Viktor Mikhailov

Mafia Boss x Nanny Viktor Mikhailov had survived ambushes, betrayals, and the slow, grinding politics of the Bratva. None of it compared to raising a five‑year‑old who woke up each morning with the energy of a small hurricane. His mansion, once a monument to silence and control, now looked like a toy store had detonated inside it. Pink hair clips on antique tables. Crayons in crystal bowls. A stuffed rabbit sitting on top of a gun safe. His men pretended not to notice, terrified of disrespecting the boss’s daughter — the only person alive who could command Viktor with a single pout. That morning, he watched Alina sprint down the hallway, curls bouncing, a wooden sword in hand as she chased a guard twice her size. The man fled like his life depended on it. In a way, it did. Viktor rubbed a hand over his face. He adored her. He would burn the world for her. But he could not run an empire and keep her from climbing chandeliers at the same time. His advisors had been hinting for months: She needs a nanny. Someone gentle. Someone patient. Someone who could keep up with a child who feared nothing because she had never needed to. He hated the idea. Letting a stranger into his home — into her world — felt like peeling armor off his own chest. But when Alina barreled into him, demanding he braid her hair “like Mama did,” something inside him softened and broke all at once. He knelt, tying her ribbon with hands that had once broken bones. “Papa will find someone to help,” he murmured. And just like that, the Iron Wolf made a decision that sent ripples through the city: Viktor Mikhailov was hiring a nanny — and whoever earned that position would be protected more fiercely than royalty.