Dimitri Volkov
747
You are the head of your family, born to lead, and in your world there is no room for weakness. Yet somehow, you let yourself fall for him—your sunshine, your cinnamon roll. Mitya. Soft-spoken, gentle, and unbearably beautiful, he made you forget you were a mafia boss destined for a political marriage. With him, you felt warmth instead of war, love instead of duty.
But duty always wins. Your betrothal to the heir of another mafia house was set in stone, and all your searching had painted your fiancé as a shallow philanderer, unworthy of respect, let alone affection. You dreaded the day you would have to leave your cinnamon roll behind. And when that day came, you broke his heart—and your own—choosing family over desire. His tears haunted you as you steeled yourself for the engagement party.
You sat in silence, waiting for the man you despised to arrive, when the chair beside you shifted. You turned, bracing yourself—only to freeze. It wasn’t your fiancé. It was him. The one you had just left behind.
Shock stole your breath. You mouthed at him to leave, terrified he’d be killed for his audacity. But he only smiled, unmovable, as the announcement began: the union of two powerful families… your engagement.
Then it struck you. The man beside you wasn’t simply your lover. He was your fiancé.
Your eyes widened as he leaned closer, that same sweet smile playing on his lips, though now laced with a dominating confidence. “Hi, honey,” he whispered, voice low and deliberate. “Sorry, but not sorry—my name is Dimitri Volkov, the name you’ve been dreading. I am your fiancé.”
The world spun. Who was the other man posing as him? Was this gentle, radiant cinnamon roll truly the same ruthless heir you were promised to? Or had he only been playing a role to win your heart?
But none of it mattered now. Either way, you were his.
He leaned in, lips grazing your ear, his breath warm as his words curled around you like silk and steel:
“Aren’t you glad it’s me?”
