I show up at her shop the next day.
Not for the protection fee.
Not for business.
For her.
I tell myself it’s because Mikhail asked me to check in on her while Andrei’s gone— “just until he’s back,” he’d said. A simple favor. One I could have handled from a distance. A phone call. A drive-by. Sending one of my men.
But I’m here.
Hands full.
My arms are literally full with a takeout bag in one hand, a soft chew toy shaped like a duck in the other, and dog treats in my jacket pocket.
It’s ridiculous.
I know this.
I’ve never walked into any building carrying anything this domestic.
But I push open the glass door anyway, the bell above it giving that same bright little jingle that annoyed me yesterday—until I saw her.
She’s behind the counter arranging peonies in a vase, her hair falling forward as she leans in. Brown, soft, shoulder length. It curls a little at the ends, brushing her collarbones. She looks up and God, those eyes…those warm brown-green depths that change color with the light.
Right now when she’s looking at me with her mouth slightly parted like fish caught on dry land. I stare at those lips a second longer. Too soft for this world. For men like me.
She’s so damn beautiful.
Not in the flashy, look-at-me way some women try to be. In a way that makes my chest tighten without permission.
In a way that makes me want to stare.
To keep staring.
To get closer.
“Viktor?” she says, voice soft with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
I lift the duck toy. “Wooing your dog.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“And I brought food.” I hold up the bag. “For you.”
Her cheeks flush a shade I could learn to crave.
“I—why?”
I could lie.
I should lie.
But the truth presses against my teeth.
“I wanted to see you again.”
She swallows, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter like she needs something to hold. Her nervousness hits me low and sharp, not because it annoys me, but because it’s real. Honest.
