Chapter 19

Victor

I MUSTbe fucking out of my fucking mind.

Because there’s no other way for me to explain what I’ve just done for this woman.

Or feel.

I look down at my crying wife, her body shaking with sobs, tears and snot ruining my shirt. But I don’t mind. Actually.

What I really mind is if she likes the place.

And now, I’m wondering if I’ve done too much. I know I’ve literally just broken all the rules I have for this woman.

“You, you… are welcome,” I blurt out instead of pushing her away and reacting the way I should react.

I hold her closer.

I smell the scent of her hair. Lavender and something distinctly her. It’s intoxicating.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Since when do I give a shit about how a woman smells?

But with her, it’s different. Everything is different.

Our moment is broken by Misha running up to us.

Misha and my eyes meet, and he awkwardly says, “Oops, sorry, boss.” His lips tilt upwards as he retreats downstairs. “I’m going to wait in the car.”

I hear the bell at the wooden door ding, and the door closes downstairs.

I find myself awkwardly patting her on the head and shoulder. Trying to offer some sort of comfort. It feels foreign but not entirely unpleasant.

“It’s not such a big deal,” I say gruffly, pushing the emotional woman back slightly and pulling a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe her tears and any fluids from her beautiful face.

Fuck, how is she looking so stunning when she’s crying?

Her eyes are glistening, her nose slightly red, lips trembling. I can’t tear my gaze away.

“It is!” Laura insists, her voice thick with emotion. “Victor, you don’t understand. This means everything to me. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. I can never repay you for this.”

I shrug my shoulders, feeling oddly uncomfortable with her gratitude. “Well, like I said, money is power.”

“This… this is about more than just money,” she sniffles.

I shrug off the confusion, trying to mask the unfamiliar churn of my stomach as Laura looks up at me, her eyes still shimmering with tears.

“Seriously, Victor, thank you. This… this is more than just bricks and mortar to me.”

“It’s just a building, Laura. A place to sell fucking books,” I grumble, feeling the urge to deflect the heavy emotional weight of her gratitude. My discomfort must be showing because she lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

She shakes her head, her earlier sobs transitioning into chuckles. “You’re terrible at accepting thanks, aren’t you?”

“Listen, wife,” I say, feeling a strange tightness in my chest. “This is all new to me, alright? I don’t usually do… this. Any of this.”

Laura pulls back slightly, her eyes still wet but a hint of a smile on her lips. “What? Show kindness? Generosity?”

I scowl at her. “Don’t push it.”

She actually has the audacity to laugh, a tinkling sound that does something funny to my insides.

“The big bad Victor Morozov, undone by a simple ‘thank you.’ Who would have thought?”

“Watch it,” I growl, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Truth is, she’s not wrong. I’m not used to this—being thanked, appreciated. Fucking hell, I’m not used to doing anything for anyone without an ulterior motive. But with her…

I think back to all the women who’ve cried because of me. Because I’ve hurt them, used them, discarded them. It’s never bothered me before. But the thought of being the reason for Laura’s tears, even happy ones… It doesn’t sit right.

Fuck. When did I start going soft?

This is dangerous territory.

Laura’s still looking at me with that big, olive-tinged eyes. Like I’m some kind of fucking hero instead of the bastard I know I am. It makes me squirm.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I mutter, looking away.“It’s just a bookstore.”

“It’s not just a bookstore,” she insists softly. “To me, it’s everything—my dreams, my hopes, and all my joy. It’s the legacy of my family, wrapped up in these walls.”

An uncomfortable memory surfaces.

My father presenting my mother with some ridiculously expensive jewelry. The way she’d smiled, kissed him. The way he’d looked at her like she was his whole fucking world.

Is that what this is? Am I turning into my old man, so pussy-whipped that I’m breaking my back to please a woman?

No. No fucking way. This is different. It has to be.

Love.

The word flashes through my mind before I can stop it. I almost flinch.

Loveis a weakness. A liability. And whatever this thing is with Laura, it sure as hell isn’t that.

…Right?

I’m saved from my spiraling thoughts by a loud, unmistakable gurgle. Laura’s eyes widen, and a blush stains her cheeks.

I blink at her. “Was that your stomach?”

“No!” she says quickly. Another traitorous rumble contradicts her.

I can’t help it. I laugh—a real, genuine laugh. “Hungry, wife? Forgot to eat while you were busy crying over shelves?”

She glares at me, but it’s halfhearted at best. “Shut up. I was overwhelmed, okay?”

“Mmhmm. Come on, then.” I take her hand, tugging her toward the door. “Let’s go feed you before you pass out. Can’t have you fainting all over your fancy new store.”

“So generous,” she deadpans, but she lets me lead her out.

I lock the bookshop door and in the window’s reflection, I see my wife hopping into the car, looking like the happiest person alive.

I tell myself it’s just smugness. Satisfaction at a job well done.

It’s sure as hell not anything more than that.

…Fuck.

As I slide into the backseat beside Laura, Misha meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Where to, boss?”

“The Regal Roost,” I reply, my gaze flicking to Laura. Her cheeks are flushed, her green eyes sparkling with a liveliness I haven’t seen before.

It makes me… happy?

Happy? Why the fuck would seeing her like this make me happy?

Fuck. All of this is confusing.

“Okay, boss.” Misha’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, his expression annoyingly smug. He’s had that cheeky bastard look since we were kids—always knowing more than he let on.

I shoot him a glare, but he just smirks and pulls out into traffic. Laura seems oblivious to our silent exchange, too busy admiring her new store as it disappears from view.

As we drive, I find myself watching her out of the corner of my eye. The way the sunlight catches her hair, the soft curve of her smile. It stirs something in me, something I don’t want to name.

I tear my gaze away, focusing instead on the reason behind all of this.

The real reason I’m doing this isn’t just to make her feel better. No, I need her in a good mood, so she’ll talk. I need to know what the fuck Dave wanted.

That fucker showing up at the wedding, knowing full well he’d be a dead man if I caught him… It didn’t add up.

So why risk it? What secret is he hiding?

I glance at Laura again. She looks so innocent, so guileless. But I know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving.

Time to get some fucking answers.

“You seem deep in thought,” she remarks, catching my eye. “Penny for them?”

I scoff. “My thoughts are worth a hell of a lot more than a penny, wife.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. “Of course. How could I forget? The great Victor Morozov, always so priceless.”

“Damn right,” I mutter, but my heart’s not in it.

It’s a short drive to The Regal Roost, a high-end breakfast spot known for its decadent waffles and imported coffee.

The memory hits me unexpectedly as we pull up to The Regal Roost. This place has been here for decades, a staple of my childhood. Papa and Mama used to bring us here on special occasions, a rare treat in a life that was often chaotic and unpredictable.

I remember the way Mama’s face would light up as she savored her favorite Belgian waffles, the way Papa would laugh and wipe whipped cream from her nose. For a few precious hours, we were just a normal family enjoying a meal together. No talk of business or enemies, no worries about who might be plotting against us.

It was in those moments that I first understood what love looked like. The way Papa looked at Mama like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. The way she leaned into him, trusting and content.

But now, with Laura…

No. Stop it. This isn’t about love. It’s about getting answers.

I shake off the memories as Misha opens the car door. Laura steps out, her eyes widening as she takes in the grand facade of the restaurant.

“Wow. This place looks amazing,” she breathes.

“This is a place where my parents used to bring us when we were kids…”

Suka! Why am I sharing this.

She flashes me a smile, her face flushed with excitement. It’s the same look Mama used to get, that pure, unbridled joy at the simple pleasures in life.

Fuck. Focus, Victor. You have a job to do.

And if buttering her up with gourmet food is what it takes to get her talking, then so be it.

Misha opens the door for her. She smiles at him, bright and warm, and I feel an irrational surge of irritation.

Get it together, Morozov. She’s just a means to an end. Nothing more.

But as I follow her into the restaurant, watching her eyes widen with wonder, I’m not so sure anymore.

Fuck. What is this woman doing to me?