Butter,Sugar, blood

She is all warmth - curls in a high puff, glossed lips, flour on her apron, and a voice that carries. Her bakery is her world, filled with golden light and old people who call her "sweetheart."
But she's lonely. She hides it behind laughter, behind playlists and pastries and hustle. This is her dream, but it's hard doing it alone in a city that doesn't wait for anyone.

He is part of something dark - mafia blood, high-ranking, feared. The kind of man who speaks in low tones, wears all-black even in summer, and carries his trauma like a shadow.
He's never wanted softness. He doesn't even like sweets. But something about her got under his skin - her laugh, her voice, the way she's alive when he hasn't felt anything in years.

Now he comes to her bakery. Every day. Same table. Same order. Watching. Waiting.
At first, he just needed a place to hide.
Then he needed to see her.
And now?
He needs her like a sin he can't confess.