Page 69 of Scarlet Thorns
I step closer, noting how she flinches despite my careful movements. “Hey. Look at me.”
When her eyes finally meet mine, recognition hits like lightning to the spine. Not specific memory, but familiarity so profound it stops my breath. I know this woman. Know her voice, her mannerisms, something fundamental about the way she carries herself.
But from where?
“Let me take you home,” I repeat, gentling my voice further.
“I don’t think I can go home.” The words come out broken, defeated.
“Why not?”
Her eyes are wet again— silent tears that speak of exhaustion beyond anything physical. “I’m staying in a room in Tibor’s house. Or… was.”
Blyad.
Of course she was living with that predator. Of course firing him just created another problem for this woman who’s clearly already struggling.
“What’s your name?”
“Ilona… Ilona Katona.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself.
Katona. Hungarian surname, but her accent is pure American. East Coast, maybe Boston. The familiarity grows stronger, like trying to remember a dream that’s slipping away.
“I’m Sidorov,” I tell her. “I’m the new owner. Do you work here?”
“Yes.” The word comes out husky. “I’m a waitress.”
So she’s my employee now. My responsibility. Which means protecting her from situations like this falls under my authority.
“Listen, Ilona.” I lean against the doorframe, trying to appear less threatening. “I can give you a room for a few nights until you figure out where to move. It’s in my house, but I promise— no one will touch you. You’ll be safe.”
She stares at me like I’ve spoken in ancient Greek. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you work for me now. Because what just happened is unacceptable. Because—” I stop myself before saying something that reveals too much about my past, about the women I failed to protect when it mattered. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Fair point. But you know Tibor, and look how that worked out.” The comparison is harsh but necessary. “Sometimes strangers are safer than familiar monsters.”
She considers this with the careful calculation of someone who’s learned not to trust easily. Finally, reluctantly, she nods.
“Just for a night.”
“Until you find something permanent,” I agree.
Relief floods her features, followed immediately by exhaustion so profound she looks ready to collapse. Whatever brought her to this situation— working for Tibor, living in his house, accepting his “arrangements”— it’s been grinding her down for longer than just tonight.
“Can you get your things from his place?”
“I… yes. But not alone.” Fear flickers in her eyes. “He has keys to everything. He could be waiting.”
“I’ll go with you.” The offer comes automatically, protective instincts overriding common sense. “He won’t touch you again.”
For the first time since I opened that door, she almost smiles. “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did.” The words carry more weight than a simple rescue mission should bear. “Some things can’t be ignored.”
As we leave the office together— her gathering her purse, me mentally itemizing everything that needs to change about this place— I can’t shake the feeling that this moment matters. Not just because I stopped an assault or offered shelter to an employee in need.
