Chapter 41 #2
Slowly, I extend the bag to her. She looks at me, then at the bag. I need her to feel in control, so I leave it up to her whether she wants to take the bag and see what’s inside.
Hesitantly, she takes it.
Peeling back the tissue paper like it might bite her, her little nose wrinkles a little, just like her mom does when she’s not sure of something.
And when she pulls out the plush cat, her breath catches.
I’m holding my breath without even realizing it.
Slowly, her fingers run through the fur. Then trace the soft nose. Careful. Tentative.
“It’s soft,” she whispers. “Like Queenie.”
I smile just a little. “I know it’s not the same, but maybe this cat can keep your lap warm while Queenie’s getting better at the vet’s.”
Tears spring to her eyes.
I inhale sharply. I’ve done something wrong. Shit, shit, shit!
My eyes dart to Avelina.
But Avelina has a soft smile on her face.
My gaze swings back to Sofia.
And the little girl throws her arms around my neck, hugging me awkwardly but tightly.
I freeze. I’m stunned. Because I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Carefully, so carefully, I wrap my arms around her. Holding her tight like Avelina did that time in my office. A big, tight embrace. One that will soothe and comfort Sofia.
I can feel the little girl’s tears soak through my shirt. And I hold her closer.
Sofia’s breathing evens out against my shoulder, and the weight of the day presses into me. I’m at a solid six right now. But I can do this—because it’s helping Sofia. And something about doing that soothes me inside.
When I finally ease her back onto the sofa, she pulls the stuffed cat onto her lap, clutching it tight.
Her fingers bury into its fur and stroke it again and again.
Gently, I wrap the weighted blanket around her again as she lies her head on the armrest of the sofa.
Her eyes flutter shut, already drifting as she relaxes a little.
It’s going to take time, and nothing is an instant fix.
My hand hovers over her for a moment. The urge to brush the stray hair from her forehead is there, but I don’t give in because I know it’s a coin toss on whether the gesture is received well.
“She’ll sleep for a bit,” Avelina murmurs. “Sit with me?”
Part of me wants to pace the room, to pull up security feeds and check every lock in the house to ease the worry because there’s still a threat out there.
But the other part? It craves the quiet with her.
Needs it. So, I sit. She tucks her legs beneath her and leans into my side slightly as if it’s a normal thing we do.
Like she belongs here. Like I belong in this picture too.
“You’re good with her and Leon,” she says softly.
A shake of my head follows a humorless laugh that slips out. “I’m not. I have no idea how to handle kids. I just…understand her a little.”
“You bought her a stuffed cat, Viktor.” She looks up at me from where her head rests on my shoulder. “You showed up in a way she didn’t get often from her dad. That counts. Geliy never knew how to deal with her anxiety, and he would just avoid her when she was like this.”
I’m not used to being praised like this—for showing some human decency or being able to spot someone in distress in a way I recognize and relate to.
Then my thoughts shift, like they always do, and the calm room starts unraveling. The Albanians. Gennady. Keeping them all safe. My stomach knots.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to push it all back into those mental boxes. Organized. Sorted. Locked down.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I look down at her. “You don’t need to thank me.” I haven’t done anything worthy of it.
“Yes, I do. That was really sweet of you. With everything going on lately, it’s just… Thank you. It was really nice.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you doing okay, Viktor?”
The question catches me off guard a little. The overstimulation, the worry, the need for calm and quiet is there. But with her right now, it’s like I’ve been given something I haven’t had—ever. A safe place to just be. “I’m okay,” I tell her.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Good. I worry about you, Viktor.”
“You do?”
She smiles at me, that sunshine smile of hers, and my heart trips over in my chest. “Yes. Especially with everything going on.”
“I’ll deal with Gennady before he can touch you or the kids.” The words leave my mouth before I can think twice. Simple as that.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bat an eye at that statement. God, I love that about her.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I murmur against her hair as I inhale. Something about having her like this in my arms makes the anxiety in my chest over the lack of progress with Gennady lessen. How she does this to me, I’m not sure. But I crave it as much as I craved solitude before.
I notice that the cushions on the couch are out of place. My fingers itch to smooth them out, to line them up. But I force my hand to still. These small things used to consume me. Sometimes, they still do. But when I’m with Avelina, they’re quieter. Bearable in a way I’m not sure I even understand.
“I didn’t grow up like this,” I say softly.
“Like what?”
“With quiet nights. Soft things… Safe places.”
She looks up at me, and I watch her hand twitch in her lap, like she’s waiting for permission. I give a small nod, and she cups my face. I relish the soft feel of her fingers against my jaw. “You’re building that now, Viktor.”
Building something? Me? The thought sits strange in my chest. I’ve spent my whole life doing the opposite. But this—sitting here with her, with Sofia, with Leon—feels different. Good. Scary, but good.
A home.
A family.
Something fragile and real.
And it terrifies me.
I shift, unable to sit for long. “I’m going to check in with the men before dinner. We’ll be gone most of tomorrow,” I tell her.
She smiles with a nod. Trusting me without question. Yet another thing I’m not sure I’m used to.
“Hey.” She grabs my arm gently. Always so gently. “I’m here if you need to talk…or decompress. Don’t forget that. You’re great just how you are, Viktor.”
Her words hit like a bullet. I swallow and nod. “I’ll try to remember that.”
That’s the best I can give her. Because I don’t know if that’s true or not.
Late at night, when I know everyone is sleeping, I find myself alone in the kitchen, replaying those words over and over again. I’m hovering at a four…or maybe a three now.
It’s the lowest it’s been since we moved to the States.
My gaze moves to the doorway as I sip my glass of vodka. The only thing that’s changed is…Avelina and the kids.
They all make the chaos in my head quieter in so many different ways. And for the first time in my life, I’m not masking or surviving. I’m living.
But I don’t know how to keep them safe without drowning in noise again—surveillance rotations, meeting times, potential breach points, contacts to get in touch with.
The alcohol burns as I finish it, setting the glass in the sink before I kill the lights in the kitchen and head down the hall to the office. My fingers tap the keys, quickly accessing the feeds of the cameras around the house.
It’s to settle my nerves. My new habit since Avelina told me about Gennady.
The perimeter looks quiet. Front gates secure. Men alert at their posts. Patrols steady. No signs of movement.
But then I switch to the outer feeds—the ones that watch the neighborhood beyond our gates—and something shifts in my gut.
A black SUV idles two streets over. Engine running. Headlights off. Wrong place. Wrong make. Because it sure as fuck doesn’t belong to us. No plates I recognize. Tinted windows a little too dark—like ours.
It could be nothing. But it could be everything.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Nikolai’s name flashes across the screen.
“What’s wrong?” I say without greeting.
“You gotta come to the warehouses,” Nikolai grits out. There’s a lot of movement—and not the good kind. Grigory and Matvey are on their way.”
My pulse slows to a dangerous crawl. My eyes flicker to the SUV again.
And now, I’m sure it’s not one of ours.
But it roars off before I can take any action.
And later, after visiting the warehouse and looking at what’s been happening there, I know something’s going on. Something that’s not good. But I haven’t been able to figure out yet just what it is…