Page 58 of Mafia and Scars

I swallow thickly. “Yeah. I’m just going to finish up here. I’ll catch up.”

She nods and starts back to the house. My eyes trace the curves of her body, the flare of her hips, and my mind drifts again to the feel of her fingers against my forearm. I’ve never had the desire for a woman to touch me.But the thought of it being Avelina seems to turn my blood into fire.

Would it feel good to have her touch me as she clings to me? To let her touch me like no one else has as I sink into her? I’ve never shied away from indulging in sex with other women. I’m not a robot—I have needs. But my aversion to contact has made it less about the intimacy and more about fulfilling my basic urges.

I always prefer any woman I have sex with to be tied up or handcuffed. They normally think it’s just what I’m into. But for me, it’sabout controlling the situation so that their hands don’t touch me and ruin it for me. And most women don’t seem to mind. They think my command of no kissing is a game, and it only turns them on more.

But Avelina… Would kissing her and having sex with her feeldifferent? Would she enjoy sex like that? Or would she demand she touch me? And would kissing her make me hard like I think, or would it turn me off like it normally does?

My pants tighten at the image of her nails raking down my back, head tossed back in pleasure, lips parted as her body flushes beneath mine. Sweat slicks her body, and my name is a husky whisper…

I shake my head.Get it together!I scrub my hand down my face. It’s got to be that dress she’s wearing today. It’s made my mind drift off in a strange direction. I hang up the watering can and straighten out the tools we used earlier, pushing away all those racing thoughts.

There’s no point in going down that road.

I’d be setting myself up for disappointment. Failure.

It’s better to just keep those images as what they are. Fantasies.

Because Avelina deserves better than me, that’s for damn sure.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AVELINA

After dinner that evening, I help clear the dishes from the courtyard into the kitchen despite Viktor’s protest and intense glare. I’m only carrying a few plates, so it hardly constitutes overexerting myself, and it feels nice to pitch in even just a little.

Once I finish doing that, I move into the rec room where everyone has gathered. The sound of deep laughter fills the space as I get closer. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks at the threshold of the room.

I blink. Hard. A good handful of men are situated around the table and playing poker, including Viktor and the men he seems closest to: Nikolai, Matvey, and Grigory.

Nikolai sits with Sofia on his lap, an unlit cigar clutched between his teeth. And my brow puckers when I hear Leon’s squeal of delight. His chubby cheeks are rosy as he bounces on Matvey’s knee, his tiny fingers grabbing at his cards as the man gives a slight chuckle and shakes his head. Grigory is also sitting at the table, but he is moresilent and brooding. Since we arrived, Matvey and Nikolai have been vaguely polite toward me, but Grigory’s intense first impression still lingers—scary and militant. And none of them strike me as the paternal type. And now, seeing Nikolai and Matvey holding my children makes my chest feel funny.

Viktor’s gaze meets mine as I enter the room fully. Making my way closer, I sit down in the chair beside him. I’ve never really been any good at poker, but from the way Sofia’s eyes bounce around the cards and room, she’s enraptured.

I watch silently, swallowed up by the way the men interact with one another. Boisterous laughter fills the space, just like a big family.

I chew my lip as Sofia asks question after question, but to my relief, none of the men seem bothered by her interruptions. Nikolai answers her in a soft tone. “And this, Sofia, is how you win,” he says with a deep laugh, sweeping his winnings in front of him after gaining a full house.

Sofia nods and studies the chips before another round is dealt.

“Should I be worried?” I ask Viktor softly.

“No. She’ll be fine. You want to play?”

I shake my head. “I’ll just watch.”

I study Viktor’s hand as he holds it, his gaze moving about the table. The hand on his thigh under the table clenches slightly before relaxing. I watch him, not able to stop myself. It’s rude to stare like this, but I can’t help it.

Most of the men are touching elbows or arms. But not Viktor. Even now, he’s so careful not to touch me or anyone else.

And as his hand flexes around his cards, I can’t help but think about how they would feel. Rough and slightly scarred, would they scrape slightly in the best possible way against the skin of my face, my arms, my thighs...

I startle a little, alarmed at how easily my mind has wandered, the room growing a little hot as it does.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” I flush deeper. “It’s just a little warm in here.”