The Mafia's Baker

MILANA'S POV :

Three days. It had already been three days since I received the anonymous flowers, and every single morning something new appeared.

The first day brought a box of macarons. The second, a small teddy bear holding a sunflower. Today, a neatly wrapped package was waiting outside the bakery door. I crouched down and picked it up—again, no sender, no address, no name. There was only a small cream-colored envelope.

I slowly opened it: "Don't skip breakfast. Bakers deserve to be taken care of too."

I frowned. "How does this person know I skip breakfast?" I looked inside the box and found a freshly prepared breakfast sandwich, orange juice, and a warm cup of coffee—exactly the way I liked it: no sugar, just a little milk. "That's creepy," I whispered.

Aunt Nina walked over. "Another one?"

I nodded. She peeked inside the box. "Oh my... whoever he is, he pays attention."

I sighed. "That's exactly what's worrying me."

She laughed. "I think it's sweet."

"I think I'm being stalked."

---

DMITRI'S POV :

"Seb."

"Yes, Boss?"

"You wrote the note?"

Sebastian "Seb" Volkov nodded proudly. "Exactly as you requested."

I looked at the card. "Too much."

Seb blinked. "What?"

"'Bakers deserve to be taken care of too.'"

"Too romantic?"

"Too obvious."

Seb sighed dramatically. "Boss, you've been secretly admiring her for days. You buy flowers, you buy gifts, you even memorized her coffee order—and yet you're criticizing my writing?"

I remained silent. He wasn't wrong. I had memorized everything: she arrived before sunrise, tucked loose hair behind her ear when focused, hummed while decorating cakes, and secretly fed stray cats behind the bakery every evening. Small things—things no one else seemed to notice, but I did.

---

MILANA'S POV :

That afternoon, business was unusually slow when a little boy suddenly entered. He looked very familiar.

"Alexei?"

His eyes lit up. "Cake Lady!"

I laughed. "So you remembered me."

"Of course!" He proudly walked toward the display case. "Daddy said I could choose anything."

Before I could answer, a familiar deep voice spoke from the doorway. "I said one pastry. Not the whole bakery."

I slowly looked up. It was him—the man from the birthday party, the little boy's uncle. He wore a black coat over a white dress shirt: simple, elegant, yet drawing everyone's attention the moment he stepped inside.

He met my gaze. "Good afternoon."

I smiled politely. "Good afternoon, Sir."

Alexei tugged on Dmitri's sleeve. "Uncle! Can we eat here?"

Dmitri looked around the small bakery, then at me. "If it isn't any trouble."

"Not at all."

As Alexei happily enjoyed his strawberry tart, I prepared two cups of coffee—one for myself, one for our guest—and carefully placed his in front of him. "On the house."

He looked at it. "You don't have to."

"I know. But you're our customer."

He studied me for a moment before saying quietly, "Thank you."

---

DMITRI'S POV :

She smiled at everyone: the elderly couple by the window, college students, delivery drivers. She treated everyone the same—rich, poor, young, old—it didn't matter. She never changed. No wonder people liked her.

"You bake all these yourself?" I asked.

She nodded proudly. "Most of them. The recipes are my aunt's, but I've started creating my own too."

I glanced at the display. "Which one is your favorite?"

She pointed to a simple loaf of freshly baked bread. "That one."

I looked surprised. "Not the expensive cakes?"

She smiled. "My aunt always says, 'If you can make ordinary bread unforgettable, you'll never need expensive ingredients to impress anyone.'"

I couldn't help smiling. "She's wise."

"She is."

---

MILANA'S POV :

Our conversation was unexpectedly comfortable—no awkward silences, no forced smiles. For someone who looked so intimidating, he spoke surprisingly gently.

Alexei suddenly pointed at the cookies. "Uncle! I want the butterfly cookies!"

I laughed. "Those are my newest design."

Alexei looked at me excitedly. "Can we decorate cookies together someday?"

Before Dmitri could answer, I smiled. "Of course—if your uncle says yes."

Alexei immediately looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Please?"

Dmitri looked completely defeated. "Fine."

Alexei cheered happily. "Yay!"

As they prepared to leave, Alexei suddenly hugged me. "Bye, Cake Lady!"

I smiled and hugged him back. "Goodbye, birthday boy."

Dmitri watched quietly, then reached for his wallet. I shook my head quickly. "The coffee was free."

He placed money on the counter anyway. "This isn't for the coffee."

I frowned. "Then what's it for?"

He looked straight into my eyes. "For making my nephew smile."

Before I could refuse, he turned and left.

---

DMITRI'S POV :

The moment we entered the car, Alexei grinned mischievously. "Uncle."

"What?"

"You like Cake Lady."

I nearly choked. "I do not."

"You smiled."

"I always smile."

Alexei stared at me. "No, you don't."

Seb, driving, struggled not to laugh. "Young Master Alexei... I think you're right."

I shot him a warning look through the mirror.

Seb cleared his throat immediately. "My apologies, Boss."

Though the smile stayed on his face.

---

UNKNOWN LOCATION

Victoria Romanova sat elegantly in a luxury boutique, scrolling through social media. One photo caught her eye—uploaded by a guest from Alexei's birthday party. She swiped casually until she froze.

The picture showed Dmitri standing near the cake, and across from him was a smiling bakery girl. Victoria zoomed in.

"Who is she?"

Her smile faded slowly as she noticed something else: Dmitri wasn't looking at the camera or the guests—he was looking at her.

Victoria tightened her grip on her phone.

For the first time, she felt threatened.