Noah
The bell over the bakery door jingles.
Soft. Cheerful. Hopeful.
I step inside, carrying nothing but a worn backpack filled with cameras and the weight of a promise I made with my hand wrapped around Juliet’s pinky.
She’d kissed my knuckles after.
Whispered, “Just keep an eye on him, yeah? Tell me what he does when he’s relaxed.”
So here I am.
First day. First mission.
I’m officially Vitaly Volkov’s newest bakery assistant.
Unofficially… something closer to a spy.
The air smells like warmth and sugar.
Yeast, vanilla, cinnamon, and that faint citrus bite that clings to metal trays after being washed with lemon soap.
The walls are old cream, the counters polished wood, and there’s a handwritten sign that says “Baked With Love. And Real Butter.”
The display case gleams under soft lights.
Rows of pastries, golden and perfect.
Each one placed with care.
Like someone who knows what it means to feed people.
It feels like a place where nothing bad could happen.
Which means it’s probably the most dangerous kind of place.
I’ve only met Vitaly twice before.
Big guy. Quiet voice. Moves carefully. Like he’s aware he could break things but doesn’t want to. A gentle soul dressed in a villain’s skin.
Juliet swears he’s dangerous. I’m still trying to see it.
Behind the counter, he’s already working.
Vitaly Volkov.
Broad shoulders strain against a white t-shirt dusted with flour.
His hands are massive, knuckles scarred.
He dusts flour off his forearms, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and nods toward the back.
“You’re early.”
His accent is thick. But soft around the edges.
Like warm bread instead of hard liquor.
