“Smiles and Smokescreens”

Milan exhaled slowly, eyes still on the glowing skyline. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said, turning back to his crew. “Everyone go home, rest up. I want fresh minds tomorrow.”

One by one, his men stood and nodded, grabbing their coats and weapons as they filed out the door. Gray was the last to leave, casting Milan a knowing look before disappearing into the hall.

Now the lounge was quiet. Just the hum of city life outside and the soft sound of crayons scratching paper as Trixie finished her drawing.

Milan glanced at her, then at the clock.

“Dinner time, little star,” he said, walking over and scooping her up in one arm.

Trixie giggled and clung to his neck. “Can I have noodles with smiley sauce?”

He blinked. “Smiley sauce?”

“Ketchup,” she whispered, as if it were a secret.

Milan groaned. “Alright, chef Daddy is on it. But I can’t promise it’ll look good.”

“You always burn the bottom,” she reminded him sweetly.

“That was one time.”

“Four times,” she corrected.

Milan laughed under his breath as he carried her into the kitchen. It wasn’t the grandest part of the mansion, but it had all the essentials—and a few cartoon magnets Trixie had insisted on sticking to the fridge.

He set her down on a stool and got to work, sleeves rolled up, trying to follow a recipe he’d scribbled down from a cooking video last week.

Within ten minutes, the noodles were slightly overcooked, and the “smiley sauce” was splattered messily across the plate like abstract art.

Milan placed it in front of Trixie with a dramatic bow. “Your highness, your royal dinner.”

She clapped like he was a five-star chef. “Yay!”

He sat beside her, watching her eat with the kind of calm that only came in rare moments like this. Her joy, her innocence—it reminded him of everything he was fighting to protect.

Even if tomorrow brought bullets and betrayals…

Tonight, he had smiley sauce and a giggling daughter.

And for now, that was enough.

After dinner, Milan helped Trixie brush her teeth—though most of the toothpaste ended up on the mirror somehow—and tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed elephant.

“Daddy?” she mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Yeah, little star?”

“Are bad guys scared of you?”

Milan paused, brushing a hand through her soft hair. “Some are,” he said softly. “But not all.”

She blinked sleepily. “If they’re not scared… you make them spaghetti?”

He chuckled. “Something like that.”

She nodded, satisfied, and within minutes her breathing evened out. Milan stood by her bedside for a moment, watching her peaceful face. The world outside was chaos—but in this room, it was still.

He turned off the light and stepped out quietly, closing the door behind him.

On his way to his own room, he kicked the edge of the hallway cabinet.

“Dammit—again?” he muttered, hopping on one foot before catching himself on the wall. “Who keeps moving that thing? Oh right, me.”

Rubbing his ankle, he dragged himself down the hall, but his mind wasn’t quiet.

It kept circling back to Luka.

The way he smiled like he owned every room. The way his voice could drop low enough to make a threat sound like a lullaby. The way Milan still remembered the scent of his cologne even though they hadn’t been in the same room for nearly two years.

“Lulu,” he whispered, smirking to himself.

But the smirk faded quickly. Luka wasn’t just charming. He was dangerous. Clever. Unpredictable.

And now he was here.

Back in Milan’s city. In his territory.

As Milan finally flopped into bed and stared up at the ceiling, he muttered, “Why now?”

But the ceiling had no answers. Only silence.

And somewhere in that silence, Luka’s smile haunted him again.

To be continued

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