Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
VIKTOR
I’m back home now. Staying in bed all day, not being able to do much, is goddamn boring. Necessary, I know, but still boring.
The doctor has given me permission to go from the bed to the rec room couch. But that’s it. No gym. No work. No other activities. And Grigory and the others are enforcing this.
I’m wearing black joggers and a black T-shirt as I lie on the couch. Avelina bought me blue pinstripe pjs, but I refused to wear them. Just the color of them is enough to make my anxiety spike. No, plain black is the only color that keeps me calm and sane. So, that’s what I’ll be sticking to.
Queenie is curled up against my legs, her eyes half-lidded, one paw twitching as she dreams. She’s on two medications, which she takes twice daily with food. Same time. No variation. I set alarms. I have a tracker on my phone.
If someone had told me a few years ago that I’d pay what I paid for her surgery, I’d have rolled on the floor with laughter.
But Queenie matters.
To Avelina.
And to me.
And most importantly, to Sofia. She helps Sofia regulate when she’s anxious.
The comforting weight of Queenie against her chest when things are too loud.
The soft fur of the cat under her fingers when she’s stressed.
It steadies her in a way I understand. And I’d burn every penny of Bratva money if it meant that one piece of this scary world was stable for this little girl.
Two weeks later, and I’m finally off bed rest. Thank the fucking Lord.
Sofia sits cross-legged on the rug in the den, staring at the little paper crown she made for herself last week. It tilts slightly to the left, one jewel sticker clinging on for dear life. Her lower lip trembles. “He promised he’d call,” she whispers.
Avelina crouches beside her and smooths a hand over her soft hair. “Sweetheart, I think he’s away for work. And sometimes, adults—”
“Lie?” Sofia says flatly, her eyes glistening.
And I can tell that single word guts her mom.
Avelina swallows hard before she stands and comes over to me.
“This is the third birthday in a row he’s been away for work and forgotten her birthday, but this year it’s hitting harder,” she whispers in an anguished voice.
“Sofia is seven today, and she’s old enough to remember promises and old enough to know when they’re broken. ”
And after I try and fail to comfort Sofia, I head out, telling them both I’ll be back soon.
An hour later, I stand in the doorway.
Avelina’s jaw drops. “What on earth…?”
I stomp inside, feeling like a man enduring medieval torture.
In one arm, I’m balancing a giant pink bakery box and a huge shiny gift bag.
In the other, a bunch of pink balloons and a very sleepy cat dressed in a mini feather boa and pink tiara.
And behind me trots Albert, also with a pink feather boa and a jeweled tiara askew on his furry head.
“Happy birthday, little bird,” I say, my deep voice at odds with this ridiculous scene.
Sofia’s head jerks up. Her eyes go as round as saucers. “Queenie and Albert look so cute!” she squeals, launching to her feet.
Queenie flicks her tail like she may be plotting my murder. Albert just plops down onto the rug, panting and looking pleased with himself.
“I thought,” I say stiffly, “that maybe Queenie and Albert could join us…for tea.” My face twitches like the words physically pain me, but I know this is what I need to do for this little girl. “A royal party. For a royal girl.”
Sofia gasps so loudly, I’m shocked she doesn’t pass out. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm, setting the box and bag on the coffee table. “I know how much you like, er, dressing the animals up. There’s cake. Presents. A pink boa and tiara for you. And juice for the tea party.” I hold up a large bottle of apple juice like it’s fine wine.
Avelina looks at me. “Viktor, you didn’t have to—”
I cut her a look. “I did.” Then, in a low voice, I add, “No child should feel forgotten on her birthday.”
Sofia throws her arms around my legs before I can react. I stiffen for a heartbeat, then lower one large hand to her back, patting her carefully.
“Thank you,” she sniffles, muffled against my black combat pants.
“You are welcome, little bird,” I murmur.
As Sofia rushes off to pour pretend tea for Queenie and Albert, Avelina bites her lip, overwhelmed.
She swipes away a tear from behind her glasses before speaking quietly to me.
“Geliy may have forgotten. But you showed up—with pink tiaras, feather boas, and everything else—proving what a big heart you have…and how lucky we are to have you in our lives.”
At the end of the week, I fly Dr. Rivers back to Vegas for a final checkup on Queenie.
After his examination, he packs his things and tucks his stethoscope away. And before leaving, he hands me a small card with a photo of a sunlit room full of cats and dogs.
“This is one of the shelters I was talking about before,” he says with a smile.
Dr. Rivers refused to take the 100K I offered originally for Queenie’s surgery, instead asking me to make a donation to the animal shelters he set up as part of a charitable foundation.
“This is our branch in L.A. If you ever find yourself out there, stop in. We take in the animals no one else wants. And we never euthanize them, no matter how long they are with us.”
Sofia perks up instantly. “More cats?”
Dr. Rivers laughs. “A lot more. All looking for good homes.”
I tuck the card into my shirt pocket and nod.
He gives Queenie one final pat on the head before leaving.
“Can we go?” Sofia asks, looking at me, then Avelina, with wide, hopeful eyes. “Can we visit?”
I glance at Avelina, who raises an eyebrow but nods. “Maybe once Viktor is completely better. He still needs to rest, but we can see after that.”
And my heart lifts as I watch Sofia smile widely in response.
Later, when Avelina is nestled beside me asleep, I lie awake. My fingers drift over her arm softly. A new habit of mine.
I can’t seem to shut my brain off, though.
With my other hand, I browse the web on my phone. I could pull up the video of Avelina skating to soothe me to sleep. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I browse the animal shelter’s website. Paw Prints Sanctuary.
Every picture is full of creatures with wide eyes and cautious expressions. Some wear bandanas or hats. Strays, surrendered seniors, animals with scars, dogs who flinch from the camera, cats who don’t quite trust the warmth of a lap.
I recognize a lot of that. Each image reminds me of the small boy I used to be.
The kind that was lost in the world. The kind that was wary and always kept his distance.
The kind that learned to survive without expecting kindness.
The kind that society excluded in so many ways because I couldn’t think or feel the way they did.
There’s one photo that stops me cold. A ginger tabby called Red. She’s curled on a plaid blanket beside a one-eyed German Shepherd called Gerald. The caption reads: Bonded pair. Found under an overpass. Won’t be separated.
I stare at it for a long time.
Something in my chest tightens. The way it does when Avelina looks at me in that special way of hers. Or when Sofia calls me her best friend.
And I don’t push that feeling away.
Instead, I click the button that says Make a Donation.
I enter a very large amount.
And I set it to repeat.
Monthly.
Sofia is drawing beside me at the weekend. Her drawings are mostly of cats. And as she colors in her latest picture, she gives me her daily rundown of the vegetable garden. She’s also always around to help with Queenie’s food and medicine.
There’s a steadiness in Sofia that she didn’t have when she first came here.
I recognize the pattern.
She’s anchoring.
From what Avelina told me, Geliy never really clicked with Sofia. Her questions, the way her brain works, the meltdowns. It was too difficult for Geliy to understand. That makes me a little sad—for both Sofia and Geliy.
“Can we see the shelter?” she asks.
I blink at the book I’m not really reading.
She’s made it a point to ask every day since Dr. Rivers mentioned it.
Sometimes she’s hyper-focused, rattling off every cat and dog name on the shelter’s website.
Other times, she draws the shelter’s floor plans the way she thinks it’ll be set up.
She’s also made a list of questions for the shelter’s staff and even color-coded them by importance.
My lips twitch into a small smile.
“She’s really excited,” Avelina says, leaning over the back of the couch.
“She’s planning,” I say.
“Planning means she thinks we’re going to take her.”
And we will. Just as soon as I’m no longer being watched like a child. As much as I try to protest that I’m fine, that I can walk and stand and do everything I did before, I’m stuck here and under orders to keep resting.
Avelina kisses my temple softly. “We’re going to head to the garden. If you want to come?”
“Am I allowed?”
Her nose scrunches. “Yeah, c’mon. It’s been a while. The sun will do us all some good.”
Walking slowly, Albert and Queenie scamper at our side. After a few seconds, I pick Queenie up and let her snuggle into my arms. I don’t want her overdoing things.
When we reach the vegetable garden, I sink onto the bench. Sofia tends to the weeds near the green beans while Avelina guides Leon’s teetering steps around the planter boxes. I relax. I watch. And I answer Sofia’s questions as they come in waves.
The sun is comfortably warm.
The vibration in my pocket pulls my gaze from Avelina’s soft smile—the one that still makes my heart pound much too fast.
It’s Matvey. I don’t hesitate to answer.
“Geliy’s dead.” That’s all he says. No hello. No ceremony. No emotion. Just that one fact.
“When? Where?” My words come out in a rush.
“Zurich. Some kind of extraction gone wrong. Took a bullet through the neck. Nearly painless death.”
“Was he alone?” I ask, absorbing the weight of it. Geliy and I weren’t friends as such. We knew each other through the military. And I know these things happen in our line of work, but how will Avelina and the kids take the news?
“No. A few of the others got out.”
I scrub my jaw. “Thanks.”
The call ends. And I sit there, staring at my phone.
“Viktor? Everything okay?”
I lift my gaze. “Yeah… I mean, no.”
“What happened?” Avelina asks, pausing as Leon climbs over her lap, reaching toward a butterfly that landed on the squash plant.
“It’s...” My words falter. I’ve never had trouble saying these things before. I sigh. “It’s Geliy.”
“What about him?”
“He, uh, there was a mission. He…didn’t make it.”
Silence stretches between us.
Her expression falls. But she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t gasp or deny it. She just nods.
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it.
She nods again. “It wasn’t… I mean, he and I weren’t really anything anymore.” Another pause. “It’s terrible news. I’m not sad for me, not really. But…I’m sad for them.” Her head tilts toward the children.
Carefully, I stand and lower myself to the ground beside her. I cup her face gently and brush a stray tear from her cheek.
“It’s okay to be sad, Avelina.”
“I know.”
“I’ll make sure they’re okay,” I murmur. “Whatever you guys need.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.”
She wipes her eyes and spares me a wobbly smile. It’s not sunshine, but it’s vulnerable and honest.
I’m not good with this stuff. I don’t pretend to be.
But as she leans into me, I know that I’ll be here for her—and she knows it too.