Chapter Five #2
We dress. Make breakfast together. He cooks eggs while I slice fruit, both of us moving around the kitchen like we’ve done it a dozen times before instead of just three days.
He takes my plate before I can sit and fills it for me.
He pours me juice without asking. He brushes stray hairs from my face while he eats.
Casual touches, small gestures that warm something deep inside me.
I let myself get so lost in the dream that is Viktor Balshov that I almost forget the real world.
Almost.
It isn’t until I’m pulling on my shop apron, tying the strings behind my back, that the memory hits me like a sudden blow.
Snake-Neck. The crashes. Vanda trembling in my arms. Their threats.
Everything I’d shoved aside the moment Viktor touched me last night comes back in a cold rush.
My hands start to shake.
“Natalya.”
Viktor steps behind me and smooths his palms down my arms. “You don’t have to go downstairs yet.”
“I do,” I whisper. “It’s my shop.”
He nods, but doesn’t look convinced. We head downstairs, and the moment I step into the shop, I gasp in shock.
It’s…clean.
Not just clean; spotless. The shelves are upright, glass replaced, floor swept and tables set back where they belong. Someone even tried to remake the floral displays—and boy, did they try.
The roses are shoved in sideways. The tulips are practically frowning. One of the vases is filled with what looks suspiciously like random stems they must have found lying around.
I blink, and then a soft, quiet laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“It looks like a toddler arranged these,” I whisper.
Viktor huffs something like a laugh behind me. “Alexei’s men are soldiers, not florists.”
“They tried,” I say, genuinely touched. “They really tried.”
“He cares about you, you know. Because Mikhail is family. Which makes you family too, my love. And now that we are together, your safety is in my hands—in the hands of all of the Balshov brothers.”
The warmth in my chest spreads slowly. Maybe not all Bratva are cruel. Maybe my father was just…the worst version of power.
And the Balshovs—well, Viktor, at least—are something different.
For the next couple of hours, Viktor helps me redo all the displays.
He watches me work with a kind of absorbed quietness, handing me stems before I even ask, fetching ribbon, adjusting lighting.
Once, I catch him frowning in concentration at a bouquet like he’s trying to understand it. It melts me a little.
When the last arrangement is finished and everything is back to normal, he finally sighs.
“I have to go meet with Alexei,” he says, brushing his knuckles over my cheek.
My stomach dips. “Now?”
“I won’t be long.”
“But…” I glance toward the door where two large men in dark coats stand guard inside the shop. Their presence is loud even in the silence. And Vanda is pressed against my leg, ears back, clearly nervous.
“They can’t stay there,” I whisper. “Customers will see them and think something’s wrong. And they’re making Vanda anxious.”
Viktor considers this, jaw ticking. He hates compromising on safety—I can see it in the way his shoulders tense. But after a moment, he nods.
“Fine.” He turns to the men. “Go to the café next door. Sit by the window. Eyes on the door at all times.”
They nod and leave immediately.
Vanda relaxes.
So do I.
Viktor crouches and cups Vanda’s scruffy face between his big hands.
“Listen to me, big girl,” he murmurs. “I need you to watch her. Anyone comes too close, you growl and bite. Yes?”
Vanda wags her tail once like she understands perfectly.
He stands and kisses the top of my head.
“I’ll be back soon, lepestok.”
And then he leaves, the bell chiming softly as the door closes behind him.
***
It’s evening and Viktor isn’t back—not like I’m glancing at the door every few seconds like an anxious new wife.
Not at all.
In fact, I’m currently putting finishing touches to the last ribbon on a large bouquet of white lilies, soft blush roses, and eucalyptus, something one of my regulars begged me to make because, apparently, his wife is “madder than a wet cat” about him working extra shifts.
“Will this help?” I ask, fluffing the petals.
The man, Bob, scratches the back of his neck. “If it doesn’t, I’ll fake my own death.”
I laugh despite everything. “Tell her you picked the flowers yourself.”
He blinks. “You want me to tell her a lie?”
“A romantic half-truth,” I correct.
He grunts but takes the bouquet with a surprising gentleness for a man built like a giant. Just as he steps outside, a loud crash erupts from the café next door, mangled with the sound of chairs scraping against the ground.
Someone screams, the sound rending the air like some horror-movie soundtrack.
“What in the…?”
I hurry to the shop’s front windows, my heart lurching. Outside, a bicyclist is sprawled across the sidewalk, tangled with two overturned café tables. Coffee cups, pastries, and metal chairs litter the ground like confetti.
And the worst part?
The table he hit is the one Viktor’s men were sitting at. Both guards are on the ground, half-buried under a mess of bicycle wheels, metal chair legs, and a flailing, apologizing cyclist.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, moving toward the door without thinking, half wanting to see if they’re okay, half terrified that something worse is about to happen.
Before I can take another step, a hand clamps over my mouth, while another arm wraps around my waist, dragging me backward. I try to scream, but it comes out muffled against a gloved palm.
“Quiet,” a harsh voice growls against my ear. “Make a sound and I’ll put a hole in you.”
My blood turns to ice as my brain registers the cold metal pressed against my temple.
A gun.
He drags me toward the back of the shop, and Vanda’s bark explodes from somewhere near the counter, frantic and terrified.
“Vanda!” I try to speak, but the man covers my mouth harder.
“Move,” a second voice snaps. “Back room.”
They shove me forward, and my shoes scrape against the floor as I stumble, trying desperately to keep my balance.
Vanda darts forward, snarling, teeth flashing.
The man aiming the gun shifts the barrel toward her.
“No!” I gasp, finally managing to break free enough to speak. “Don’t hurt her!”
The man holding me sneers. “Then tell your mutt to back off.”
“Vanda,” I whisper, voice trembling. “It’s okay. It’s okay, girl. Stay with me.”
Her ears flatten and she tucks her tail obediently. But she stays close, growling low in her throat
“Closet,” one of the men orders, pushing me toward the back hallway.
He yanks open the small storage closet where I keep extra pots and ribbon spools then pushes me in.
“Please—” I beg helplessly. My heart is beating wildly, my stomach twisting into painful knots.
“Now.”
I grab Vanda’s collar with shaking fingers and pull her into the closet with me. Her body is shaking as hard as mine. The moment we’re inside, the door slams shut, plunging us into darkness.
A lock click, followed by silence.
I press my forehead to the door, my heart hammering violently, my knees threatening to give out. I reach into my apron pocket for my phone and it hits me like a brick to the gut—
I left my phone on the counter when I heard the crash.
Viktor’s men are still outside, buried under a pile of café furniture and a panicking cyclist. They didn’t see anything. They couldn’t have…
Nobody knows I’m in here.
Nobody knows I’m in danger.
A cold wave of dread crashes over me, tightening around my lungs.
“Vanda,” I whisper in the dark, pulling her trembling body against mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby.”
But even as I say the words, I know they’re meant more for myself than her.