Page 89 of Mafia and Scars

“Grigory!” I snarl.

His head jerks toward me,

“Get away from her!”

His mouth opens. Probably to give some excuse.

I don’t give him the chance. “You want to square up to someone? Come stand that closeto me—and see how long you stay fucking upright.”

Grigory glares at me like I’m the unreasonable one here. “She turned our office into a damn kindergarten, Viktor,” he hisses. “There are fucking toys everywhere?—”

I cut in, my tone as frigid as the Arctic. “So, if you’ve got a problem, you fucking bring it to me.”

He scoffs with a harsh laugh.

I stride toward him. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

His jaw is clenched hard. “This is a business operation, Viktor. We move high-value equipment, not fucking Lego.”

Avelina turns, eyes wide, mouth parting like she’s about to try to apologize again.

And something snaps in me. “I don’t need your approval, Grigory!”

Every muscle in my body is bunched tight, and Grigory glares at me as a vein throbs in his forehead. Avelina is still frozen in place, eyes wide like she’s watching a live bear brawl. Her lips tremble, just barely, and I feel something in my chest twist.

Grigory snorts. “Wow. You’ve really lost it.”

I step closer. “Say one more thing to her.”

He lifts his hands. “Fine. You want to play house, that’s on you. Just don’t think you can start taking naps on the Paw Patrol mat and ignoring your work. Business comes first always—just fucking remember that.”

He glances between Avelina and me. She hasn’t moved, still pressed to the cabinet, breathing like she’s trying to stay quiet enough not to be noticed.

I see it then. The shimmer in her eyes. She’s biting her lip so hard that it’s almost white. She looks small. Cornered.Defeated. And it makes my hands curl into tight fists. “You don’t get to make her feelunsafe,” I growl, low and sharp.

Grigory snorts. “I didn’t touch her.”

“You don’t have to touch someone to make them afraid,” I tell him.

He starts to argue. “Viktor, what the hell?—”

I cut him off. “I don’t give a shit about your excuses. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you’re in a bad mood about. But what I do give a fuck about is that no one—absolutely no one—treats Avelina like this. And no one fucking speaks tomy girllike this—ever.”

A stunned silence hangs over us. It’s not often I argue with Grigory like this, but I’m completely serious. I flick my gaze to Avelina. “Why don’t you go get yourself a coffee and check on the kids for ten minutes?” Although it’s not really a suggestion from me.

“S-sure,” she stutters. “I’ll just…” She squeezes past us and rushes out of the room.

Once she’s gone, I turn back to Grigory.

“I’ve put up with this woman and her kids for long enough. I’m not letting her wreck our business space as well.”

A low growl sounding in the back of my throat.

Grigory’s not letting this go though. “Oh no. No, no, no,” he mutters. “Is that atent, Viktor? Why is there a fucking pink tent behind the filing cabinet? She can’t turn my office into a fucking campsite for toddlers!”

“Ouroffice,” I grunt. “And it’s a Barbie-themed rocket ship.”

He narrows his eyes at me again. “Why exactly do we need a fucking rocket ship in our office? And a plastic tea set? Because I remember you saying something about giving that woman a job, but you never mentioned anything about stuffed toys and other stupid shit taking over our workspace.”