Page 97 of Mafia and Scars

I stare. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But I saw the parking pass on her car.”

A parking pass to an ice rink. Is she... Did she find some coaching job? And why would she go so damn late at night?

I don’t know how or what to call this feeling inside me. It’s not jealousy. And it’s not quite anger or frustration. It’s something dark though. Something that claws at me from the inside.

I shouldn’t make it my business. I shouldn’t confront her. But she needs to take someone with her. If something were to happen, if someone were to hurt her... I swallow the thick lump in my throat.

My feet move automatically. I’m not overstimulated. I’m not overthinking. But it feels like I am. Like I’m reaching a ten or even an eleven.

I need to find her.I need to make sure she’s safe.

Before I go out, I do one more check on the kids. Leon must have woken because Babulya is humming a lullaby to him as I linger outside their room. She’s grown awfully attached to the children. She spares me a smile, and I give her a nod before I continue down the hall.

I don’t bother with a car. Instead, I slip one of the keys from the rack and take a motorbike.

The sharpness in the evening air clears my head just a little, and the sound of the engine humming beneath me soothes me slightly. But it doesn’t do anything to banish the worry that’s formed a lead brick in my stomach. I just need to see what she’s doing. That she’s okay. And convince her to take someone with her next time.

The rink is farther than I thought. An older building on the edge of some deserted strip mall. One of the building lights is burnt out and the parking lot is dim.

I enter the building.

She’s there.

Alone.

The lights are low, just a few beams hitting the ice. Her auburn hair is tied up on top of her head. She’s standing at the edge, her skates laced up tight. The outfit she wears hugs her body.

A green dress.

Sparkly.

And so damn familiar…

I blink hard.

Tinkerbell.

She connects her phone to the speaker and then steps onto the ice.

I don’t have to wait for the music to start to know what song will play. It’s soft, classical, something with a piano and strings. It soothes me like it has for so long. It pulls me in—and so does she.

From the back of the rink, I watch her soundlessly. Her body glides like a dream, every line of her graceful and impossibly fluid. She turns, spins, leaps.

And it’s a routine I know so well. I can predict each next move and when the jumps are because I’ve watched the video so many times. And I can’t believe I’ve finally found the girl I’ve always wondered about.

My breath catches. The triple toe loop, perfectly timed with what I know is the violin. Her glide into a fast spin. The way her whole body flicks right before she jumps like she’s a firework igniting.

I step closer, entranced.

It’s...her.The girl from the video I’ve watched more times than I can count. The girl whose identity was an enigma. The one video that calms my mind when the world spins too fast. When my brain can’t process anymore and I need calm. When I need silence.

It’s her.

Avelina.

Fuck. I don’t even know what to do with this information now.