Her Accidental Mafia Husband

Vito Malkov

The next morning, Anna had woken early, as she always did. Even with the unexpected guest in the guest room, life had to go on.

She quietly kneaded dough in the Thompsons’ kitchen, preparing a fresh batch of lemon-blueberry cakes to sell at the market later that day.

The sweet scent of vanilla and citrus filled the warm room.

Lily sat at the table, swinging her legs and carefully arranging fresh wildflowers in a small jar, humming a little tune.

Mrs. Thompson watched Anna work for a few minutes before wiping her hands on her apron and gently calling her aside to the back porch.

The morning air was still cool, carrying the faint smell of dew on the grass.

“Anna, dear… come here for a moment,” Mrs. Thompson said softly, her voice laced with concern.

Anna set down her wooden spoon and followed her outside, wiping flour from her hands. “Yes, Auntie Margaret?”

Mrs. Thompson glanced back toward the house, making sure little Lily couldn’t hear.

She took Anna’s hands in hers, her expression worried. “Sweetheart, I know you believe with all your heart that you were led to save that man. And Robert and I respect that. But… how are you going to take care of him? He’s going to need medicine… real medicine, not just herbs and stitches. Antibiotics, pain relief, maybe even bandages for days. Those things cost money. A lot of money. You and Lily are already barely getting by. You’re selling cakes just to put food on the table and shoes on her feet. How will you manage an extra mouth to feed and expensive medicine on top of it all?”

Anna lowered her gaze for a moment, then lifted her chin. “I know it won’t be easy, Auntie. But I’ll work harder. I’ll bake more cakes, maybe add some pies or cookies too. I’ll stay longer at the market and talk to more customers. If I sell twice as much, I can earn enough.”

Mrs. Thompson sighed, her brow still creased with worry, but she gave Anna’s hands a gentle squeeze. “You have such a good heart, Anna Marrin. Sometimes I wish it didn’t have to be quite so big. Just… promise me you won’t carry this all alone. Robert and I will help as much as we can.”

Anna nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. I won’t forget how much you and Uncle Robert have already done for us. For now, I’d better finish these cakes and get to the market before the morning rush ends.”

She turned to go back inside, but Mrs. Thompson pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “Just be careful, child. We don’t know anything about this man yet. Faith is beautiful… but so is wisdom.”

Inside, Anna returned to her baking. She shaped the dough with steady hands, her mind already calculating how many extra batches she could make tomorrow and how early she would need to wake up.

Lily looked up from her flowers with a bright smile.

“Are you making cakes for the prince too, Ana?”

Anna laughed softly. “Not yet, Lily. But if he wakes up hungry, I just might.”

The morning sun climbed higher over Willow as Anna set off toward the market with her fresh batch of cakes.

But several miles away, in the dense pine forest bordering the county line, a group of five armed men moved cautiously through the trees, rifles slung over their shoulders and pistols holstered at their sides.

They wore dark jackets despite the warming day, their faces grim and focused. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, casting long shadows on the forest floor as they swept the area in a formation.

The leader, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running down his left cheek, stopped and raised a gloved hand. The others halted immediately.

“Spread out,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Vito Malkov doesn’t get to disappear. The Devil Don is bleeding somewhere in these woods. We find him today. Dead or alive. Boss wants this finished.”

One of the younger men, gripping his rifle a little too tightly, muttered under his breath, “Devil Don… They say he’s killed more men with his bare hands than most of us have with guns. I’ve heard stories that make your skin crawl. They call him the Devil for a reason.”

Another man, older and stockier, snorted but his voice carried an edge of unease. “Yeah, well, even the devil bleeds. I hope the bastard’s already dead. Last thing we need is to corner him while he’s still breathing. You remember what he did to the Rossi crew in Chicago? Left twelve men dead in under five minutes. If he’s still alive out here… we’re walking into a nightmare.”

The scarred leader shot them a sharp look. “Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.”

But the stocky man couldn’t stop himself. He wiped sweat from his brow as he pushed through a thick patch of brush. “I’m telling you, if we find him alive, we shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t care what the boss says. The Devil Don is just a man in the end… flesh and blood like the rest of us so let’s hope that bullet finished the job, because if it didn’t… God help us all when he comes looking for revenge.”

The youngest member of the group swallowed hard, his face pale. “They say he doesn’t feel pain like normal people. That he’s walked away from worse. I hope he’s dead too. I really do. No one wants to be the one who has to tell the boss we let the Devil Don slip away.”

The leader cursed under his breath and pulled out a flip phone. After another fruitless hour of searching, he dialed the number and waited, jaw clenched.

The line clicked.

“Boss,” the scarred man said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s me. We’ve swept the entire sector… forest, logging roads, down by the river. No sign of Malkov. He’s nowhere to be found. Either he dragged himself farther than we thought, or he must have fallen off a cliff. What do you want us to do?”

He listened in silence, his expression growing darker with every second.

“Yes, sir. Understood. We’ll widen the search and check every farmhouse and barn within ten miles. He won’t get away. Not this time.”

The leader snapped the phone shut and turned to his men, eyes cold and hard.

“Boss says we don’t stop until we have a body or a confirmed kill. Double back. Check every trail again. And pray we find him dead… because if the Devil Don is still breathing, none of us are safe.”

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.

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“Vito, run! Run!”

It was dark in the night, and the alarmed little boy gasped as he was pushed to the ground by his own mother, a ragged stone piercing into his small palm with blood immediately gushing out.

He cried like the child he was.

“Runnn!!” His mom screamed at the top of her lungs and the next thing he knew was her blood splashing over his face.

Then the stranger gasped awake, his eyes wide open.