Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AVELINA
Today, I’m working in the office, and I feel Viktor’s eyes on me before I even look up.
Viktor’s gaze feels like a quiet weight on me, and I shift in my chair. My glasses slip down my nose a little, and instinctively, I push them back up. I hate how self-conscious they make me.
Geliy used to roll his eyes whenever I wore them. “They’re ugly. And make you look ugly. Like a frumpy nerd,” he’d say. “You look much better without them. Why can’t you just wear contacts?”
So, I did, even though they irritated my eyes, making them dry, gritty, and really sore by the end of the day.
Now, sitting here in front of Viktor, I can feel that old self-consciousness rising again—like an echo of a voice still whispering in my head. I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the screen instead of the way he’s watching me.
“You’re staring?” I say finally.
I try to make my tone light, but my words come out far more nervous than I mean them to.
“It’s the glasses, right?” I murmur.
“No.”
“I know they make me look—”
“Perfect,” he interrupts, his voice low but firm.
I blink slowly. “What?”
He comes closer to me. “I’m staring, Avelina, because you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. And because I love seeing you in your glasses—they make you look adorable.”
A blush runs up my cheeks, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Thank you,” I whisper with a shy smile at him.
Viktor just keeps his eyes steady on me. “Keep them on,” he says. “I like seeing you wear them.”
My throat tightens, because he says it like he means it. Like he sees something worth looking at.
And all those years of trying to be less—less awkward, less ugly, less me—collapse under the weight of his gentle gaze.
Leon is at it again.
It’s two in the morning, and my sweet, angel-faced baby boy has apparently decided to audition for a heavy metal band.
His screams echo through the enormous house.
I rock him. I sing. I try patting his back.
Nothing works. This is the third night in a row of this, and my eyelids feel like sandpaper.
Viktor appears in the doorway of the kitchen, shirtless, hair a mess, and with an expression like he’s a grumpy, sexy bear who got woken up mid-hibernation. “Put this on,” he orders me, handing me his jacket and a blanket for Leon.
“Where are we going?”
He grabs his car keys. “For a drive. Babies like cars. Babulya said she’ll listen out for Sofia.”
“A 2 a.m. road trip?” I mutter, half-delirious.
We get in the car, and soon, Viktor is driving in steady circles around the city like some mafia Uber service while Leon wails in his car seat.
The hum of the engine is hypnotic, a low, steady purr that feels like a lullaby.
And soon, Leon’s little snores fill the back seat, soft and snuffly, while Viktor drives like he’s on an all-important mission.
His huge hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the glow of the dashboard lights.
And I’m curled up in my seat, snuggled into Viktor’s jacket that smells like soap and him.
Somewhere around mile forty, I fall asleep too, my head lolling against the window.
And when I wake up, the sun is streaked across the sky—while Viktor is still driving, looking absurdly calm and in control.
I check my watch. “Oh my God…you’ve been driving for six hours? Why didn’t you wake me? You didn’t have to do this,” I croak.
He glances at me, his expression softening for a moment. “You needed sleep. The baby needed sleep. I fix things.”
My chest squeezes.
“You’ve been stressed lately about the Gennady business. I wanted to help.”
“You’re crazy,” I say softly.
“Maybe,” he murmurs as his lip tugs upward.
And at the sight of his small smile, I feel my heart as it starts thudding much too fast.
The next night, the men are all out. It shouldn’t bother me, but lately the house feels too still once the kids are asleep. It’s the kind of quiet that lets your thoughts creep through the cracks, and I hate it. I’ve worked too hard to push those things away.
I close the laptop balanced on my knees as I sit in bed. Queenie is nestled beside me, home and on the mend. The days she was gone left an ache we all felt.
A small noise draws my attention to the hall.
Viktor’s large frame fills the door, moving like a shadow as if he’s reluctant to disrupt the calm.
He stops in the doorway. For a beat, we just stare at each other.
Neither of us moving. Neither of us speaking.
He looks tired. Since that night he bought Sofia the stuffed cat, I’ve seen less and less of him.
The air thickens with something unspoken.
He crosses the room slowly, every step measured. I’ve learned that about him—how much he controls himself when emotions try to shake him loose. Every gesture becomes stiffer. But he’s not hiding it like he used to. Or maybe I’ve just started to see it for what it is—overstimulation.
“Viktor?” I ask softly, pushing the laptop away from me. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Too much noise in my head.”
I nod in understanding.
He sits down by my feet, leaving space between us. Careful. As he always is. But his gaze is locked on me. Sharp and soft all at the same time.
It’s a look that makes heat bloom deep inside me. God, why does he look at me like that? Like I’m worth burning for and fighting for.
Neither of us speaks for a while, and the silence stretches, but it’s not awkward.
“How’s Sofia doing?” he asks, glancing toward the door.
“Better. Sleeping with the stuffed cat. She’s hugging it so tight.”
A flicker of something passes across his face. Relief? Pride? I’m not sure which, but it’s real and makes him look happier. “She’s doing okay?”
My hand pauses running through Queenie’s fur. Her head lifts, and she gives Viktor a fierce glare, as if he’s interrupting her spoiling session. My lips twitch. “Sofia’s doing good.”
With a huff, Queenie lifts her body, meanders toward Viktor for an affectionate brush against his hand, then jumps down and walks toward the small armchair in the corner.
I let my gaze drift over Viktor. The tension from this evening’s work still lingers in his shoulders.
His scarred hands flex slightly on his thighs.
Everything about him should be a waving red flag.
He’s exactly the type of man I’ve vowed to never go near again—dangerous, brutal, and mixed up in all sorts of dark things. And yet…
He’s done nothing but show me kindness.
Made me feel safe.
And that? God, that terrifies me more than anything else.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. “Any updates? You guys have been pretty sparse around here.”
“Nothing to note.” His jaw tightens. “Without starting some turf war, there’s not much we can do right now. But it’s only a matter of time until we figure it out.”
I shiver. “Will… I mean, what happens then?”
I don’t really want to know the answer. It’s a dangerous game, but I have to know. When Viktor and the others are gone, leaving just some soldiers behind for security, my anxiety gnaws at me. I worry that Gennady or his men will find their way in here. They’ll find us and take us.
“We’ll deal with him for good.”
The weight of his gaze steals my breath, as does the way his hand, warm and heavy, settles on my leg.
So certain. So absolute. Knowing that he plans to take out Gennady shouldn’t be comforting.
We’re talking about killing someone, after all.
But I have to protect Sofia by whatever means and at whatever cost. And it makes me feel better knowing Viktor is looking out for us.
It makes me ache in a way I didn’t know I still could.
Certainty was a luxury I stopped believing in a long time ago. But Viktor—this man makes it feel possible again.
“I’m going to shower,” he says. He stands and vanishes into the bathroom. I settle back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling.
The minutes tick by. But then the door opens and steam spills out.
I watch as he towel-dries his hair, another towel wrapped around his waist. Steam and water cling to him, and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my eyes follow him.
It’s more than just attraction. If it were just that, us sleeping together would feel like enough.
But it’s not. I crave him in conversations, when we garden, or when we’re working in his office.
I long to make those small smiles on his face more frequent.
He stops, a dark brow arched at me. “You should sleep. Leon kept you up a lot last night, and you’re working too hard.”
I nod. But I’m not thinking about sleep anymore. Maybe it’s the late hour. Maybe it’s the quiet house and the soft hum of crickets outside the window. Or maybe it’s just all the feelings that are swelling up inside of me.
He steps closer. Then closer, until he’s at the foot of the bed. “Avelina?”
“Yes?”
“You need sleep.”
“It’s hard when you’re not here.”
His expression clouds, and I think it’s shock that I see on his face, but again, I’m not sure. He’s so good at masking his emotions. I sit up and move toward him.
“You need the rest,” he says, softer now.
“I’ll sleep in a little tomorrow or take a nap.”
He leans forward, examining me. “Fine. Good.”
I watch as he turns, grabs his sleep pants, and moves back into the bathroom. I huff out a breath as I lie back down, knowing my body is flushed.
The bed dips when he slides in.
We lay there, and I sigh, relaxing against the bed.
“You make things…easier,” he says quietly.
I turn to look at him. “Easier?”
He turns to face me, his eyes scanning over my face slowly. Like he’s tracing my skin with his fingers, slow and sensual. “You make it easier to think. To breathe.”
The words crack something inside me. It’s not the first time he’s told me this. But now, given the current stress and situation, it does something to me. I know that deep need, that want, to just be you. To be seen