Page 94 of Mafia and Scars

I glance up to see the other guys closely watching me. Matvey isbarely holding it together behind his monitor. Nikolai isn’t even pretending to.

I stare at her. I should tell her to change it all back.I want to blurt out those exact words. My eyes drop back down to the screen. Those bright colors make my brain scream. It’s not her fault—I haven’t told her about how bright colors overstimulate me. Sofia doesn’t seem as bothered by bright colors, but that isn’t totally surprising because autism affects each person differently.

I try to slow down my rapid breathing. “Why, er, do the blank columns all have smiley faces?”

Nikolai is choking now. Fucking smug bastard.

She gives a small grin. “I just thought it looked more jolly.” Her face falls a tiny bit. “But I can change it back if you don’t like it.” Her words come out in a rush. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interfered?—”

“No.” I cut her off. “Keep it like that.” I don’t know what makes me say this, but maybe it’s because it’s a piece of her. And because there’swarmththere.

“Really?” she murmurs.

“Really,” I manage.

Her smile is suddenly blinding, and it makes my heart soar.

And I realize something. These colors and other things make her happy, and her being happy kinda makes me happy too… “But maybe you could adjust the screen brightness?” I suggest slowly.

“Oh, sure!” She taps a key to dim the screen. “And I’ve made a backup version without all the colors and gradients—just in case you prefer that when you need to use the spreadsheet.”

And at her thoughtfulness, that warm feeling deepens.

“You’re really okay with this, Viktor?”

And she’s still smiling at me. And something about that smile makes it seem like she personally invented sunshine. And I don’t want that smile to disappear.

So, I say nothing.

I sigh. I’m in trouble.So much trouble.

The following day, I make my way to the office, telling myself that my day can’t get any worse.

Things haven’t been going well this morning. More fucking warehouse issues. Inventory errors. Phone calls from people who apparently lost their brains overnight. My patience is already at zero, and it’s barely fucking noon.

Babulya just told me that Avelina has been upstairs for the last fifty minutes, trying to get Leon down for his nap. And stomping to the office door, I fling it open, hoping to find some calm and peace.

And I’m certainly not expecting the sight that greets me.

Because in front of me are Queenie and Albert.

Dressed up in glittery pink capes.

I blink. Once. Twice.Why the hell are my animals dressed up like that?

Matvey and Nikolai are frozen at their desks, eyes wider than deer who know a hunter’s spotted them.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” I bark, my voice sharp as a deadly dagger. Because I know Avelina was the one responsible for the travesty with my spreadsheets, but I can’t see her doing this to the pets. And that means the culprit is one of the men. And they’re totally capable of pulling a dumb stunt like this.

“Not mine,” Nikolai mutters darkly. “We’re supposed to be running an operation, not a?—”

“A fairy princess pet parade,” Matvey finishes under his breath, rubbing his temples.

Queenie yawns, stretching her paw like she’s been on a catwalk all morning. Albert, meanwhile, is chasing his own tail, the sparkly cape fluttering like a flag of surrender.

My scowl deepens.

Then a tiny, rapid patter of footsteps.