Chapter One
Natalya
I glance at the dashboard and the time catches my eyes. It’s barely six in the morning; too early for most people to be awake, but Andrei sits in my passenger seat looking annoyingly alert, tapping his fingers on his knee like he’s running mental checklists.
“What is it?” I ask, barely sparring him a glance.
“Wondering if I forgot anything,” he murmurs.
“Probably not.” He’s one of the most meticulous people I know.
“What about you?”
I glance over at him, shaking my head slightly in confusion. “What about me?”
“Will you be alright alone? Sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“Andrei,” I say, finally giving in to the urge to roll my eyes despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “I don’t know if you realize it but I’m twenty now. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You say that,” he mutters, squinting at the road ahead, “but we both know you can’t be trusted with basic human needs when you’re alone. Last time I left you for forty-eight hours, you forgot to eat until I called.”
“That was one time.”
“And the time before that, you almost fainted at the shop because you’d skipped breakfast.”
“I was busy!”
“And the time before—”
“Andrei.” I cut him off before he lists my entire archive of personal failures.
“I’ll be fine. Go to Los Angeles. Spend time with Mikhail.
You’ve barely seen him since…everything.
” Since our mother fled to Russia, we’ve been trying to come to terms with the total destruction of our family over the last six months.
It’s been…hard, lonely, confusing. I’m glad Andrei has Mikhail to confide in.
I could have that too, but our age gap has made it difficult for me to form a meaningful relationship with him.
He quiets for a moment, staring out the window as New York wakes up around us, shops rolling up metal shutters, people walking dogs, taxis carving through early traffic.
“He’s excited to see you,” I add softly.
Andrei exhales. “I know. I just…you’ve never been alone before. Not really.”
He’s right. Even when we lived in that huge penthouse with our parents, I wasn’t alone, I was controlled, watched, criticized, used.
This is different.
“I can handle a week,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
He gives me a look. The kind that says he knows exactly how I feel, even when I pretend otherwise. “Call me. Every day.”
I snort. “You’re going to be with Mikhail. He’ll think I’m clingy.”
“Mikhail knows you’re the best part of this family.” He smiles. “You’re his sister too. You know he wanted you to come.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh before running through my usual list of excuses. The shop is too busy, I can’t get away this time of year, one of us should stay in the city. He just shakes his head, not challenging me again.
We pull up to the departures drop-off, and Andrei unbuckles, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Before he gets out, he pauses and touches my chin gently, forcing me to look at him.
“You’re safe now, Natalya,” he says. “Boris is gone. Mother is gone. The shop is doing great. Nothing’s going to happen.”
I nod, but something tightens in my chest anyway.
Sometimes it all feels too good to be true…
this silence, this sense of normalcy. Sometimes, the thought of Irina storming back into our lives the same way she stormed out torments me.
But now’s not the time to indulge the cloudy thoughts.
So, I flash Andrei a bright smile and give him a reassuring nod.
“I’ll be fine, big brother.”
He gives me one more searching look, then sighs and gets out. I watch him walk inside until he disappears into the crowd.
And then, the car suddenly feels too quiet.
On the drive back, I try to distract myself with errands. I stop for groceries. Pick up supplies for the shop. I tell myself I’m doing fine.
But when I pass a pet shop with a bright handwritten sign taped to the glass; “SHELTER DOGS FOR ADOPTION TODAY” I slow down without meaning to.
Before I can overthink it, I park.
Inside, the chatter of volunteers and the soft yips of puppies fill the room.
Most people crowd around the younger dogs, the ones bouncing around with endless energy.
But my eyes land on a quiet, older dog curled in the corner of her crate.
Gray around the muzzle, eyes soft and uncertain, tail thumping once when she notices me watching her.
“Oh,” I whisper. Something in my chest cracks open. “Hi there.”
A blonde woman with a jacket that says “volunteer” approaches. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks quietly.
I nod, a big smile cracking my face. “She really is.”
“She’s sweet,” the volunteer woman continues. “Just shy. Older dogs often get overlooked.”
The dog stands slowly and steps closer to the bars, pressing her nose against them. I kneel, letting her sniff my fingers. Her touch is tentative but warm.
“I’ll call you Vanda,” I murmur, brushing my fingers against her cold nose.
“You’re taking her?” the volunteer lady asks, her voice a mixture of surprise and excitement. I nod and she waves me over with a big smile.
“Come. You just need to sign a few papers.”
And that’s it. I append my signature on a few documents, pay the adoption fee, and before I know it, Vanda is ready to go home with me.
On our way back, she sits quietly in the passenger seat, watching me with those beautiful patient eyes of hers. It’s almost like she’s unsure, still yet to decide whether to settle in or not.
“Do you know what your name means, Vanda?” I ask, flashing her a smile before returning my gaze to the road ahead.
It feels silly talking to a dog but in a giddy way. Vanda tilts her head, her eyes curious like she actually really comprehends my words.
“You’re named after one of the rarest, most beautiful orchids, Vanda. Because you’re special.”
Her tail taps twice against the seat, her face lighting up with something close to a smile. My chest swells with pride and something else…a sense of euphoria that I haven’t felt in a long time.
By the time we arrive home, Vanda seems more relaxed, happy even.
She follows me everywhere for a while and then settles by the kitchen island while I prepare her food.
When I’m done, I set the bowl in front of her and she starts to eat delicately, like she’s afraid she’ll be scolded for wanting too much.
My heart aches at the sight but I can only hope she gets more comfortable with time.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her back. “All this is yours now. You’re safe here.”
Her ears flick, and she leans into the touch.
When we step out into the main shop, she stays glued to my leg—literally. She moves when I move, pauses when I pause, sits when I stop. Hypervigilant little shadow.
I don’t mind. Actually, it feels comforting.
Customers filter in throughout the morning—regulars mostly, the kind who already know my name and my tendency to ramble about the meanings behind flowers.
The first to notice Vanda is Mrs. Hill, who comes in every Tuesday for a fresh bouquet to “brighten her kitchen.”
“Oh!” she gasps, hand flying to her chest. “You got a dog?”
I smile. “Just adopted her today. Her name’s Vanda.”
Mrs. Hill crouches a little, hand extended, but Vanda darts behind my legs and hides, trembling.
“Oh, sweet girl,” Mrs. Hill whispers. “She’s shy.”
“Very,” I say, giving Vanda a reassuring pat. “Especially around new people.”
Kids, though? That’s another story.
A little boy who looks to be around six runs in later with his mom. He spots Vanda immediately, drops to his knees, and whispers, “Hi puppy.”
To my shock, Vanda inches forward, sniffs his hand, then lets him scratch her head. Her tail even moves. Not wagging, exactly but it was an improvement from his meeting with others, especially the men.
“You’re magic,” I whisper to the boy.
He beams and runs back to his mom.
The whole day goes like that.
Vanda shadows me, flinching at men, tolerating women, loving the children.
By closing time, I’m tired, but Vanda is curled under the counter like she’s decided this is her spot. Her home.
I’m counting the register when the shop door opens and the little bell above it gives a traitorous jingle.
I look up and just like that, my breath ceases.
Viktor Balshov fills the doorway like a shadow stretching across the floor. Tall, dangerous, handsome in the kind of restrained, dark way that feels like it should come with a warning label.
He steps inside without a word.
Leather jacket.
Black shirt.
Shoulders broad enough to block the sun.
Expression a perfect unyielding mask.
My heart skips. A fluttering starts in the pit of my stomach.
This is…not good.
Or maybe it’s exactly the kind of good I shouldn’t want.
“Evening,” he says, voice low, smooth, and so deep it vibrates in my stomach.
I grip the counter. “Hi. Um, Andrei’s out of town. Visiting Mikhail.”
“I know.”
Of course he knows. These men know everything.
“I’m here for the monthly,” he adds.
Right. The protection fee. Andrei always handles that and I never have any reason to interact personally with Viktor.
“Okay,” I manage. “I’ll…I’ll get it from the office.”
I flee—there’s no dignified word for it—to the back, unlock the safe, and take out the envelope. I take a breath, tell myself I’m an adult, and step back out and the Shikini meet is breathtaking…
Viktor is crouched on the floor in front of Vanda, not touching her, just holding out his hand, palm open, letting her decide. Vanda creeps forward, body trembling, nose twitching. She sniffs…once, twice. And instead of running away, she rests her chin gently on his fingers.
My mouth falls open.
“No way,” I whisper.
Viktor glances up at me, eyes unreadable but intense. “She’s cautious,” he says. “But she’s a good girl.”
“I—she doesn’t seem to like men,” I stammer. “At all. She hides from everyone who walks in.”
“She’s not hiding from me.”
There’s no arrogance in his tone. No smirk.
Just truth.
I swallow. “I’m surprised. You must have a way with dogs.”
He gives Vanda one more soft touch beneath her chin before standing to his full height, towering over me.
“I like dogs,” he says simply. “They’re honest. Unlike most people.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
Raw.
Unexpected.
“I agree,” I whisper.
His gaze lingers on me for a beat too long, uncomfortably intense, uncomfortably warm…then he holds out his hand.
“The envelope?”
“Oh!” I shove it toward him too quickly, but then his fingers brush against mine and a sharp, hot bolt races up my arm, straight to the center of my chest, leaving me breathless.
His eyes snap to mine.
For a moment, the world narrows and everything else disappears into the background; the shop, Vanda…until it’s just him.
His fingers stay on mine longer than they need to, lightly hooked against my knuckles, holding me there like he’s waiting. For what, I don’t know.
But I feel it.
The shift.
The tension.
The same crackling energy that hit me at the memorial service, only stronger now, concentrated and undeniable.
His eyes darken not in anger, but with something else. Something hungry. Something he’s trying very, very hard to hide.
“You feel that,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
It isn’t a question.
My breath stutters. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lie.
Obvious lie.
His mouth twitches, not a smile, but an acknowledgment. His fingers slowly slide away from mine, dragging over my skin in a way that makes goosebumps rise along my arm.
He pockets the envelope, never breaking eye contact.
“I’ll be back,” he says quietly. “Soon.”
My heart slams painfully against my ribs. His words sound like a promise and a threat at the same time.
“For the fee?” I ask, hating the slight tremor in my voice.
His gaze drops to my lips for a fraction of a second. “Maybe.”
Heat pours through me so fast I almost sway.
Then he turns, gives Vanda one last look and leaves the shop, the bell chiming behind him like some kind of punctuation mark on my unraveling sanity.
The door closes and an echoing silence falls over the room. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.
“Vanda,” I whisper, looking down at her wide, curious eyes. “What was that?”
She nudges my calf with her nose, and I swear she looks amused. I sink behind the counter beside her, heart still pounding.
I don’t know what scares me more. That Viktor Balshov will come back sooner than expected. Or that part of me is already waiting for him.