I lived beautifully until the day some rude guy parked his black SUV in front of my bakery. I asked him to move his car. He suggested that I speak more politely. My dog, Ponchik, thought the negotiations had dragged on too long and marked his wheel. That’s how I met Ratmir Astakhov—the man, as it turned out later, half the city is afraid of.
I wasn’t afraid.
I couldn’t stand him.
Especially after this gangster decided he could buy the premises along with my bakery, run my life, and show up whenever he pleased.
I ruined his mood. He ruined my plans. Ponchik ruined his pants.
Everything was going wonderfully until one day I discovered something terrible.
My dog still disliked him.
And I—apparently—not anymore.