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 mebackward. 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.
