The first time Viktor Volkov saw her, the world narrowed to the curve of her lips as she hummed along to the radio, her fingers deftly steaming milk into a velvety swirl.
The café was a dim-lit haven tucked between two towering office buildings, the kind of place where the scent of freshly ground beans clung to the air like a promise. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the neon glow of the city outside, but inside, the warmth was thick enough to taste.
She didn’t look up when the bell chimed above the door. Too absorbed in her work, her dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks as she bent slightly to wipe down the counter.
Viktor paused just inside the threshold, his tailored overcoat still damp from the downpour, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. He wasn’t a man who paused. Not
