The Man She Calls Daddy

Milan stormed off to distract himself, muttering about “getting real work done,” but his feet carried him straight to the one place that always calmed him down—Trixie’s room.

The door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open slowly, expecting to find his daughter still tangled up in her cartoon-print blankets.

But instead, he froze in the doorway.

There he was.

Luka.

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet beside Trixie’s bed. His long coat off, hair slightly tousled, and a soft smile on his lips as he listened to Trixie talk about unicorns and glitter ice cream.

What made Milan's heart stop wasn’t the fact that Luka had broken into his house again.

It was the fact that Luka was speaking perfect English to her.

“—and if I had a unicorn, I’d name her Sparkle Queen,” Trixie said proudly.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Luka replied gently. “She sounds powerful. Like you.”

Milan stepped into the room, voice sharp. “You speak English now?”

Luka didn’t flinch. He turned his head slowly, that same unreadable expression in his eyes.

“I always did,” he said calmly. “Just never saw the point in using it with you.”

Milan clenched his jaw. “Get. Out.”

But before he could shout again, Luka stood and walked toward him—casual, dangerous, like a storm in slow motion.

Milan didn’t move. He should’ve moved.

Luka leaned in, and before Milan could stop him, he kissed him.

A soft, slow kiss—not the kind meant to tease or provoke. The kind that held quiet things. Old things. Unfinished things.

Then Luka pulled away, his voice low. “You don’t scare me, Milan. Not even when you’re pretending to hate me.”

And just like that, he slipped past him and out the door like a ghost.

Milan stood there, lips tingling, heartbeat racing, while Trixie looked up at him and asked, “Daddy, is that your boyfriend?”

Milan nearly choked. “He’s—no. Absolutely not.”

But the red in his face told a different story.

Milan was still standing in the hallway, trying to remember how to breathe, when he heard the sound behind him.

Sniffling.

He turned just in time to see Trixie’s little face scrunch up, her bottom lip wobbling.

“W-Where’s Daddy Luka?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Milan blinked. “Who?”

“Daddy Luka!” she repeated louder, her voice cracking. “He said he’d play unicorns with me again! He said I was special!”

“Trixie, he’s not—”

But before Milan could finish, Trixie threw herself dramatically onto the floor, grabbing her stuffed unicorn in a chokehold and wailing.

“I WANT DADDY LUKAAAA!”

Milan panicked, kneeling beside her. “Sweetheart, he’s not your dad, okay? He’s just—uh—he’s just a weird man who breaks into houses and speaks five languages and—Trixie, stop crying, please—”

But it was no use. The glitter tears were falling hard.

“I LIKE HIM MORE THAN YOU!” she sobbed. “He made me feel like a princess and he said he liked my crown and he’s FUN and—”

Milan stared at the ceiling like it had betrayed him. “I am being emotionally attacked by a five-year-old.”

Gray popped his head around the corner. “You need backup?”

“No,” Milan muttered through gritted teeth. “I need a miracle.”

Trixie, still sniffling, grabbed Milan’s sleeve. “Can he come back, Daddy? Please?”

Milan sighed, defeated, heart softening despite himself. “I’ll… think about it.”

And somewhere, probably watching from the shadows like the dramatic creep he was, Luka was absolutely smirking.

Later that night, after finally calming Trixie down with extra cookies and cuddles, Milan sat alone in his office.

The lights were dim.

His hand hovered over the screen of his phone before he finally pressed a name.

Gray answered almost instantly.

“Boss?”

Milan’s voice was low. Cold. “Find Luka.”

There was a pause.

“...And?”

“Get rid of him.”

Another silence, longer this time. Gray didn’t ask questions—he never did. But even through the phone, Milan could hear the hesitation.

“Yes, boss,” Gray finally said.

Click.

Milan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. He didn’t want to think about that kiss. The warmth. The way Luka had spoken to Trixie like she mattered more than the world. He didn’t want to admit that a part of him ached watching him walk away.

So he chose the easy way out.

Eliminate the problem.

That night, while Milan was getting Trixie into bed again, she looked up at him with sleepy eyes.

“Did you call Daddy Luka?” she asked.

Milan froze. “What?”

“You said you’d think about it…” she mumbled, yawning. “Is he coming tomorrow?”

Milan didn’t answer.

But around midnight, a call came in.

Gray’s voice was tight, urgent. “Boss. You’re not gonna like this. He vanished. Like a damn ghost.”

Before Milan could reply, he heard it.

A sound.

From Trixie’s room.

A loud, sharp wail—heartbroken and raw.

Milan ran down the hall and found her curled up on her bed, crying into her unicorn.

“I heard you on the phone!” she cried. “You wanted to hurt him! I hate you!”

Milan’s heart cracked open.

He reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I want Luka,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “He made me feel safe.”

Milan stood frozen.

A mafia boss feared by the world—undone by a five-year-old with glitter on her pajamas.

And a man he couldn’t forget.

To be continued

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