzzle mat with Sofia’s incomplete puzzle before anyone can ruin the progress she’s made on it.

I stare at him. Surely, he understands that me dating someone would be a very bad idea. I’ve got…too many issues. How can you go on a date when you can’ttouchthe other person? When you can’t stand to hold hands? Or when you crave an intimate dinner but can’t even hold eye contact? What kind of woman deserves that?

I grunt softly. Avelina deserves better than some awkward, uncomfortable dinner with me. It’s better to just leave well enough alone before that little inkling of something takes root. Because it’ll only end badly. Very badly.

I go upstairs and find her in the children’s bedroom. I beckon her into the hall, and she tiptoes out to me.

“I’m sorry about all that, Avelina. They shouldn’t have spoken about you like that.”

She shakes her head. “This is their home. They should be able to say whatever they like. I’ve been thinking, I should leave?—”

Panic rushes through me. “No,” I growl.

“But I’m already feeling much better?—”

“No. You can’t risk that social worker taking the kids away from you. You need to stay here until you’re fully recovered.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The mention of the social worker has her chewing her bottom lip before she looks up at me with a small smile. “Thank you, Viktor,” she whispers.

A few days have passed. Avelina is getting better slowly, but she still looks tired.

Everyone is sitting around the tables in the courtyard, enjoying dinner. And the moment the dessert plates hit the table, I glance at Avelina.

She thanks the cook politely, a small smile on her lips, but when she thinks no one’s looking, she nudges the plate an inch away from her. Just like every other night.

And sometimes she even skips meals, saying she’s not hungry—but at the same time, she looks longingly at the food.

I’ve never seen her take so much as a bite of dessert. Not once. At first, I thought maybe she didn’t have a sweet tooth. But then I overheard Sofia asking her what her favorite dessert was, and Avelina replied that this particular cake—dark chocolate with raspberry drizzle—was her absolute favorite and how much she loved it. So, tonight, I asked the cook to make it just for her.

But still…nothing.

She sits there with her hands folded neatly in her lap while the cake sits untouched in front of her. It’s driving me insane.