Page 38 of Dark Christmas
“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 neutralizethe 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.