Dark Christmas: A Bratva Next Door Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

“So, are you saying you want me to kill them?” Viktor Mashkov asks.

I pace around the room like a caged tiger, fingers clenched around the phone, trying to figure out how to respond. It would be easy to say yes, to let him handle this. But this time is different. I stop and close my eyes.

“I want to do this myself.”

There’s a pause, then a dark chuckle. “You were always a stubborn one, Melor.”

I smirk, shaking my head. “It’s personal, Viktor. You know that.” I can hear him shifting on the other end, probably lighting up one of his cigars. “Besides, I’m no longer in the Bratva. I knew when I left if I had to take matters into my own hands, I would.”

“Your father raised you right,” Viktor grumbles. “But don’t forget, I did you a favor releasing you from your obligations. That’s not something I offer lightly.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, my voice softening. I owe the old man more than I can ever repay. When he let me walk away from the Bratva, it wasn’t just business—it was a personal favor to my father, something he didn’t have to do. “You’ve always treated me like your own. I know that.”

Mashkov sighs. “And I think of you as a son, Melor. But understand this—if you need help, I will send it. Even if you refuse.”

I smile grimly. “I appreciate that. But this one’s mine.”

A heavy silence hangs between us before Mashkov speaks again. “Take care of it, then. Don’t let it linger.”

“I won’t.”

“Do you have any leads on who it was?”

I run a hand through my hair, staring out the window. “The man said I killed his brother.”

“Well, then, that’s a start,” Mashkov replies.

I grit my teeth. “I’ve killed many men over the years. How the hell am I supposed to remember a particular one?”

There’s a pause on his end before he admits, “That’s a good point. I suppose narrowing it down to just one dead brother would be a bit of a challenge for someone like you.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” I lean against the wall, the frustration settling deeper. “There’s nothing specific I can remember about any of them. Nothing that stands out.”

“Nothing at all? It’s not like you to miss details, Melor. At least, it never used to be.”

I think back to the encounter, the rush of violence, the adrenaline. Nothing comes to mind. It was just another attempt on my life, faceless, like the others. “Nothing. They’re just ghosts in the dark.”

Mashkov lets out a long sigh. “Then you’re at a dead end.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yes, seems that way.”

“Be careful, Melor,” Mashkov says quietly. “Ghosts can still be dangerous.”

A fresh wave of anger surges through me as I recall the night those bastards invaded my home, my sanctuary, and threatened Amelia. The thought of her being dragged into this, into my world, sets my blood on fire.

“So,” Mashkov breaks the silence, his voice more curious now. “Tell me about this woman.”

I hesitate for a second before giving in. He has the resources to find out anything he wants to know anyway. “She’s the owner and operator of a bakery. Tough, sarcastic, but there’s a sweetness underneath it all. She’s driven, focused—works harder than anyone I know. The kind of woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“Ahh,” Mashkov says, amused. “A woman with some fire. It’s about time you found someone. Your life was getting boring.”

I let out a low chuckle despite myself. “You’ve always said I live like an old man.”

“It’s true,” he replies playfully. “But I’m glad you’ve found someone who shakes things up a bit. You need that.”

The bond between Viktor and me goes beyond boss and soldier. We’ve shared too much blood, too many secrets for it to be anything less.

“Listen, Melor,” he says, voice heavy with the weight of experience. “I know what it’s like when scum try to use the people we care about to get to us. There’s a particular kind of rage that comes with it.”

I clench my jaw, the truth of his words cutting deep. “Part of the reason I chose this life was so that I didn’t have anyone close. No one who could be used against me.”

Mashkov sighs. “But life, my boy, doesn’t always respect your choices.”

“You’re right,” I admit, the frustration gnawing at me. “I’m going to take care of the son of a bitch as soon as I find him.”

“Melor,” Mashkov says, his tone shifting back to that of the seasoned leader I used to follow. “I can get in touch with my contacts on the West Coast. They have men that can take care of this bastard for you. You don’t need to get your hands dirty.”

I shake my head, pacing the room again. “Thank you, Viktor, but no.”

A long pause on his end, and then a sigh. “You’re too much like your father in that way.”

I smirk but stay silent. He’s not wrong.

“But” Mashkov adds, “at least let me help in some way. Let me send someone. We might be able to sniff him out before he makes another move. Think about it, it’s not just you who’s in danger here.”

I stop pacing, considering his offer. I don’t like relying on others, but Mashkov is right—it’s foolish not to accept a little help when it’s being offered, especially when someone else’s life is involved.

“Fine,” I relent. “Have someone keep an ear to the ground. See what they can dig up. I want to know the second that fucker surfaces.”

Mashkov’s voice lightens, clearly glad I’m accepting the help. “Consider it done.”

We exchange a few more words before ending the call. As I hang up, I feel the weight of unfinished business settling in. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and head downstairs to the kitchen, the scent of simmering stew fills the air. I glance at the oven, where a loaf of bread is baking, the golden crust starting to crackle. Dinner is almost ready.

As I slowly stir the stew, my mind drifts back to the past week. Amelia’s been back at work, and while I know she needs her routine, it hasn’t exactly been sitting well with me.

I insist on driving her to and from the bakery every day, making it clear that leaving work once she’s there isn’t an option. It’s simply not safe.

She hates it. I can see it in the way her jaw tightens every time I bring it up. She understands the gravity of the situation, but she also craves her freedom, and I’ve had to take some of that away.

It’s been nearly a month since she stumbled into my world, and as unexpectedly enjoyable as it’s been having her around, I know it can’t last. I’m not built for this, for being this close to someone. And once I find the remaining man who broke in and neutralize the threat, we’ll return to our separate lives.

If that’s even possible anymore.

Still stirring the stew absentmindedly, my thoughts pull me in two directions. Part of me knows what needs to be done—solve the problem, eliminate the threat, and allow Amelia to go back to her life.

I chose this solitary path because it’s simple, controlled, and I have no one to worry about but myself. That’s the life I’ve built, the life that’s kept me alive.

But a greater part of me doesn’t want to let her go. It gnaws away at me, this unfamiliar pull, this desire to keep her close. Even if she doesn’t stay in my home, part of me wants her to stay in my life.

Hell, just hearing her laughter coming from the other room makes me feel things I never thought I could. It opens up something in me I’ve kept locked away for years.

The logical side of me fights back. This arrangement was supposed to be temporary, a situation to handle and move on from. And yet, I find myself stalling.

It’s been quiet the last few weeks. No signs of the assassin, no threats, no suspicious movements. I’ve been watching her house, the bakery, checking in on her multiple times a day from a distance, making sure everything’s still locked down. The silence almost feels unnatural, like the calm before the storm.

I know the assassin hasn’t forgotten. He hasn’t given up. He’s waiting. Biding his time.

And the longer this goes on, the harder it’s getting to imagine a life without her in it.

I hear footsteps and look up to see Amelia standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Damn, she looks good.

She’s still in her work clothes—a pair of tight, dark jeans that hug her hips just right, and a white T-shirt so thin I can see the outline of her bra underneath. The sight of her makes my pulse quicken and my cock stirs to life at the way she’s so effortlessly sexy.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” she says, her voice playful. “Dinner smells too good.”

I smile, nodding toward the table. “Sit. It’s ready.”

She comes into the room and takes a seat at the table while I ladle stew into two bowls.

Amelia watches me with those sharp, bright eyes as I pull the loaf of bread out of the oven, its crust crackling in the heat. I cut two thick slices, setting them on plates with a small dish of butter on the side. I can’t help but enjoy this small domestic moment, even though my mind’s been tangled with conflicting thoughts all day.

She smiles, and for a second it feels like this situation—us—is something more than just temporary.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

That’s because it has to be for her sake. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

After a few bites, Amelia’s face lights up. “God, this is amazing, Melor. Your cooking might actually inspire me to try some new things out in the bakery. Maybe I’ll add a few soups to the menu.” She grins, clearly pleased with the idea.

I smirk, enjoying her reaction. “That could work well, especially in the cooler months. It might help bring in a bigger lunch crowd. How’s everything going there, by the way?”

Her expression shifts, just slightly, and I can see her tense up. She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “It’s fine.”

I set my spoon down, watching her carefully. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping a bit. “It’s just hard to relax with, well, you know, everything that’s going on.”

I’ve watched her carry this weight for weeks, the constant worry she tries to hide. “I get it. I’ll solve this mess soon, and you’ll be able to get back to your normal life.”

She gives me a small smile, but I can see the tension still lingering. After a beat, she looks at me, a little hesitation in her eyes. “So, Claire has seen you dropping me off and picking me up every day. She’s grilling me about you. She wants to have us over for dinner at their place.”

I pause, surprised by the proposal. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Her entire face lights up with the biggest, brightest smile, and I feel something inside me shift. I lean over the table, catching her lips in a kiss. She melts into it, and her smile widens as I pull away.

“You know, I’m suddenly not so hungry for food anymore.”