Chapter Three
Natalya
Sometimes I wake up before him.
Just early enough to feel the weight of Viktor’s arm heavy around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest pressed to my spine. In those moments, when the world is still quiet, I lie there and wonder how all of this happened so quickly.
How he happened so quickly.
Three days ago, I barely knew the sound of his voice outside of short, clipped sentences exchanged during the monthly payment.
Three days ago, I thought Viktor Balshov was nothing but a shadow with a pulse; cold, unreadable, carved from stone and silence.
Someone to fear. Someone to avoid. Someone whose presence meant tension.
And now he sleeps in my bed like he belongs there.
Now his fingers learn my body every night, pleasuring me in ways I never thought possible, until I’m dissolving under his touch, until my body forgets every other version of intimacy except the one he is giving me.
He never rushes. Never takes more than I offer.
He just gives.
Pleasure.
Praise.
Warmth.
A steadiness I didn’t know I was starving for.
I keep thinking he’ll push for more—for sex—for something final and claiming and overwhelming, but he doesn’t. Viktor is deliberate. Controlled. Determined to go slow no matter how breathless I am under him, no matter how badly I want him to cross that last line.
Sometimes I think he’s being gentle for me.
Sometimes I think he’s restraining himself for reasons he hasn’t said out loud.
Either way…it’s making me fall faster.
It does help that we have kinda fallen into a routine.
Every morning, I watch him pull on his clothes, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants with the same quiet care he uses to tuck me back under the blankets.
Every morning, he presses one kiss to my forehead—just one—and murmurs something soft in Russian that curls warm and sweet around my heart even though I don’t understand all of it yet.
Then he leaves for the day.
And I go to the shop, pretending my life is as normal as it looks from the outside. I trim stems. Rearrange displays. Chat with Mrs. Hill about her son’s school play. Comfort Vanda when men walk too close to the counter. Serve coffee to regulars. Smile. Work. Wait.
Because by seven o’clock every evening, without fail, the bell over the shop door chimes.
And he’s there.
Still in dark clothing. Still looking like danger wrapped in discipline. Still wearing that look he only ever gives me—the one that makes my heart flutter like it’s trying to speak a language my mouth hasn’t caught up to yet.
We close the shop together like it’s a ritual we’ve always had.
We check on my orchids on the second floor, the warm glow of the grow lights brushing over his sharp jaw, softening him in ways nothing else seems to.
He listens as I talk about watering cycles and humidity levels, and I’ve caught him saying a flower’s name before I do.
Then he takes Vanda for her evening walk, her tail finally wagging for a man she trusts.
I make dinner.
He sets the table.
We eat.
Talk.
Sit in that quiet way that feels more intimate than words.
Then back to bed.
His hands on me.
His voice in my ear.
His patience unraveling me piece by piece until I fall asleep tangled around him again like I was made to fit there.
It’s only been a few days.
But it feels like something old.
Something inevitable.
Something that’s been waiting for the right moment to finally breathe.
And as much as I try to slow myself down—as much as I try to stay grounded—I know the truth every time I wake up beside him, his arm heavy across my stomach, his fingers curled loosely in the sheets like he’s holding the edge of a dream he doesn’t want to lose.
I’m falling in love with Viktor Balshov.
It’s crazy. He isn’t the kind of man I fantasized about as a girl. Far from it. I wanted a “normal” man that had nothing to do with the bratva lifestyle.
Jokes on me I guess.
I let out a soft sigh, glancing up at the small digital clock beside me on one counter. It’s a quiet afternoon and Viktor isn’t due for another thirty minutes. So I head to the backroom to organize inventory. And soon, the bell over the front door jingles. Just as I was expecting…
My heart skips in anticipation.
I smile to myself, smoothing my hair out of instinct as I head toward the doorway. “Viktor?” I call lightly. “You’re—”
Vanda’s terrified growl stops me dead. My heart skips again but not in anticipation this time.
Vanda only ever growls like that when she’s scared or cornered.
I step fully into the shop and my stomach drops. Two men I’ve never seen before stand in the center of the room. They don’t look like the bratva nor Balshov men. These ones are street-level with drugged gazes and rough edges.
One is tall with a snake tattoo curling up his neck. The other is shorter but bulkier, arms crossed like he thinks the position makes him look smarter.
They both turn when they hear me.
“Well, look who it is,” the taller one says with a smirk. “The little flower girl.”
The shorter one snorts. “Didn’t think she’d be this young.”
I force my voice steady. “We’re closed. You need to leave.”
Snake-Neck laughs. “Nah. We’re here for business.”
My pulse spikes.
Business.
They don’t know me, but they know this place.
They know the Popov name once hung over it like a shadow.
“This isn’t Popov territory anymore. With your dear daddy gone, we’re claiming it now,” the shorter one says, stepping closer. “Which means you owe—”
“I owe nothing,” I say sharply.
He stops a foot away from me, his sour breath hitting my face. “That so?”
Vanda presses against my leg hard enough to hurt, trembling violently. I scoop her up immediately, holding her against my chest. She buries her face into my neck, whimpering.
Snake-Neck clicks his tongue. “Cute dog.”
“Leave,” I warn, keeping my voice even despite the fear clawing at my ribs. “Now. You have no business here.”
“The Popovs are done,” he snaps. “And Balshov can’t hold onto every damn corner of this city.”
The moment he says the name, a chill skates down my spine. They know the territory lines. But they think the shop is unprotected now that Boris is dead. They think they can take advantage.
“It’s time for you to pay,” the shorter man says, grinning. “A fee. Weekly. Starting now.”
“No. Take it up with the Balshovs.”
He blinks, surprised I didn’t even hesitate.
Snake-Neck’s smile drops. “Wrong answer.”
The shorter one grabs a vase from a display and hurls it to the floor. It shatters into bright porcelain shards. The crash echoes through the shop.
I flinch but hold Vanda tighter. “Stop! Don’t you dare touch anything else!”
“What are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” he says mockingly. “You gonna stop us? All you have to do is pay.”
“No,” I whisper again, but inside I’m at war. I know paying them would only make things worse, but how else am I going to get them out of here?
I think of Viktor. Of how he always stands just behind me when we walk through the shop at night. Of how he listens for every sound. Of how safe I feel when he is near. Of how sure I am that he could fix this.
I wish he was here. Especially now.
Snake-Neck steps forward, sweeping his arm across an entire shelf.
Everything—glass, petals, stems—hits the floor in a violent crash.
“Tomorrow,” he says coldly. “You have our money ready. Or we’ll do more than break a few flowers.”
He leers at me in a way that makes me sure of what he is thinking. I shudder at the thought of this disgusting man laying a hand on me. He notices my reaction.
His eyes go sharp with anger. “Careful, little girl.”
They turn toward the door. The shorter one stops long enough to tip over another table, scattering roses everywhere. Snake-Neck spits on the floor beside the debris.
“This is your last warning,” he says. “Pay tomorrow. In cash…or otherwise.” He gives me another look that fills me with dread.
Then they leave, the bell chiming cheerfully as the door swings shut behind them. The shop falls into a suffocating silence. I stand frozen among the destruction, Vanda trembling violently against me, my own breath caught somewhere between shock and panic.
“You’re alright, Vanda,” I murmur quietly, pressing a kiss to her head. Then I lower her gently to one of the couches in the waiting area.
“Stay here,” I say, gently patting her head. She looks at me, her huge brown eyes filled with worry and anxiety. I manage a smile, running my palm down his back. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
After she settles into the couch, I walk over to the storage room to pick a broom, then I go back into the shop and start to sweep the shards. My head is still in a haze and I’m merely hanging on— just going through the motions.
Suddenly, the bell above the door jingles again.
I jolt so hard the broom slips from my hand and clatters across the floor. My heart slams against my ribs, terror spiraling all over again.
“Natalya? My God…it’s a disaster in here,” he says, anger already seeping through his tone. “And you are crying,” he adds, gentler.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Viktor points it out.
I look up, our eyes meet and the emotions I’ve been trying to keep at bay crashes over me all at once.
Viktor strides into the shop, his eyes scanning the wreckage.
I watch his shoulders tense up, his usually unreadable eyes flaring up with pure, lethal fury.
“Who did this?” he growls and the sound seems to vibrate through the entire space.
I wipe at my face frantically, but new tears streak down my cheeks. “Two men. They…they said I had to pay them. A fee. Like—like we pay you.”
He steps closer and cups my face gently—so gently I almost lost it completely. “Lepestok…look at me.”
I do and the anger drains from his eyes instantly, replaced with something far deeper, heavier, protective enough to make my throat close.
“Did they touch you?
His voice was cold. Controlled. Deadly.
“N-no. I’m fine,” I whisper.
“Can you identify them?”
“Y-yes? Maybe…” I trail off with a helpless shrug. “I don’t know—everything happened so fast.”
“It’s fine, babe,” he says, pulling me against his chest. “I’m here now.”
I sag against his body and take in a deep shaky breath, letting the smell of him calm me. When Viktor pulls back, I almost protest but then he takes my hand and calls for Vanda to come with us.
He leads me up the stairs to the apartment, and takes me straight to the couch. Then he picks up Vanda, sets her beside me, and kneels in front of me. His touch is firm but tender as he pushes my hair out of my face, wipes away the tears I’ve missed.
“Stay with her,” he says softly to the dog, almost like she’s a child, then looks up at me. “I’ll be back.”
Then he walks away and it takes everything in me not to cling to him.
I’m not some clingy Disney princess who found her prince.
I watch him disappear into the bathroom and a minute later, I hear water running. Then he returns, and scoops me into his arms. I gasp, burying my face in his shoulder as he carries me toward the bathroom.
The tub is filled halfway with warm water and lavender-scented oil.
“Arms up,” he murmurs.
My cheeks burn, but I obey. He undresses me gently, carefully, like I’m made of porcelain.
His knuckles brush my skin, sending shivers through me that have nothing to do with fear.
Once I’m naked, he eases me into the water, holding me steady until I settle.
The warmth hits me instantly, followed by a rush of relief.
He sits on the edge of the tub behind me, pulling my wet hair aside and massaging my tense shoulders with slow, careful circles.
I sag forward, trembling for an entirely different reason.
“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing the top of my head. “Breathe, lepestok.”
I inhale shakily and let it out slowly. He kisses my hair. My temple. My jaw. The sensitive spot behind my ear. My whole body begins to unclench, one careful touch at a time.
“Want me to call Andrei?” he asks, his lips brushing sensuously against my ears.
I shake my head even before the word escapes my lips. “No.”
“Natalya…”
“He’ll rush home,” I interrupt quickly, my voice cracking. “He’s been so excited to see Mikhail and get a break from the city. I want him to enjoy his time there.”
Viktor sighs. “He and Mikhail will be furious if they find out I kept this from them.”
“I’ll tell them both. I promise. Just…not yet.” I look back at him, pleading. “Please.”
He studies me for a long moment then lets out a defeated sigh.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”
Relief floods through me.
He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Good girl.”
My breath catches.
He kisses the top of my head again and rises. “You’re calmer now.”
“A little,” I whisper.
“Good.” He grabs a towel and hands it to me. “I’m going to take Vanda for a short walk and order us dinner.”
Instant panic flares across my chest. He sees it and kneels again, cupping my face.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he says firmly. “I sent a message to three of my men and they’ll be outside the building in five minutes. Armed. Watching every angle. You’re safe, lepestok. No one will come near you.”
I swallow hard and force myself to nod.
He leans forward, kissing my forehead with slow, deliberate tenderness.
“I’ll be gone for only a few minutes,” he murmurs. “And when I come back, I’m staying all night.”
My heart skips a beat. And not from fear this time.