Page 22 of Scarred Angel

Because Valentina isn’t just any woman. She’s Derek Cain’s daughter. And I’d already lived twelve years before she even entered this world.

“That tracks. You still eat these off the floor?”

Laughter bubbles out of us both at the small dig.

“Hey! In case you haven’t noticed, a lot has changed, Maxy.”

I’ve noticed.

“That includes you no longer being an uptight, brooding little asshole…maybe. The jury is still out, but at least you’ve got jokes now.”

Another round of laughter, and I nearly choke on these goddamn Fruit Loops.

Valentina leans against the counter, proud of herself, elbows propped on her crutches, and the hem of her shirt lifts just enough to reveal a glint of metal piercing her golden skin and catching my eye.

Things have changed indeed.

Again, she notices me looking, and that knowing grin tugs at her lips. “Remi and I got matching piercings on her eighteenth birthday,” she says, answering my unspoken question.

I swallow my cereal a little harder than intended.

“You two are still close.” A statement, not a question, but she nods anyway. Their bond is undeniable, even in the short time I’ve been around them both.

“Always. Especially now.”

The reverence in her tone makes it clear she’s not talking about her accident, but I don’t press.

“And you, Maksim. Do you…have anyone you’re close to back in Russia?”

I slow my chewing, meeting her eyes before shaking my head. “No.”

The answer is a simple one. In my world, loyalty is currency, but friendships—people I trust outside of business—are reserved for those I call family. And if she’s really asking whether there’s a woman in my life, the truth is simpler still. The women in my bed are just that. Temporary. A means to an end, and a release that never lasts.

“Maybe that’s a sign,” she says, pulling out the chair beside me and sitting down, her chin resting in her hand. There’s asoftness in her gaze, threaded with the same quiet sadness I see in my mom’s eyes.

I’ve never cared what people think of me, but for some reason, I don’t want her pity.

“A sign? For what?”

“That you should stay a little longer. Because you have people here.” She scoots closer. “Your mom, Uncle Silas, the whole family…me.”

Something about what she says tugs at the center of my chest, like a silent command buried deep under my skin, one that tells me I’d do whatever she asks of me. The feeling is terrifying and unsettling, like she’s reached inside and flipped a switch I didn’t even know existed.

I grip my chest on impulse, forcing down another rough bite.

“Only if you promise to share more of this stuff. It’s actually really good,” I say, needing to deflect.

“Of course it is.” Her hand glides over mine until her fingers wrap around the spoon. She steals the last bite, tongue slowly darting out to catch a droplet of milk.

Chyort.

My gaze lingers on her mouth. She knows I’m watching again and lets the moment sit.

“What about you? Besides Remi…anyone special?”

Her smile slips, and she looks away for a second, like she’s debating whether or not to answer. Only heartbreak or a breakup gets that kind of pause. I set the spoon down and wait.

“No,” she says at last. “I had a boyfriend. But I don't anymore. He was never special, though. He was just a mistake."