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

“I’m telling you, Claire’s gonna flip over these cinnamon rolls,”

I’m holding Melor’s hand as he helps me out of his car across the street from the bakery. The air’s chilly, our breath visible in little puffs. Christmas decorations everywhere are making the city glow. For a moment, it feels weirdly normal, like we’re just a regular couple enjoying a holiday stroll.

But then I accidentally bump into him, and my elbow hits something hard under his coat. Oh. Right. The gun.

Because we’re not normal.

Not even close.

“You good?” Melor looks down at me, his voice calm but always alert.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about Christmas. I’ve never experienced a white one in person. That would be kind of cool.”

He smirks, clearly not fooled by my little dodge. “White Christmases are beautiful,” he says, his tone soft. “Especially the ones in Moscow.”

I can feel him studying me, like he knows there’s more I’m not saying. But instead of pushing, he adds, “Maybe you’ll see one for yourself someday.”

I shrug, playing it off. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, I don’t think San Francisco’s getting any snow anytime soon, but a girl can dream.”

He chuckles, squeezing my hand. I can tell he knows I’m deflecting, but he’s smart enough not to push.

We’re approaching the stairs to the apartment above the bakery when Melor suddenly asks, “How’s the book going?”

I blush immediately. I’m not used to talking about my work. “It’s, uh… going good. It’s probably not the sort of thing you’d read.”

He smirks. “Try me.”

I hesitate, then sigh. “It’s about a noblewoman who ends up being held captive in the castle of a mysterious, brooding duke.”

He lets out a deep laugh, the sound rumbling through him. “Let me guess—little bit of real-life inspiration there?”

I bite my lip, trying not to grin. “Maybe,” I say, keeping the fact that some of the more intense scenes were most definitely inspired by him.

Melor’s quiet presence beside me is grounding, but on the inside, I’m torn. He gently takes my hand and turns me toward him, leaning in for a kiss. Like always, his kiss melts away my worries, making me all kinds of hot. It’s like the rest of the world fades for a second, leaving just us.

I grin up at him after the kiss, feeling lighter. “You always know just what to say, and what not to say.”

A voice calls out, “Hey, you two! Get a room!”

I glance up, and there’s Claire, leaning out of her window with a huge grin on her face. The building is covered in lovely Christmas lights, garland wrapped around the balconies, giving everything a warm, festive glow. Claire’s clearly enjoying her own joke because she waves us off with a laugh.

“I’ll be right down!”

Melor grins, squeezing my hand. The door swings open, and there stands Claire, wearing an oversized Christmas sweater stretched tight over her big pregnant belly. She’s glowing, and not just from the holiday lights.

“Look at you two, all cozy,” Claire teases as she steps aside to let us in.

David’s there, looking dapper as always in a button-down shirt and a perfectly fitted sweater. He nods at us, a warm smile on his face.

“Welcome,” he says, holding the door open wider for us to step inside.

Upstairs, the apartment is filled with even more Christmas cheer. A big twinkling tree stands in the corner, decked out with ornaments, tinsel, and a sparkly star on top. Garland hangs from the doorways, and holiday candles are flickering on every available surface.

Just as we get settled, their French bulldog, Pancake, comes waddling over to greet us, his little tail wagging excitedly. I crouch down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears before standing back up.

“Claire, David, this is Melor,” I say, turning to him. “Melor, this is Claire and David.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

Melor shakes David’s hand, offering Claire a warm smile. “Nice to meet you both,” he says smoothly, reaching into the bag he’s carrying. He pulls out a bottle of scotch and hands it to David, who raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.

“Good scotch,” David says, nodding with approval as he inspects the bottle. “Lagavulin 16-year? Really good scotch.”

Melor smirks. “Figured it might be to your taste.”

David chuckles clearly impressed. “You figured right.”

Not to be outdone, I reach into the bag and pull out the sparkling grape juice for Claire, wiggling it in front of her. “And for you, mom-to-be.”

Claire beams. “How thoughtful; thank you.”

David gestures toward the spread as we sit at the dining room table. “Tonight, we’ve got spicy pad Thai, spring rolls, and some coconut sticky rice for dessert.”

Claire grins, rubbing her belly. “Cravings have been wild, so Thai it is.”

Though the spread looks amazing, a sudden wave of nausea hits me. It’s subtle but enough to give me pause. I push it aside—probably just nerves—and refocus on the conversation and food.

Melor turns to David, leaning in. I’m very familiar with what she does, thanks to all the treats Amelia brings over from the bakery.” That gets a smile out of Claire. “But David, how about you?”

“I’m a public defender,” David replies.

Melor’s eyebrows go up, clearly impressed. “That’s admirable work. Can’t be easy, though, defending people who might not deserve it.”

“It’s a broken system,” David says, taking another bite of his pad Thai. “You see people get steamrolled all the time, especially if they don’t have money or connections. My job is to make sure everyone gets a fair shot.”

“There are definitely a lot of people who don’t, that’s for sure. I’m impressed.”

David smiles before dropping the inevitable question. “So, Melor, what do you do?”

Without missing a beat, Melor gives that signature, confident smile.

“I own a cybersecurity firm.”

David nods approvingly. “Nice. That’s got to keep you busy.”

As the conversation flows, I start thinking about how, in another time, Melor and David would’ve been on opposite sides of the law. David, the do-good public defender, and Melor, with his less-than-legal past. It’s not hard to imagine, even if Melor is technically retired. Melor would have only the best defense attorneys on his side, but the irony of the two of them sitting together, sharing a meal and discussing their careers… I can’t help but snicker to myself.

But then my mind wanders to the bigger question—is Melor really done with his old life?

Deep down I already know the answer. He’s not. At any moment, a crazed gunman could kick the door down and remind us of that fact.

Pancake curls up against my leg, his warm little body pulling me back to the present. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Claire catches my eye from across the table. “You okay, Am?”

Crap.

I force a smile, trying to play it off. “Yeah, just got carried away thinking about some Christmas ideas for the bakery.” It was a total lie, but it’s better than admitting I was imagining us getting ambushed.

Claire grins, oblivious. “I can’t wait to hear them!”

Melor chimes in. “I love seeing her creative process at work.”

I glance over at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing again. I offer a weak smile in return, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety.

Maybe I just need some air. Or a reality check.

I turn my attention to the meal in front of me, realizing I haven’t taken a single bite. I’m still feeling a little off, but I figure maybe some food will help. I start with a spring roll, dipping it into the peanut sauce on my plate. It’s good, but it settles weirdly in my stomach.

Meanwhile, Melor, David, and Claire are chatting away like they’ve been besties for years. I should feel like I’m part of it, but I don’t. I feel like I’m a million miles away.

Still not feeling quite right, I take a bite of the pad Thai.

Big mistake.

The second I start chewing, a wave of nausea hits me like a freight train.

Shit.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, standing up quickly, trying not to look too panicked as I rush off to the bathroom. I barely make it, slamming the door shut behind me as I heave over the toilet.

Afterward, I stand there for a moment, catching my breath, leaning over the sink, and staring at myself in the mirror. My face is pale, my heart’s racing, and I’m sweating.

What the hell is going on?