Chapter 14 - Tikhon
I’ve never been one for sentiment. Growing up as a Sokolov, you learn fast that feelings are a luxury you just don’t get. My father made sure of it—me, Alexey, Andrei—we all got the same lesson from the beginning: weakness gets you killed.
Back then, he was a mid-level enforcer until Viktor dragged us all down with him.
Dad would come home with fresh bruises almost every night, but he never once complained.
“Pain just means you’re still breathing,” he’d tell me, clapping me on the back, even when I was eight and bawling over a split lip from a schoolyard scrap.
“Toughen up, Tikhon. The world doesn’t care if you cry. ”
So I did. Learned to swallow the hurt and keep it deep down, buried under calculation and control. By the time I was twelve, Viktor had me running errands—delivering messages, keeping an eye on street corners.
By sixteen, I’d killed a man—some dealer thought he could steal from us.
I remember the feel of the gun, the jolt in my arm, the way his eyes just emptied.
I didn’t feel guilty. Just cold, sharp satisfaction.
I did what I had to do. Dad patted my shoulder that night.
“Good job, son.” Mom cried in the kitchen, but she never said a word. She understood this life.
That’s how I ended up like this: logical, obsessive when I have to be, fiercely protective of the very few people I let in.
Arina’s always been the exception—my little sister, the only soft spot I let myself have.
Watching her marry Ilariy Letvin was a risk, but it worked. Helped keep the truce alive.
But Katya? She broke through walls I didn’t even know were there. The first time I tried her cupcake, her quick wit lit something inside me I thought was gone for good. Now she’s in my bed every night, her body fitting against mine as if it were always meant to.
My need to protect her is almost insane. I’d burn the world down for her. And with Fadir Klem threatening her? It’s not just anger. It’s a rage that keeps me awake, turning over plans like chess pieces on a board already stained with blood.
Agafon calls while I’m in the study, watching security feeds from the shop. Katya’s there now, safe behind locked doors, my men waiting outside. But Agafon’s voice is all ice. “Sokolov. We need to talk. Now.”
I know what’s coming before he says it. “The incident.”
“Yeah. The fucking incident where that psycho walked into my sister’s shop and threatened her. And you didn’t tell us?”
I lean back, rub my temple. “I handled it.”
“Handled it? By keeping it quiet? She’s our blood, Tikhon. Not just your wife.”
I hear the same possessiveness in his voice that I feel in mine, and it grates. “She’s safe. That’s what matters.”
“We’re coming over. All of us.”
He hangs up before I can say a word.
When they show up—Agafon out front, Bogdan and Faddey like his personal muscle, Ilariy hanging back with that grim look—the air in the house is thick. Katya gets home early, probably feeling the storm brewing from my mood alone.
She stands next to me in the foyer and slides her hand into mine for a second, her pulse racing but steady. My anger’s right under the surface, protective instincts on full alert. These are her brothers, but if they upset her…
Agafon doesn’t waste a second. “Katya. Why didn’t you call us?”
She lifts her chin. “I handled it. Tikhon was there right after.”
“Handled it?” Bogdan scoffs. “By letting him walk? We’ve got eyes too, you know. Our guys were tracking Fadir’s crew, found your little bakery secret by accident.”
Her face goes pale. “You… know about the shop?”
Faddey nods, looking almost sorry. “Yeah. And we’re pissed you kept it from us, but that’s not what matters right now. The point is protection.”
Ilariy steps forward. “Katya, we’re putting a stakeout at the shop. Our guys, inside and out. No arguments.”
The room erupts.
Katya’s voice cuts through first. “No! Absolutely not. This is my place. Mine. You’re not bringing guns and paranoia into it.”
Agafon’s eyes narrow. “Paranoia? That bastard threatened you. You think he’s finished? We’re not risking it.”
She spins on him. “You’re not risking anything! It’s my risk, my business! You’ve controlled everything—my schools, my friends, even what I wear to your ridiculous galas. Not this. Not the one thing that’s clean.”
Bogdan crosses his arms. “Clean? In our world? Don’t kid yourself, Katya. Nothing’s clean.”
She turns to Ilariy. “You know what this means to me. You helped me start it. Tell them no.”
Ilariy shifts, uncomfortable. “I do know. But safety comes first. Fadir’s dangerous.”
She spits the word at him. “Traitor.”
The argument just keeps going—everyone talking over each other, accusations flying back and forth.
Katya’s cheeks burn red, her eyes shining with tears she refuses to let fall.
I can feel my anger rising every time they talk down to her, as if she’s still some little kid.
I can’t take it when Agafon starts yelling.
“Enough,” I cut in, voice low and sharp. “This isn’t a debate. The shop stays the way it is. No stakeout.”
Agafon whips around at me. “You don’t get to make her decisions.”
“I decide with her,” I snap back, staring him down. “She said no. Respect it.”
They ignore us. They bulldoze right past—already making calls, setting things up like we never spoke. Katya storms off, slamming the study door hard enough that the walls shake. I follow, leaving her brothers muttering behind me.
She’s in the kitchen, pacing like a caged animal, fists clenched tight. “They never listen. Never have, never will.”
I go to her, slow and careful. “Katya—”
“Don’t.” She whirls on me, furious. “You’re just as bad.
Telling me this is for the best? That it’s for my protection?
Since when do you care about my freedom?
You threatened to turn the shop into a Bratva front from day one.
Was this your plan the whole time? Use my place for your business, just like you always wanted. ”
That hits me hard, right in the gut. “What? No, Katya, that’s not—”
“Don’t lie.” Her voice shakes, eyes blazing. “You’re possessive, territorial. Ever since Fadir showed up, you’ve been watching me even closer than my brothers. This is perfect for you, isn’t it? Your men in my space, watching my every move. Just admit it.”
I can barely breathe. The hurt comes fast and sharp. “You really think that’s me? After everything? I’ve fought your brothers for your independence. I married you because I couldn’t stand the idea of losing you, not because I wanted to keep you locked up.”
She shakes her head, and this time the tears spill over. “Then why agree? Why say this is for the best?”
“Because Fadir’s a monster!” I can’t help raising my voice. “You don’t get it. He’s not just dangerous—he’s a nightmare. I’ve seen what he’s done. The woman he’s broken. If keeping you safe means making you angry, I’ll take it. Every time.”
She pulls away from me. “That’s not protection. That’s control.”
“It’s love,” I snap, and the anger boils over.
I picture Fadir near her, twisting what’s mine, doing to her what he’s done to others.
“You want the truth? I can’t lose you. Not to him.
Not to anyone. You’re everything, Katya.
The first good thing since Arina. Dad beat the softness out of me, Viktor made me a weapon, but you?
You make me feel human. I won’t let Fadir take that away. ”
She just looks at me, breathing hard. “Then trust me. Let me handle my own life.”
“I do. Just…not with this.”
Her face goes cold. “Get out.”
I try one last time. “Katya, please. Just listen—”
“Out!”
I leave, the door closing behind me with a sharp click that sounds way too final. I lean against the wall in the hall, head pounding. Her words echo—planned this? Wanted to use her shop?
It’s the opposite. I’ve fought for her freedom because it’s what I love most about her. Still, the anger sits heavy in my chest, tangled with fear. Fadir’s out there, probably laughing at me. And now Katya’s pushing me away.
Downstairs, her brothers are gone. Good. I pour a whiskey and knock it back in one go. Memories flood in—nights spent alone after Dad died in that shootout when I was twenty, Viktor pulling me deeper into the life.
“You’re family now,” Viktor told me. But family meant blood, not comfort. Not warmth. Not until Katya. She changed everything. Made me want something better than just surviving.
I can’t lose her. Not to Fadir. Not over this fight.
But she’s made up her mind. At least for now.
I pour another drink, just staring into the glass. I can’t get Fadir’s face out of my head—his threats, his laugh. It lights me up inside, angry and ready to fight. I’ll go toe-to-toe with him again if I have to. I’ll end him. For her.
The afternoon drags. I pace the study, checking security feeds over and over—the shop, the house, every angle. Katya doesn’t come down. No phone call. Nothing. The silence grates, but I stay away. She needs the space. I need to figure out my next move.
Viktor texts: Fadir spotted. Warehouse district. Moving now.
I grab my coat and tuck my gun into my waistband. Tell the guys outside to double-check everything, then head out.
The warehouse is half-collapsed, rusted beams and broken windows, wind howling through like it’s haunted. I park a block away and move on foot—quiet, sticking to the shadows. Viktor and three others wait at the back, faces set and serious.
“He’s inside,” Viktor whispers. “Four men with him. Armed.”
I nod. “We go in quietly. Take ‘em down. I want Fadir alive.”
Door goes down, flashbangs roll in. Chaos hits—the bang of guns, people shouting, echoes bouncing off metal.
Viktor drops one of Fadir’s guys with a shot to the knee.
Another lunges at me; I dodge, drive my elbow into his throat.
He crumples. Bullets buzz past—close enough to feel.
I duck behind crates, fire back. Catch one in the shoulder—he screams, gun skittering away.
Fadir yells, his voice bouncing around the place. “Sokolov! Come out, you coward!”
I spot him, crouched behind a forklift, eyes wild. I move fast, keeping to the dark. A bullet grazes my arm—hot flash, blood soaking through. Doesn’t matter. I close in.
He sees me too late. I tackle him—metal shelves crashing, tools clattering. We roll, fists flying, his knife flashing. He slices my arm—sharp pain—but I grab his wrist and wrench until the knife drops. “You should’ve listened,” I growl, my knee in his gut.
He laughs, flecks of blood on his teeth. “She’s next. I’ll make her scream your name before I cut her tongue out.”
Something in me snaps. All I see is Katya. I slam my fist into his face—once for the threat, again for the laugh, again for every nightmare he’s brought us. Bone gives way. Blood spatters. He’s still trying to laugh, choking on it.
Viktor hauls me off. “Boss. That’s enough. We need him breathing.”
I stand there, chest heaving, staring down at the mess I made. “Tie him up. We’re not finished.”
Fadir spits a tooth. “You can’t protect her forever. She’s mine to break.”
I crouch, grab his jaw hard. “She’s mine. Touch her, and I’ll make your stories look like mercy.”
We drag him out, bound and gagged. The drive to our safehouse is silent, my mind on Katya. The confrontation has lit a fire—anger burning bright, protectiveness a shield. Fadir’s done. But the war’s not over.
I get home late, wounds bandaged roughly. Katya’s waiting—eyes wide, taking in the blood. She doesn’t ask. Just pulls me close.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
We talk then—long into the night. I share more: Dad’s death, Viktor’s cruelty, how Katya’s the light I never expected. She listens, holds me. The connection deepens—forged in fire, unbreakable now.