Page 51 of Scarred Angel

“Of course,” I answer, though the words taste strange on my tongue. Every eye shifts to me, and for once, the attention feels like a weight. Normally, I thrive on it. Commanding a room is second nature. But tonight it feels different.

Because sitting across from me is Valentina. And I can still feel the warmth of her body pressed too close before AJ crashed in. My conscience—or what little I thought was left of it—gnaws at me. Like they all somehow know. Like AJ’s smirk when she left us in the hall branded my face with guilt for everyone to see.

I lift my glass to my mouth, letting the burn of bourbon buy me a second of reprieve, but it doesn’t help. Not when I glance up and catch Derek Cain watching me from the other end of the table, eyes damn near searing a hole through my temple.

“We’re all glad you’re back,” Eva chimes in, her voice carrying that calm like it always does. Her hand is out of sight, but I catch the way she stretches it toward Derek beneath the table, no doubt a silent warning for him to stay in line.

“Leni tells me you’ve rented an office downtown. Does that mean you’re staying for good?”

“I bet he is…” AJ mutters, just loud enough.

Her resemblance to Valentina is impossible to miss. Same features, same wit, but her father’s piercing blue eyes give her away. Her hair is darker, too. She’s the younger version of her sister, with all the fire and none of the filter.

Valentina shoots her a look, then clears her throat.

“I don’t have a date set to return to Russia,” I answer evenly. “So for the time being, yes. I’ll be in Philly a while.”

Athena places a gentle hand on my forearm. “I’m glad to hear that, Maksim. I’ve missed our talks.”

I give her a small nod and a warmer smile than I’ve managed all evening at this table. Athena—Amara, when I first met her,has always been different. A woman who clawed her way back from hell, who once looked me in the eye and told me the ugliest parts of her story. That honesty bonded us. She made me feel seen, like what I lived was real, valid, not just the nightmare of a child’s imagination or something I needed to get over.

The difference is, she’s learned to live with her scars, to temper the rage and let it rest without allowing it to consume her.

Me? I’ve never wanted that. And I never will. The world owes me too much.

“We’re all glad you’re back, Maxy. Glad you’re sticking around for a bit. Hopefully…longer.”

Valentina’s voice burns through the chatter, softer than the rest, but it hooks me all the same. My eyes go to hers before I can think better of it. She’s smiling, calm, collected, like nothing at this table can touch her. But I catch the way her fingernail traces the rim of her wineglass, taunting, the deep red polish flashing under the chandelier.

Heat presses in my chest. She knows I’ll notice. And she knows where my mind will go if I let it.

I force my expression flat, give her nothing in return. Not here. Not with the whole family watching. But her smile lingers, and her eyes hold. Like this is a game only the two of us are playing, like that night at my place. She’s daring me to react, to break first while everyone else is too blind to see the pieces moving.

I shift in my chair, jaw tight. AJ’s little smirk across the table tells me she’s already clocked more than she should. Derek’s fork scrapes his plate like he’s on to us too.

And still Valentina doesn’t look away.

Truth or Dare.

This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. The way she’s got me rattled, and coming apart at the seams. Because Valentina is the one I can’t have.

Or can I?

Would it really be so wrong if I gave in? Then what? Date her, fuck her? Pretend I can offer more than I’ve got in me?

Valentina deserves better. And I won’t delude myself like Derek did when he chased after his wife, believing in some fairytale ending. In marriage, kids, a white picket fence, and a goddamn happily ever after. That’s not my story. That’s a once-in-a-million kind of luck.

My eyes drift around the table, taking in the couples, the quiet bonds, the legacies they’re building here. And I know that kind of life, that love forged through blood until it means something worth keeping…that belongs to them.

Not me.

As much as our stories overlap, mine isn’t meant for peace, family dinners, or children’s laughter echoing through halls. My path is carved in violence. And I accept that.

But then there’s her.

No matter how many times I tell myself to stay away, I can’t stop wanting.

Twenty