Chapter 3 - Katya
The living room shrinks every time we’re packed in here. Agafon sits at the head of the table like always, stiff and unreadable, his gray eyes flat as river stones. Bogdan and Faddey flank him, arms locked tight across their chests. Ilariy is slumped near the window, staring holes in the carpet.
Next to him, Tatiana twists her sweater so hard it bunches up in her fists. The rest of the brothers aren’t around—thank God for that—but the room still feels heavy with them.
Agafon cuts right to it. “We’ve reached terms with the Sokolovs. Full alliance. Permanent.”
I nod. Sure, that’s good news. Less blood, fewer cars blowing up on a bad morning. I start to say something—maybe even something grateful—, but he keeps rolling.
“The marriage is between you and Tikhon Sokolov,” his eyes trained on me.
The words hit like a stone in a pond. Everything ripples. Even my ears ring.
I let out this quick, ugly laugh. It sounds wrong coming out of me. “You’re joking.”
He doesn’t blink. “No.”
My eyes bounce around the table. Bogdan looks at me with that calm, reasonable face he used when I was twelve and begged to go downtown for a concert. Faddey squirms like he’s sitting on something sharp. Ilariy won’t look up. Tatiana’s knuckles have turned white.
“No,” I say, softer this time. Just to try the word out.
Agafon leans in. “This ends the back-and-forth. No more posturing, no more fighting at the edges. You’ll be safe. The family’s stronger.”
“Safe.” Tastes sour coming out. “You think marrying me off to a stranger keeps me safe?”
“You don’t have to love him,” Bogdan says, like he’s teaching me to tie a shoe. “It’s business. Mutual benefit.”
My hands shake under the table. I squeeze them together so no one sees. “It’s my life. Not a contract. Not mutual benefit. Mine.”
Tatiana finally speaks up, her voice tiny. “Katya—”
“Don’t.” I snap. She flinches, and it stings, but I can’t help it. “You knew?”
She swallows. “We all knew it was coming. Just not when.”
Ilariy finally glances up. “It’s not personal. It’s—”
“Business,” I cut him off. “Yeah. Heard that before.”
Agafon’s voice stays steady. “You’ve had your freedom. Longer than most girls in our world. You run around, throwing charity parties, pretending the shadows aren’t real. That’s over. Time to do your part.”
“My part.” I stand. My chair tips and bangs against the wall. “My part’s always been to smile and keep out of the way. I did that. I did everything you asked. Now you want to hand me off like a signature on a contract?”
Faddey rubs his jaw. “Tikhon’s not like his cousin. He’s reasonable. He’ll treat you—”
“I don’t care how he treats me!” My own shout rattles me. My throat burns. “I don’t want to be treated by anyone. I want to choose for myself. I want my life. I want to wake up and know the day’s mine. You can’t take that.”
Agafon stands too. Slow, heavy. “You think this is about what you want? It’s about what we need. The Sokolovs need a guarantee. So do we. Marriage is the cleanest way.”
“Cleanest for who?” I snap. “Not for me.”
Bogdan tries again, softer. “Katya, think about the bigger picture. Fewer funerals. Fewer hospital visits. You’ve seen what happens when the truce breaks.”
“I’ve seen plenty,” I say. “I’ve seen Ilariy come home dripping blood.
I’ve seen Tatiana cry when you wouldn’t tell her where you’d been for three days.
I’ve seen all of it. And I still built something clean.
Something that doesn’t touch any of you.
Something legal. It’s mine. And now you want to let some Sokolov take even that? ”
Agafon’s eyes go cold. “We know about the bakery.”
The room tilts under me.
I turn to Ilariy. “You told them.”
He just spreads his hands. What was he supposed to do?
Tatiana’s voice shakes. “They’d have found out anyway. Better from us than—”
“From a spy?” I finish. “From one of your men following me? Yeah. Great.”
I back up toward the door. My chest is too tight, like someone’s laced it with barbed wire.
“I’m not doing it,” I say. “You can’t force me.”
Agafon’s voice goes ice-cold. “You’ll do what’s necessary.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t.”
I turn and walk out. Behind me, voices rise—Agafon barking at me to come back, Bogdan calling my name like I’m still a kid, and Faddey muttering about patience. I don’t stop. I grab my coat, slam the door hard enough to rattle the glass, and keep walking until I’m safe inside my car.
I drive to the shop like I always do, barely thinking about it. Supposed to be my day off, but I’m unlocking the back door before I even realize I’ve parked. I slip inside, lock up, and flick on just the under-cabinet lights.
The place stays dim. The smell hits me—sweet, buttery, a little bit of yesterday’s vanilla still hanging in the air.
For a second, I can actually breathe.
I drop onto the stool at the prep table and bury my face in my hands.
Everything I care about is here. The mixer I saved up for and paid in cash, just to be safe. My recipe notebook is full of messy handwriting and coffee stains. The chalkboard where I scrawl the daily special, my cursive always a little too big.
This is the only place I’ve ever felt like myself—really myself, not the version everyone else expects.
And now someone wants to take it away.
I can’t stop thinking about Tikhon. Not the Sokolov, just Tikhon—the regular who used to come in all the time. He’s been gone for weeks now. I keep telling myself it’s nothing. He got busy. People move on.
But I miss him. God, I miss him.
I miss the way he used to lean against the counter, watching me pipe frosting like it was magic. The way he’d try something new and close his eyes, just for a second, before saying it was perfect. The way his voice would drop when he teased me for being too hard on myself.
He made this place warmer. Safer. Like I didn’t have to hide. Like just being here was enough.
I miss feeling like that.
The bell over the front door rings.
I freeze. The closed sign’s up. The lights are low. But someone’s here.
I wipe my hands on my jeans even though they’re clean and walk out front, slow.
He’s there, standing just inside the door. Snow melting on his coat, hands deep in his pockets. He looks at me like he’s been waiting forever.
My heart is pounding so hard I feel dizzy.
“We’re closed,” I say, and my voice comes out softer than I want.
“I know.” He steps forward. “Thought the owner might make an exception.”
I should throw him out. I should be mad at every man on earth right now. But seeing him—those green eyes locked on mine—something inside me just… lets go.
I step around the counter. “You disappeared.”
“Had business.” He doesn’t flinch. “Missed you every damn day.”
That lands like a spark in my chest. I stop, barely a foot away from him.
“I missed you, too,” I say. Too honest, but it’s true. “You always made things feel lighter.”
He smiles, slow and crooked. “Good to know.”
Now we’re only inches apart. I can smell cedar, snow, and him. I reach up and brush melting flakes from his collar. My hand lingers.
“Bad day,” I tell him. “Really bad.”
He covers my hand with his. Warm. Steady. “Then let me fix it.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “How?”
“Any way you want.”
Something shifts in the air—heavy, electric.
I slide my hand up to the back of his neck. “Kiss me.”
He doesn’t wait.
His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and desperate, weeks of wanting pouring out all at once.
I open for him right away. He groans against my lips, one hand cupping my jaw, the other at my waist, pulling me close.
I grab his coat and kiss him back like I need him to breathe.
He tastes of mint, coffee, and something darker.
My back hits the counter. He follows, pressing me there, solid and hot.
I’m ready to let him have me right here, right now.
He breaks the kiss just enough to speak, breathing hard against my mouth. “Tell me what date you want.”
I blink. “What?”
“For the wedding.”
Everything stops.
I shove him back, hard. He steps away, but not far.
“Wedding?” My voice cracks.
He watches me, calm. Too calm. “Yes.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Tikhon Sokolov.”
The name hits me like a punch.
I stumble back until I hit the counter. “You knew. The whole time. You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“You lied.”
“I just… let you not know.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “I wanted to meet you. The real you. Not the Letvin princess they parade around at events.”
My stomach twists. “And now you want to marry me. For the alliance.”
“For a lot of reasons.” His eyes go darker. “Mostly because I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I leave this place, I want to turn around and come back. You’re the only thing that’s felt right in years.”
I shake my head. “No. Get out.”
“I’m not leaving until you hear me.”
“I heard you.” My voice rises. “You played me. You used me. And now you want me to sign my life away because it’s convenient for you and my brothers.”
He steps closer. “It’s not convenient. It’s necessary.”
“Necessary?” I laugh, bitter. “For who? Not for me.”
He doesn’t flinch. “If you say no, then it stops being your little secret bakery. It becomes useful. Very useful.”
Ice floods my veins.
“You wouldn’t.”
I know what he means. A place to filter money through from their illegal business transactions.
“I don’t want to.” His voice drops. “But I will. If it’s the only way to keep you.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “You’d turn my shop into a front? After everything I’ve put into it? After I trusted you?”
“I’d keep it running.” He says it like that makes it better. “But it would serve the family. Both families.”
Everything inside me just splits wide open. This place is mine—every bit of it. My blood, my sweat, those stupid late nights piping roses until my hands cramped up. And now? Thinking about them using it for cash drops or whatever dirty job they’re running this week? It almost makes me sick.