Dark Christmas: A Bratva Next Door Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Dark Christmas: Chapter 13

“No.”

I’m staring into those intense, steely eyes of his, still in a total daze. There’s no question he’s serious—he wants to protect me, and he’s definitely not used to being told no. But I’m standing firm.

He looks confused. “No?”

I cross my arms, my tone shaky but determined. “There’s no way in hell I can stay with someone as dangerous as you.”

His brow furrows. “Dangerous?”

“Yes, dangerous! There’s a gun in your hand and a dead body in your kitchen!”

He stays calm, too calm for someone who just killed a man. “The body will be taken care of.”

I throw my hands up. “See? This is exactly my point! You just killed someone, and you’re talking about it like it’s some random recycling you need to drop off. This is insane!”

The words continue to tumble out of my mouth, my voice getting louder, but I don’t care.

“I just had a gun held to my head! Does that faze you at all? I’ve never been that close to death in my life! And now I’ve got trauma that I’m going to have to spend God knows how much money on therapy to unpack!”

I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop. “What the hell, Melor? I just went from a hot dinner date to witnessing a murder and being held at gunpoint! How am I supposed to process this? I’m just a baker for fuck’s sake!”

He sits there calmly, saying nothing, as if he’s letting me get it all off my chest first.

I’m breathing hard and my hands are shaking as I wrap up my rant. “I’m not staying. I’m going home, where I can pretend I didn’t just live through a scene from a true crime thriller.”

There’s a beat of silence before he finally speaks, his voice low and unyielding.

“No.”

“No?” I echo, blinking at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

“No.”

“You’re not in charge of me.”

“You can’t go home,” he states matter-of-factly. “You’re not safe.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “I have nothing to do with any of this!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he counters, his eyes darkening. “They saw you with me and unfortunately that puts you in danger.”

I shake my head, trying to come up with another option. “I’ll stay with my best friend. Claire’s—”

“That won’t work,” he cuts in. “It won’t take much for them to figure out where you work, who your friends are. If you go to your friend’s place, you’re putting her and whoever else lives there in danger, too.”

I open my mouth to argue, but then stop, the weight of his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. He’s serious. And I know he’s right.

“Whether you like it or not, Amelia, whether it’s fair or not, you’ve been pulled into this,” he says, his voice hard as stone. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me, mixing with an awful sense of helplessness. This can’t be happening. I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. “Pulled into what, exactly?”

He says nothing, his jaw tight.

My frustration boils over. ‘No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to stay silent. I deserve to know what the hell is going on here. Who are you, and why do you have armed men breaking into your house, trying to kill you?’

He pauses before speaking like he’s weighing how much to say. “Do you know what a Bratva is?”

I shake my head, already dreading the answer. ‘No.’

“It’s similar to what you know as the Mafia,” he says, his tone flat.

“The Mafia?” I echo, the word hitting me like a slap to the face. My voice comes out shaky, my brain struggling to process what he’s just said.

He nods once, his expression serious. “The Bratva. Russian organized crime. Power, control, loyalty.”

I blink at him, trying to piece it together, but I can tell he’s holding back. “Jesus Christ. That’s the ‘family business’ you were in?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine, and I can see the weight of the answer before he even speaks.

“Yes.”

I swallow hard, feeling like the floor’s been ripped out from under me. ‘So, what, you were some kind of hitman or something?’

He doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence fill the gap between us. “There are things I can’t talk about. But yes, I was part of that life. I left it years ago.”

I shake my head, the pieces still not fitting. “So those guys trying to kill you? They’re from this Bratva?”

He nods again, keeping his eyes on mine like he’s trying to gauge how much I can handle. “They were here seeking revenge for something I did a long time ago. As I said, I’ve been out of that life for years, but they pulled me back in when they found me. And unfortunately, because you were here, they’ve pulled you into it, too.”

I’m reeling, my head spinning with the revelation.

I stare at him, my heart pounding. “This is all true? No bullshit?”

“No bullshit. But listen, I need a moment,” he says quietly. “I have to make a call. I promise I’ll be right back.”

I say nothing, still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened as he steps away.

Melor grabs what I can only guess is a burner phone out of a dresser drawer before going out to the bedroom balcony. He shuts the sliding door behind him for some privacy. Not a chance. No way am I letting him hide more secrets from me.

As soon as his back is turned, I drain the last of my water and quietly make my way over to the door, trying to stay out of sight. I lean in, my ear close to the cool glass. His voice is low but clear enough to make out what he’s saying.

“One down, one got away. I need cleanup at the house.”

There’s a pause, then I hear him say, “I’ll replace out who’s behind this. No matter who they send, I’ll handle it.”

My blood runs cold as I listen to him speak so casually about death, violence, and revenge. It’s like he’s an entirely different person—someone way more dangerous than I ever could have imagined.

Suddenly, the realization of my situation sinks in. This isn’t just a bad night or some weird misunderstanding. He’s deep in this Bratva life, regardless of what he’s told me.

And now, I’m deep in it, too.

I can’t be here when they remove the body. I can’t be anywhere near this.

I need to get out of here.

He’s still on the phone, pacing back and forth and totally absorbed in the conversation. The eerie silver moonlight makes his silhouette look like something out of a movie, except this is real. Too real.

I need to go. Now.

Carefully, I slip out of the bedroom, tiptoeing my way down the stairs. My heart’s pounding in my ears, and every creak of the hardwood feels like an alarm. I take a wrong turn and end up in the kitchen, staring at the dead body.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I half expect the guy to move like this is some twisted nightmare where he’ll stand up and come after me. But he remains still. Waxen. His body looks unreal, like a mannequin drenched in blood, the dark red pool beneath him congealed and still.

Holy shit.

I can’t stop staring. I’ve never seen death like this—so final, so quiet. It’s like the whole house is holding its breath.

Melor’s voice slices through the silence. “Amelia!”

I jump, and suddenly the weight of everything comes crashing down again. I tear my eyes away from the body, the image burned into my brain, and stumble toward the front door, my mind racing.

I need to get out. I need to get out now.

But this house is huge, and I’m totally disoriented, running in the wrong direction, practically dizzy with panic.

Behind me, I hear Melor thudding down the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. My heart’s pounding as I sprint, finally replaceing the front door. I grab the handle, yanking on it hard, but nothing happens. The lock won’t budge. It’s super high-tech and complicated, and in my panic, I can’t figure it out.

Shit, shit, shit!

I whip around and take off again, my feet carrying me through the maze of the first floor. I need to replace a way out. My mind is a blur, and I can barely think straight. I’m running on nothing but pure adrenaline. I make it to the back door, and without stopping to think, I throw it open and rush into the garden, hoping there’s a fence I can jump over or at least a place to hide.

The evening air is cool and calm, a complete contrast to the panic running through me. I run deeper into the garden, my breath ragged, when I hear his voice again, closer this time.

“Amelia!”

I turn, my stomach twisting. He’s standing at the back door now, watching me. The garden suddenly feels so small. There’s nowhere to go.

I stop, breathless, right in front of a massive stone fountain. It’s gorgeous. Actually, the whole garden is stunning— flowers everywhere, statues tucked between trees. There’s even a little stream bubbling along the path.

The beauty of it all calms me for just a second, my racing heart slowing down as I take it in. But then I hear him.

Melor appears, stepping into view, and I freeze. My emotions are a mess—I’m terrified of him, but at the same time, I feel oddly safe.

He strides toward me, those intense eyes locked on mine, and when he reaches me, his hands land firmly on my shoulders.

“You can’t run. I have to protect you. You must understand that.”

“I don’t feel safe,” I manage to whisper, though I know that’s a lie. I do feel safe with him. And, incredibly, despite everything that’s transpired tonight, that fact turns me on.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

His grip tightens. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise you that.”

And then, before I can say another word, his lips slam into mine.