The Mafia's Baker

MILANA'S POV :

Life returned to normal after the birthday delivery. Or at least, that's what I thought.

The alarm rang at exactly five in the morning, just like every other day. I stretched my arms before walking downstairs, where the familiar aroma of butter, vanilla, and freshly baked bread instantly welcomed me.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Aunt Nina smiled while kneading dough.

"Morning," I tied my apron around my waist before washing my hands. "What are we making first?"

"Croissants."

"My favorite."

"That's because you're the one who always steals the first batch."

I gasped dramatically. "I don't steal!"

"You sample," she laughed.

"Exactly."

The bakery soon filled with the comforting sounds of our daily routine—the mixer hummed, the oven chimed, and customers came and went. Everything felt peaceful, simple, just the way I liked it.

---

Around ten in the morning, I stepped outside to throw away a box. As I returned, something caught my attention: across the street, a sleek black Rolls-Royce was parked beside the sidewalk, its windows darkly tinted.

I frowned. "That's strange..." Our neighborhood wasn't exactly the kind of place luxury cars visited. I shrugged it off; maybe someone was lost.

---

DMITRI'S POV :

"Boss," Sebastian "Seb" Volkov glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You've been staring at the bakery for twenty minutes."

"I know."

"Should I remind you that you have a meeting in an hour?"

"I know."

"Then why are we still here?"

I didn't answer. My eyes remained fixed on the small bakery—the glass windows, the flower boxes, and the handwritten sign that read: Fresh Bread Every Morning.

Then she appeared: Milana. She stepped outside carrying a tray of warm bread, smiled at an elderly customer, helped a little girl tie her untied shoelaces, and then gave the child a free cookie. The little girl hugged her before leaving.

"She's kind," I muttered without realizing it.

Seb looked confused. "Boss?"

"Nothing."

I had already received the investigation report: Name: Milana Orlova. Age: Twenty-four. Occupation: Baker. Lives with her aunt. No criminal record. No debts. No boyfriend. No scandals. Nothing.

She lived the kind of life most people would call ordinary, and yet there was something extraordinary about her.

---

MILANA'S POV :

Lunch break finally arrived. I sat behind the bakery enjoying a warm cup of coffee when Aunt Nina joined me.

"You've been unusually quiet."

"Have I?"

She nodded. "I know that face."

"What face?"

"The one you make when something's bothering you."

I hesitated. "Have you noticed a black luxury car outside lately?"

She looked toward the street. "No."

"Maybe I'm imagining things."

She smiled. "Or maybe someone secretly admires my beautiful niece."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "Aunt!"

"What? You are beautiful."

I laughed. "Please. The only men who come here are buying bread for their wives."

---

DMITRI'S POV :

"Boss," Seb suddenly spoke. "I don't understand."

"What?"

"If you like her, why don't you just introduce yourself?"

I stared out the window. "Because I don't belong in her world."

Seb almost laughed. "Boss, you're one of the richest men in Russia."

"Exactly." Money, power, fear—those were the things people saw when they looked at me, not the man underneath. If Milana ever learned who I truly was, would she still smile at me the same way? I doubted it.

---

MILANA'S POV :

The afternoon passed quickly. Just as we were about to close, someone knocked on the bakery door. A delivery man stood outside carrying a large white gift box.

"Miss Milana Orlova?"

"That's me."

"This delivery is for you. Please sign here."

Confused, I accepted the box as the delivery man left immediately. "Aunt, I didn't order anything."

She looked just as puzzled. "Open it."

Carefully, I untied the ribbon. Inside was a beautiful bouquet of white tulips alongside a small box of handmade chocolates, plus a simple cream-colored envelope. There was no name, no address, no sender—only a handwritten note: "For the girl whose smile is warmer than fresh bread. Have a wonderful day."

I stared at the note. "What..."

Aunt Nina's eyes widened. "Oh! You have an admirer!"

I immediately shook my head. "No, there has to be some mistake."

She picked up the flowers. "I don't think so. These aren't cheap."

I sighed. "Who would send something like this?" Neither of us knew the answer, but somewhere out there, someone did.

---

DMITRI'S POV :

"Did she receive them?"

Seb nodded. "Yes."

"And?"

"She looked confused."

A small smile escaped my lips—good, at least she accepted them.

"Boss," Seb hesitated. "Are you planning to keep sending anonymous gifts?"

"For now."

"Why?"

I looked toward the bakery one last time. "I want her to smile, without giving her a reason to be afraid."

---

SOKOLOV MANSION

That evening, the grand dining hall was unusually tense. Dmitri's grandmother, Yekaterina Sokolova, gracefully placed her teacup down.

"Dmitri."

"Yes, Babushka."

"I've chosen a suitable wife for you."

The room fell silent—his father slowly looked away, and his mother sighed quietly. Dmitri remained expressionless.

"No."

His grandmother raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't asking. You'll marry the daughter of the Romanov family, Victoria Romanova."

Dmitri's jaw tightened. "I have no intention of marrying someone I don't love."

Yekaterina smiled calmly. "You'll learn."

"I won't."

"The wedding preparations begin next month."

He stood from his chair. "They'll be canceled."

His grandmother's expression hardened. "Sit down."

He didn't. Without another word, he turned around and left the dining room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him. For the first time in years, Dmitri Sokolov openly defied the head of the family.

---

UNKNOWN LOCATION

Inside a luxurious bedroom, a young woman admired herself in the mirror as expensive diamonds sparkled around her neck. She smiled proudly.

"So the wedding is finally happening."

Victoria Romanova picked up a framed photograph of Dmitri and gently traced his face with one finger.

"It doesn't matter whether you love me or not," she smiled to herself. "You're going to become mine, no matter what it takes."