Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
VIKTOR
I notice her flinching as Grigory glares at her. I get that the Pakhan has a domineering manner, but her reaction is unwarranted.
At the same time, I groan inwardly. Why on earth did Grigory just snarl at her in such a hostile manner?
As I stare at her, confusion rolls over me. Why am I suddenly feeling a little protective toward her? But I shake off that thought as soon as it hits me.
No. I’m just mixed up because the baby’s nonstop crying has my sensory system malfunctioning and sent my stress levels through the roof. I need peace. I need quiet. I need calm.
She straightens her spine. “If you can just get Leon and his things, we’ll be on our way.”
I hate the way her beautiful smile has disappeared. I swallow hard. “Stay.” The word blurts out like an order. “For dinner.”
Grigory and she stare. Alarm ripples across her face, fear edging her wide green eyes behind her glasses. The glasses have a turquoise frame and make her eyes even more intense and even more beautiful.
I swallow again. What the hell made me say that? I’ve never invited someone—and definitely never a woman—to stay for dinner. My gaze darts around. The baby is crying again. He must be hungry. Yeah, that’s why I said it.
My voice softens a little. “Stay for dinner. Please.” The baby’s crying is making my head pound, but I push it down. “Your little girl must be hungry too.”
She shifts, doubt flickering. “I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”
I step forward, my tone gentler now. “You won’t be. We have plenty of food. And you all should eat.”
A moment passes, then she nods tightly. “Okay…thank you.” And I can see she’s just as stunned at her agreement as I am.
Dinner is served on the large trestle tables under the courtyard lights—simple food, quiet clinks of cutlery, soft conversation.
Confusion washes over me. I don’t understand this woman.
I stormed over to her car, clearly pissed off at her parking and staring at her like she was insane, but she beamed a smile at me and complimented me on the compound’s landscaping.
And calling me her parking superhero—who the hell says that sort of thing?
And why did she look at me like I’d done something heroic instead of just parking her car after glaring and growling at her?
“This food is absolutely delicious!” Avelina enthuses to the cook who’s used to people either ignoring him or complaining. “And this courtyard is like something out of a magazine. You all must love living here!” Her praise is genuine, and her kind personality is almost disarming.
My brows pull together into a frown. How on earth is she this upbeat after being yelled at by both Grigory and me? And why, despite myself, do I feel my scowl faltering? Because my scowl is pretty permanent when I’m around other people, so why is it suddenly slipping around her?
I notice the way her eyes slip to the knives and guns strapped on our belts.
There’s something in her gaze. Is it disapproval maybe?
I can’t quite tell. But there’s something almost desperate in the brightness of her smile.
Like she’s using kindness as a weapon—and somehow, it’s working.
The cook and other hardened men around this table are practically preening under her praise.
The woman is a walking contradiction. She beamed at me like I hung the moon after I basically growled at her, then called me her parking superhero with such genuine delight that something inside my chest did a weird flip.
But I catch the way her eyes dart to our weapons, her mind cataloguing any possible threats even as she compliments the landscaping. Smart woman.
I can’t help recalling her earlier words. When she said, “You and your merry band of men certainly wouldn’t be my first choice for babysitters.” I shrugged it off. But now…I start to wonder. Do we smell or something?
I subtly lean under my armpit and sniff.
But it’s clean.
I glance at Matvey across the table. I can’t help but whisper to him. “Why wouldn’t she want us looking after her kid? Is there something wrong with us?”
“It’s because we look like a bunch of thugs, dumbass,” he replies.
My jaw tightens. And I find myself straightening my shirt and smoothing down my hair—as if that’s going to miraculously transform me into the ideal manny-version of Mary fucking Poppins.
I watch her pull on a bright blue sweater against the cool of the evening and then feed Leon, his eyes quiet with trust and love. She’s…beautiful. And so different from Geliy, who’d barely touched him. She’s a hands-on mom. She barely eats herself, too distracted by caring for her children.
When dessert is served, I notice Avelina politely refuses, although she looks longingly at the creamy, decadent cheesecake swirled with a raspberry sauce.
Sofia’s small features are focused on her plate as she speaks quietly.
She has an extremely advanced vocabulary for a six-year-old.
I watch as she meticulously lines up her cutlery and keeps her food very carefully sectioned—the cheesecake, fresh berries, and whipped cream aren’t allowed to touch one another.
She also avoids eye contact, glancing out of the corner of her eyes. She’s just like me in so many ways…
It hits me with the force of a sledgehammer.
My chest tightens. My vision blurs at the edges. I shove back from the table and hurry out of the room, just about stopping myself from bursting into a run.
The cool laundry room air slams into me as I shove the door shut behind me. My heart pounds. I press my forehead to the wall.
When I look at Sofia, I see autism.
Repetitious behaviors, advanced speech, avoidance of eye contact.
Oh God. The very thing I’ve been running from since I found it in that Russian library. The weakness I can never admit. The thing I don’t want people to see in me. The thing I don’t want to ever acknowledge.
Everything in my mind is ticking too fast.
I inhale. Exhale. Clench and release fists. Gradually, my thoughts slow a little, just enough to quiet some of the chaos in my head.
A long while passes before I make my way back to the courtyard.
“Are you okay?” Avelina asks softly.
I force a nod. “Just…remembered something urgent. Finish your meal.”
She smiles tiredly. After the meal, she goes inside and gathers the bags. Leon is yawning in his car seat, and Sofia rubs her eyes.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
She meets my gaze. “Yes. But thank you for the meal.”
Panic churns. “Stay.” I swallow hard. “You should stay.”
Her chest rises. “Oh…”
Leon begins to cry again. Sofia yawns, tucking into her side.
“You look worn out,” I say, wincing as I realize she might think I’m criticizing her appearance when all I can think is that she’s utterly beautiful. “And the kids look really tired,” I quickly add.
She exhales. “Okay.”
Relief bursts through me. “There aren’t any spare rooms made up, but you can sleep in my room.”
She’s about to refuse. “I can’t—”
But I hold firm. “Fresh sheets were put on this morning, and I’ll be gone all night.”
“What do you do for work?” she asks before giving a small laugh. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know from Geliy that you can’t talk about a lot of the sorts of work you do.”
“Come on.” I guide her upstairs. “I’ll show you the room.”
She follows, holding Leon, Sofia clutching her hand.
In my room, I gesture to the bed. “You and the baby can sleep here.” I pull out the sofa-bed. “This folds out, so Sofia can be near you. There’s lots of space for you all. And there are extra blankets and pillows in the chest.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
Sofia’s small face lights up at the sight of Queenie, but the cat is crouched beneath the bed.
“She’s shy,” I say quietly.
“Shy? Why?” Sofia asks.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” I explain.
Sofia nods. And I sense the little girl’s unspoken appreciation for the explanation.
“Good night,” I whisper.
“Good night,” Avelina replies, softness in her voice.
The night air bites, sharp and cold against my face as I step out of the SUV.
The city is humming—neon lights flickering, alleyways breathing shadows—but I don’t notice any of it.
Not really. Not when my mind’s still echoing with her voice.
Avelina. Sweet, soft, and utterly out of place in my world.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her.
I shouldn’t be seeing her in my head when I’m out here, about to do the kind of work that leaves blood on my hands and gunpowder in my lungs.
But I do.
I slam the car door harder than necessary and crack my knuckles.
Focus. Tonight’s job is simple. A warehouse issue.
A group of idiots who thought they could skim off our supply chain, reroute shipments, and lie to our faces.
I don’t tolerate disrespect. Neither does the Pakhan.
And I’m the one sent to remind them of that.
I stride into the warehouse. Every man in there stiffens. I see their hands twitch toward weapons they won’t get a chance to use.
“Which one of you geniuses thought stealing was a good idea?” I ask, voice calm, low. The kind of tone that tightens the air like a noose.
No one answers. Fucking cowards.
I move fast.
The first man goes down with a snap of my elbow to his throat.
The second tries to run, so I shoot him in the leg and let him scream.
The rest start babbling apologies, excuses, and pathetic pleas.
But I don’t hear them. All I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
And all I see is her. Her green eyes lighting up as she smiles at me like I wasn’t born with blood on my hands.
I grab another man by the collar, slam him against the wall. My fists do the talking. My rage, my confusion, my sick ache for something I shouldn’t want, all pour into the violence. And it helps. For a while. It scrapes the edge off the chaos in my mind and dulls the screaming thoughts.
When it’s over, the air is thick with blood and pain, but she’s still there in my head.
Avelina.
It seems all sorts of wrong her being in my head and in my home.
And yet…
I don’t want to let her go just yet.