The kitchen was stark, illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Tanya moved with practiced ease, her nimble hands tipped with acrylic nails delicately sifting through the flour.
Aleksei watched from the doorway, his arms folded over his broad chest. “You’re learning quickly,” he said.
Tanya kept her back to him, nodding slightly. “Cooking is... therapeutic.”
Aleksei’s chuckle filled the room. “Who would’ve thought, eh? The big bad enforcer of the Bratva, now my little domestic goddess.”
Once a rival mobster who’d nearly toppled Aleksei’s empire, Tanya - formerly Anton - had been captured and subjected to an unfathomable transformation. After being nearly starved to death, a simple surgery robbed him of his testicles, and then hormones began. He’d sprouted little breasts, his hips and ass swelled, and his face softened. But it wasn’t enough. Although he begged and pleaded, Aleksei still insisted on the final touch: facial feminization.
Aleksei approached and placed a hand on her shoulder—a touch that once would have incited violence between them. Now it only brought revulsion that Tanya dared not show. “I never thought I’d see you like this—pliant and domesticated.”
Tanya’s fingers tightened around the rolling pin. “People change.”
A smirk played on Aleksei’s lips as he leaned close. “Yes. And sometimes they are changed.”
The scent of apples filled the air as Tanya sliced them with precision born of years wielding more lethal blades than a kitchen knife.
“You will serve this at dinner tonight,” Aleksei instructed. “Our guests must see how well you’ve… adapted to your new life.”
As he left the kitchen, Tanya allowed herself a thin smile. Adapted? Yes. But unbroken.
She reached for an unmarked bottle stashed among spices—an old friend smuggled in amidst shipments from overseas—and sprinkled it into the flour.
Odorless. Tasteless. But utterly deadly.
Tanya thought of the long, torturous nights—the cold sweat, the tears, the endless cycle of resistance and resignation. Would she meet her end after tonight? Although Aleksei and his guests might be dead within minutes, the house was at least a hundred kilometers from civilization, and the staff was loyal to their master. No one would hesitate to put a bullet in her if they discovered she was responsible for their deaths.
But as she rolled out the dough, smoothing it over with the pin, Tanya felt something that had been absent for far too long: A sense of control. Better to die a free woman than live as a captive doll.
But...what if she could LIVE? Hiking a hundred kilometers through the frozen wilderness was impossible, maybe - especially in her condition. But then, she’d survived the impossible before.
She slid the pie into the oven and set the timer. She’d watch them eat, watch them die, and take her chances with the cold. Her life as a man was over—but just because Anton was dead didn’t mean Tanya had to follow him to the grave. Besides, being the first woman to lead the Bratva was an enticing thought, even if it was a long shot. Many would have to die before they’d accept her.
Luckily, she made excellent pie.