I really thought Boris’s death would be the clean cut I need from this world. My escape. The moment my father disappeared, I let myself believe that for the first time in my life I could step out from the shadow of organized crime. That I could finally live as just Natalya, a woman who likes flowers, quiet mornings, and making pretty things. Not as a Popov. Not as the daughter of a violent man with enough enemies to fill graveyards.
But Alexei’s words were clear.
My shop is still bratva territory.
Now, it’s under Balshov control..
Andrei tries. God, he tries so hard to give us a normal life. He never wanted the power our father groomed him for. Never wanted a throne soaked in blood. But relinquishing the illegal empire won’t free us completely—not when Alexei Balshov is now the one holding the reins.
My chest tightens.
I’m grateful for Andrei, but I’m also tired. Tired of being tethered to a world I never chose.
As the families continue discussing the transfer, I glance up, and instantly regret it.
Viktor Balshov stands just behind his brothers, hands tucked casually into his pockets, posture straight. It’s the first time I’m seeing him up close.
On the surface, he’s unreadable. His face is a perfect mask, calm, blank, almost cold. But something in me, some instinct I don’t understand, picks up on the tiniest shifts.
The tightening at his jaw.
The subtle change in how he breathes.
The faintest flex of his fingers.
Quiet emotion beneath solid ice.
Andrei used to tell me I notice things other people don’t.
Right now, that feels like both a gift and a curse.
Because Viktor is…
God.
He’s beautiful.
Not in the polished, golden-boy way Mikhail is.
Not in Dmitri’s composed, quietly commanding way.
And not in Alexei’s sharp, lethal elegance.
Viktor is something else entirely.
Sleek edges wrapped around a storm.
A man who could pass as emotionless until the second he decides to feel, and then he’d feel with terrifying depth.
I start to drag my gaze away, but then his eyes flick up to mine. Our gazes clash, and I suddenly forget how to breathe.
He’s looking at me.
Not casually. Not accidentally.
He’s staring intently. Intentionally. As if to undo me.
My heart settles into an uneven rhythm, heat sweeping up my neck.
