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.
