Page 25 of Dark Christmas
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. Whoareyou, 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 whathe’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’sthe ‘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 find 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 isreal.Tooreal.
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.