His Reluctant Bride (Mafia Brides #4)

Chapter One

The scent of vanilla and dark chocolate wrapped around Advika like a warm embrace as she piped delicate sugar flowers onto the five-tier wedding cake before her.

Her hands moved with practiced precision, each petal a perfect replica of the last. This was her sanctuary—Sinfully Sweet, her bakery, her kingdom of flour and fondant where she reigned supreme.

"Beautiful work, as always," Meera, her assistant, said from across the counter where she was boxing up the day's last batch of macarons.

Advika smiled, stepping back to admire her creation.

The cake was a masterpiece—ivory fondant adorned with cascading champagne-colored roses, edible gold leaf catching the warm light from the pendant lamps overhead.

Every detail was perfect, from the hand-painted lace pattern on the bottom tier to the crystallized sugar teardrops suspended between layers.

"Mrs. Kapoor is going to cry when she sees this," Advika murmured, already imagining the bride's reaction.

This was what she lived for. Not the money, not the recognition—though Sinfully Sweet had gained quite a reputation in the city's elite circles—but the joy of creation. The satisfaction of building something beautiful with her own hands in a world that had given her so little.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

Advika frowned, wiping her hands on her apron before checking the screen. Her heart sank.

Father: Come to the estate. Now.

Father: This is not a request.

Father: You have one hour.

The use of the word "father" on her phone was a cruel joke. Yash Pradhan had never been a father to her—not in any way that mattered. He was a name, a monthly allowance deposited into her account, a shadow that loomed over her life but never touched it with warmth.

"Everything okay?" Meera asked, concern etching lines across her forehead.

"I have to go." Advika untied her apron, her movements mechanical. The joy that had filled her moments ago evaporated like morning mist. "Can you finish the final touches and schedule the delivery for tomorrow?"

"Of course, but—"

"I'll be back tomorrow." Advika forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Promise."

She grabbed her purse and jacket, casting one last look at her haven.

The exposed brick walls, the vintage display cases filled with her creations, the chalkboard menu written in her own hand—everything here was hers.

She'd built this from nothing, funded by her mother's life insurance and her own relentless determination.

The drive to the Pradhan Estate took thirty minutes, each one filled with mounting dread.

The city lights gave way to manicured lawns and towering gates.

The contrast was stark—Sinfully Sweet with its warm lighting and the smell of cinnamon versus the cold, imposing mansion that rose before her like a fortress.

Or a prison.

The gates swung open automatically, recognizing her car. The guards nodded as she passed, their faces carefully blank. Everyone knew who she was. The illegitimate daughter. The dirty secret hidden in plain sight.

Advika parked in the circular driveway, her beat-up sedan looking pathetically out of place among the luxury vehicles. Her half-brothers' cars were here—Abhishek's sleek Porsche and Rahul's Mercedes. Whatever this was about, it was a family affair.

Except she'd never been family. Not really.

The butler, Sharma, opened the door before she could knock. His weathered face held a hint of sympathy that made her stomach twist.

"Miss Advika. They're waiting in the study."

She followed him through the marble-floored foyer, past the grand staircase she'd been forbidden to use as a child, past the family portraits that featured everyone except her. The walls seemed to close in with each step, heavy with the weight of old resentments and older secrets.

Sharma paused outside the mahogany doors of her father's study. "Good luck, miss."

That can't be good.

Advika straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and pushed the doors open.

The study was exactly as she remembered—dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the massive desk that Yash Pradhan sat behind like a king on his throne. The smell of expensive cigars and older money permeated the air.

Yash looked up as she entered, his steel-gray eyes assessing her with the same indifference he'd shown her entire life.

He was in his late fifties, still handsome in a harsh way, his hair more salt than pepper now.

A man who'd built an empire on blood and fear, though the world saw only the legitimate businessman.

To his right stood Anjana, Advika's stepmother. Beautiful in a cold, brittle way, she wore her designer sari like armor and her disdain for Advika like a crown. Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Abhishek leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed. At twenty-five, he was a carbon copy of their father—same ruthless eyes, same cruel mouth. He smirked when their gazes met, and Advika's hands clenched into fists.

Rahul, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable. Her younger half-brother stood near the window, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, refusing to meet her eyes. At twenty, he was still finding his place in this world. Still deciding what kind of man he'd become.

"Sit," Yash commanded, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Advika remained standing. "What's this about? I have work tomorrow."

"Your bakery can wait." Anjana's voice was silk over steel. "This is about family."

The word 'family' coming from her stepmother's mouth was laughable. Advika bit her tongue to keep from saying so.

"There's been a situation," Yash began, his fingers steepled before him. "A conflict with the Singhania family that has escalated beyond acceptable parameters."

The Singhanias. Even Advika, removed as she was from her father's world, knew that name. Sidharth Singhania—the businessman the public adored and the mafia king the underworld feared. The war between the Pradhans and Singhanias had been brewing for years, a powder keg waiting for a match.

"What does that have to do with me?" But even as she asked, dread pooled in her stomach.

Abhishek laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"Sidharth Singhania has agreed to a truce," Yash continued, ignoring his son. "An alliance that will end the bloodshed and unite our families."

Advika's heartbeat thundered in her ears. No. No, no, no.

"Through marriage," Yash finished, his eyes finally meeting hers. "You will marry Sidharth Singhania. The wedding is in two weeks."

The world tilted sideways. For a moment, Advika couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process what she'd just heard.

"You can't be serious." Her voice came out strangled.

"Deadly serious." Yash's expression didn't change. "The arrangements are already being made."

"I won't do it." Advika's hands trembled, rage and fear warring inside her. "You can't force me to—"

"Can't I?" Yash leaned back in his chair, utterly calm. "You live in this city under my protection, whether you acknowledge it or not. Your bakery operates because I allow it. Everything you have exists because I permit it."

"I built Sinfully Sweet myself!" The words exploded from her. "You've never given me anything except a last name I didn't ask for!"

"And yet here you are." His smile was cold. "The illegitimate daughter, so desperate to prove herself. To make something of the scraps she was given."

Each word was a blade, expertly wielded. Advika felt them cut deep, reopening wounds that had never fully healed.

"There are other options," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Surely someone else—"

"Sidharth isn’t into men, darling. And fortunately or unfortunately, this family has only one daughter.” Anjana's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "Be happy. You've finally found your purpose."

Advika turned to Rahul, searching for an ally, for anything. "You can't agree with this."

Rahul finally met her gaze, and what she saw there broke something inside her. Pity. Guilt. But not enough to speak up.

He looked away.

"The decision is made," Yash said with finality. "You will marry Sidharth Singhania in two months. You will be the bridge between our families. You will finally be useful."

Useful. That's all she'd ever been to him. Not a daughter. Not a person. A tool to be used when needed and ignored the rest of the time.

"And if I refuse?" She knew the answer before she asked.

"Then your bakery burns." Abhishek pushed off from the bookshelf, his smile vicious. "Tragic accident. Faulty wiring, perhaps. These old buildings, you know how they are."

"You wouldn't—"

"Try me, sister." The way he said the word made it sound like a curse.

Yash's expression remained neutral, but he didn't contradict his son. The threat hung in the air between them, as real as the oxygen she struggled to breathe.

Sinfully Sweet. Her sanctuary. Her life's work. Everything she'd built with her own hands, the only thing in this world that was truly hers.

They'd destroy it without a second thought.

"You're a monster," Advika whispered, staring at the man who shared her blood but nothing else.

"I'm a businessman," Yash corrected. "And this is business. You have two months to prepare. A car will collect you the night before the wedding and bring you to the venue. Don't embarrass me, Advika. For once in your life, be what the family needs."

Dismissed. That's what his tone said. The audience was over.

Advika's legs felt like lead as she turned and walked toward the door. Each step was agony, pride warring with practicality, rage battling with helplessness.

"Oh, and Advika?" Anjana's voice stopped her at the threshold. "Do try to look presentable. The Singhanias have standards, after all."