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

“This one’s a bleeder,” one of the guys mutters in thickly accented English, chuckling as he pulls the tarp tightly around the body. “My wife will think I’ve been butchering pigs again.”

They laugh, low and grim, the kind of dark humor only men like them can understand. They’ve done this so many times, it’s practically routine. I stay quiet, not joining in their macabre candor.

I have no problem taking a life when I need to, but I’ve seen men get comfortable with it. Too comfortable. It changes you, twisting something inside until killing becomes just another routine task. I swore long ago never to allow myself to get to that point.

“I could do this in my sleep,” another cleaner mutters as he zips up his duffel bag. I glance at him but don’t respond. I’m not interested in small talk, especially not about this. My phone chimes, and I pull it out, glancing at the screen. The notification shows footage from the front door camera. It’s Amelia, slipping out, and hurrying across the street.

Of course.

I sigh, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “I’ve got a problem I need to handle,” I tell the cleanup crew. “Keep things moving here. I’ll be right back.”C0pyright © 2024 Nôv)(elDrama.Org.

One of them raises an eyebrow. “Need us to handle that problem for you, boss?”

I shake my head, already heading for the door. “No. This one’s mine.”

Amelia’s about to learn that no matter how fast she runs, she’s in too deep to escape now.

It’s late, close to midnight. I walk up to the porch, scanning the quiet, dim street.

I test the handle. It’s locked, but that doesn’t stop me. With a quiet, practiced motion, the soft click of the lock gives way. I push the door open, stepping inside without a sound.

She gasps, her eyes going wide as soon as she sees me standing there. I stroll in, calm and controlled, effortlessly slipping the duffel bag from her shoulder, and setting it on the floor beside her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

She crosses her arms, defiant. “If I’m in danger, I’m getting out of Dodge. You can let me know when the coast is clear.”

Despite the situation, I feel a spark of admiration. She’s tough, insistent on standing her ground, and I like that. She’s also scared—I can see it in the way her breath catches, the hesitance in her stance—but she’s not crumbling.

“You don’t need to run away,” I say, stepping closer. “The only way to guarantee your safety is if you stay with me.”

Her expression softens, and she bristles, pulling back slightly. “I can’t just put my life on hold, Melor. I have a job, friends, a business to run.”

I stare at her for a long moment, letting her words hang between us. She doesn’t get it yet. She thinks she can outrun this. I take another step forward, my eyes locked on hers.

“You don’t have any other options,” I say, my voice cold and final. “If you want to live, you’ll come with me.”

Her eyes narrow. “Can’t you just keep an eye on me from across the street? You know, without all the drama?”

I let out a sharp laugh, causing her to flinch. “You have no security cameras, and I was able to pick the lock on your front door in under twenty seconds. I wouldn’t be able to get to you in time if they come for you here.

“My place is the only option. It’s locked down and reinforced. Secure as it gets. And I’m the best protection you’re going to find, whether you like it or not.”

She glares at me defiantly. “How can you say that? Those guys were able to get into your place, so maybe it isn’t as secure as you seem to think it is.”

I nod, granting her that concession. “That was a one-time error. It will not happen again.”

She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off. “You have no idea what you’re up against. The men who want me dead? They’ll use you to get to me. And they won’t just kill you, Amelia. They’ll do things to you that you can’t even imagine. You think you’re scared now? You have no clue what terror awaits you if you don’t listen to me.”

Her face pales slightly, and I press further. “I can keep you safe. It won’t be for long; you can work on your book. Hell, I’ll set up a whole space for you, make sure you’re comfortable. You can even bake in my kitchen if you want.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring at me like she’s weighing her options. But her only option is me.

She looks at me, frowning. “How long are we talking about?”

“Maybe a couple of weeks. Just until things cool down.”

She balks, shaking her head. “I need to be at the bakery every day, Melor. I have to do deposits, inventory, bake, keep things running. I can’t just leave Claire in a lurch like that. She’s about to have a baby.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “You’ll have to tell Claire you have a family emergency. That’s the easiest way.”

Her eyes flash, and she crosses her arms. “I don’t have any family. Claire’s the closest thing to family I’ve got. I’m not about to lie to my best friend like that.”

That doesn’t sit well with me. “Anybody that you tell the truth to about what’s going on will be in danger. This isn’t a game, Amelia. If you talk, and the wrong people find out, it won’t just be your life on the line.”

Her chin tilts up disobediently. “I’ll tell her the truth, but I’ll make sure she keeps it a secret. Claire wouldn’t say a word if she knew what was really going on. She deserves to know. I will not keep her in the dark.”

I stare at her, frustration building. I don’t like this. One person knowing is one too many. But she’s not budging, and something about the way she’s standing there, arms crossed like she’s already made her decision, tells me I won’t win this fight easily.

“Fine,” I say, my voice edged with warning. “But if you’re going to tell her, you better make damn sure she doesn’t tell anyone else. No slipups.”

She sighs reluctantly. “Okay,” she mutters.

A wave of relief washes over me. “You made the right call.”

“I need to pack more stuff,” she says, already moving toward the bedroom.

“Go ahead.”

As she disappears into the other room, something unfamiliar settles over me. I’m glad she’s coming back, not just for the security aspect, though knowing she’ll be safe, like she’s locked in a bank vault and untouchable, is a relief.

But there’s more to it than that. I catch myself thinking about what it’ll be like to have her there, in my space. The idea of getting to know her, spending time with her— it shouldn’t thrill me, but it does. I barely know this woman, yet the thought of her being close to me feels right.

Before I can think too much about it, she reappears, lugging two big bags with her. I step forward, grabbing them with one hand and reaching out with the other.

“Time to go.”

She looks at me for a moment, then takes my hand without a word.