Page 77 of Mafia and Scars

“Seriously?” I mutter, hopping back to keep from falling.

The dog, a golden retriever, lifts its head slowly, blinking up at me with big, soulful brown eyes.

My first instinct is to keep walking. This isn’t my problem. Someone else’s dog, someone else’s responsibility. I close my eyes and count to ten. Then crack an eyelid open.

But he’s still standing there, staring at me like I’m his last hope. Then I notice he’s definitely seen better days. Because when he stands, he’s thinner than he should be beneath his matted fur.

“Where’s your family, huh?” I ask in a low voice. The dog takes a cautious step closer, tail giving a slow, almost apologetic wag.

“Damn it.” I rake a hand through my hair. I don’t have time for this. And yet…his eyes. They remind me of my own childhood when I used to go hungry. Something sharp twists inside my chest. “I hope Queenie hasn’t been putting the word out in the animal neighborhood that I’m a soft touch,” I huff.

He gives a small whine in response.

“Come on, then,” I say softly.

The dog perks up a little and trots after me as I lead him back to the house. But then he comes to a stop, hesitating with fear.

Who knows how he was treated in the past? Without another thought, I scoop him up in my arms and feel him shiver. He’s definitely afraid as he buries his wet nose under my chin. I reach the door and shoulder it open.

And then I see the person I least want to see right now.

Grigory.

Oh no.

He’s standing in the hallway, arms crossed like some kind of Soviet-era bouncer. His eyes narrow the second he sees me, judging me like I just brought home a radioactive raccoon. “What,” he grits out, “the hell isthat?”

I force out something I hope resembles a smile. “Uh…a dog?” I don’t know why my words sound like a question.

“I can see it’s a dog.” His voice drips with disdain. “Why is it inourhouse?”

The retriever wriggles in my hold, his tail thumping weakly against me. My heart squeezes. “It was outside. All alone. Hungry. Basically, a Disney movie waiting to happen...”

He scowls so hard in response that I’m surprised his face doesn’t crack. “Feed it. Then itgoes. Today.”

“Of course.” My lie slips out smoothly. “Just a quick snack, then, uh,poof, he’ll be gone.”

His eyes flash at me.

He knows.

Guilt prickles at the back of my neck. Oh God, he has a sixth sense for when I’m lying.

“Let’s get one thing clear. This is not a goddamn animal shelter or dog hotel,” he snaps before striding off to do whatever he needs to do. “I better not find any fucking fur on my sofa later!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” I call after him in a fake voice with a roll of my eyes. He’s so fucking uptight.

But the second he’s gone, I speak quietly to the bundle in my arms. “Okay, listen, buddy. You’redefinitelystaying. We just have to keep you invisible. Like a furry ninja.”

And the animal licks my chin and wags its tail, as if agreeing to the plan.

“Grigory is going to murder me in my sleep,” I reply. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to care. Because the only thing that matters right now is making this animalfeel safeagain.

I set the animal down, and its claws click against the tile as we step into the kitchen. I head straight for the fridge and grab some chicken. Just as I’m setting it on the counter, Babulya appears from the pantry.

“Viktor!”She yanks her wooden spoon out of her capacious apron pocket and smacks me with it.“What are you doing? That’s for our dinner later!”she exclaims in Russian.

“Ow, Baba! It’s for him,”I say, jerking my chin toward the golden retriever now sitting obediently by the table.