Queenie is hiding under the couch, her green eyes watchful and wary. And Sofia is upset because Queenie hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
“I think she might be unwell again,” Viktor says.
Sofia looks like she’s about to cry. “She must be very, very, very hungry. She didn’t eat dinner yesterday. And no breakfast or lunch today.” My little girl is also starting to flap her hands a little, and I can tell she’s getting stressed. Sofia doesn’t handle emotions well sometimes, and it’s clear how much she loves Queenie.
“I’ve got an idea,” Viktor murmurs and disappears into the kitchen while Sofia and I keep an eye on Queenie.
Forty minutes later, Viktor returns. He crouches down awkwardly in front of Queenie. This massive, terrifying man—tattoos climbinghis neck, muscles bulging beneath a black T-shirt—is moving like Queenie’s made of the most fragile glass.
He holds out what looks like an iced popsicle.
“What’s that?” Sofia asks as her brow scrunches.
“I looked up a recipe for cat treats. It’s a tuna popsicle. Queenie loves tuna, so I’m hoping it’ll persuade her to eat a little, and then we can take her to see the vet.”
A small smile tugs up my lips.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft. His palm rests flat on the floor, waiting. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t coax. Just…waits.
Queenie sniffs the air, her little pink nose twitching, before creeping forward a centimeter at a time.
My chest feels tight, and I hold my breath as I watch.
She edges forward, finally bumping her head against Viktor’s hand to tell him that she trusts him, and his whole face transforms. And a tiny, almost invisible smile flickers over his lips, like sunlight breaking through stormy gray clouds. Then he stays perfectly still as Queenie cautiously licks the tuna popsicle, looking up at him with wide eyes as he gazes at her with pure affection on his face.
I swallow hard, my throat aching. People see his scars and his ink, and they think he’s fierce.They see his coldness, and they think he doesn’t feel. But this, this right here, is who he really is. A man with a heart so big he hides it—because the world would tear him apart if he didn’t.
Viktor saw how Queenie was struggling, and he wanted to help her. And he saw how stressed Sofia was becoming, and he also wanted to make her less worried. I love how Viktor looks out for Queenie and Albert, and I also adore how he looks out for my kids.
As Queenie continues licking the popsicle, Sofia giggles softly, clutching her stuffed toy. Viktor glances back at her, and his expression melts even more.
My heart twists.
This dangerous, guarded man would burn down the world to keep my daughter safe.
I can see it in the way he looks at her.
And maybe…in the way he looks at me, too.
My phone rings just after breakfast the next day. I answer on the third ring, my heart already pounding when I see the number. It’s the vet.
“Hi, this is Dr. Angela from Cooper Veterinary Clinic. Am I speaking to Avelina?” Her voice is soft, gentle. It raises the hairs on the back of my neck in warning.
“Yes. How’s Queenie doing?”
“I wasn’t able to get hold of Viktor just now.” I know that he’s in a meeting with Grigory and Matvey at the moment. “But I also have your number, so I thought I’d try you. I’m calling about Queenie’s test results. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
My stomach drops, and I sink down on the edge of the bed as the words sink in. “How serious is it?”
There’s a pause, and I know it’s going to be bad. “Unfortunately, she has what we call a subaortic stenosis. It’s a condition where the area just below the aortic valve becomes narrowed, impeding blood flow from the heart to the body. We’ve started her on some medication, and we’ll be monitoring the situation closely for the next forty-eight hours. There is a specialist surgeon in New York who might be able to help—if he has a free appointment and if we can get her there in time. You shouldn’t get your hopes up, though. He’s very busy and in demand. And I’m afraid you should prepare yourself for the worst, just in case. I’m so sorry that I don’t have better news.”
My throat tightens. The pit in my stomach grows to nauseating levels. This is going to devastate Sofia and Viktor. It’s already devastating me.
“We’ll keep you posted if anything changes. Is this still a good number to reach you at?”
“It is, and…thank you,” I manage to get out before the call ends.
I’m left staring at the phone.
