Page 8 of Mafia and Scars

Please, I think.Please just let me have this one thing.

“You don’t belong here!” He’s pacing in front of me now, apredator sizing up wounded prey with every pass. “This facility is for strong girls. Not for stupid little cunts who can barely string a routine together.” He’s closer now, the smoke on his breath rancid, reminding me of the other times he’s been too close—when he decides I need to be taught lessons that have nothing to do with skating.Lessons that only have to do with brutality.“You’ll always be nothing. Do you hear me?Nothing!”

The words echo in the vast rink, bouncing off the walls and settling deep in my bones.

Nothing.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe that perfect routine was just my imagination. Maybe the feeling of flying was just the dizziness talking…

My chest tightens. The words hit harder than any fall I’ve taken on the ice, harder than the bruises that bloom purple and black on my ribs.

My eyes close, and I can feel the sting of tears as they threaten to spill over. But I refuse. Refuse to show him that weakness. Because that would be like handing him a loaded gun.

I want to shout at him. To tell him he’s wrong, that I can do better.

But I don’t. My nails dig into my palms as they clench at my sides, creating half-moons of pain to anchor me to something real.

Then that familiar thought creeps in, the one that’s always there just like a black cloud I can’t shake off. I’m no one. Just a girl with no one to care for me except for the coaches who see me as a means to an end and nothing more. A girl who could disappear tomorrow and the world wouldn’t even notice the empty space. A girl whose perfect routine apparently means nothing at all.

The hollow ache in my stomach grows sharper, reminding me of all the ways they can make me smaller, weaker, and more grateful for whatever scraps they choose to throw me.

But somewhere, buried deep beneath the fear and shame, a tiny flame flickers.

Because I know what I felt out there on the ice.

I know what I am when I’m flying…

PRESENT DAY

My eyes jerk open, heart racing.

It’s a dream.Just a dream. As it fades like a fog lifting, I stare at the shabby crumbling wall of the room in my Vegas apartment. The sound of traffic outside echoes through the room, but it doesn’t drown out the memory of the nightmare…

Rubbing my eyes, I try to shake off the feeling of dread that’s settled into my chest. The nightmares have become more frequent recently, as if they’re a premonition, each one bringing me closer and closer to a past I’ve fought so hard to forget.

Rolling over to my side, I stare at the alarm clock, my mind still reeling. The orphanage. The men. The brutal reality of a life I was forced into. Even now, the fear makes my blood run cold.

I press my fingers to my eyes and take a deep breath. I glance around, taking in the familiar sights of my room. Leon’s crib is tucked in the corner, and I can see the dim glow from my daughter’s nightlight down the hall.

The dream—no, it was a nightmare—felt so real.

I can still hear Gennady’s voice in my head and the sting of his words against my skin like lashes.

My hand presses to my chest as I bring my knees up and rest my forehead against them. I press my fingers against the phantom ache where his boots used to land. No wonder I focus now on relentless positivity—Gennady taught me that being small and broken only invites more pain. Instead, it’s better to be bright enough to blind those around me.

I’m safe now.

It’s just a memory from the past come back to haunt me. I will my body to push away the fear and to quiet the chaos in my head. But Gennady’s words repeat in my mind over and over again.“You’ll always be nothing.”

Wrapping my arms tightly around my knees I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block them out. To keep them from getting to me. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I hate myself for crying over this. For feeling so weak and helpless.

I’m stronger than this. I’ve always pushed through, always told myself that if I work hard enough, that if I prove myself to be enough and worthy, then I’ll get everything I’ve ever wanted.

But the doubts linger. Was Gennady right? Maybe I’m always going to be nothing. I shake my head. Any thought of Gennady makes my blood turn to ice. But at least I know that I’ll never have to see that cruel man ever again.

CHAPTER THREE

VIKTOR