Dark Christmas: Chapter 25

I’m furious with myself.

I can hear the tub running upstairs, the faint sound of water letting me know she’s up there, trying to find some peace.

All I can think about is how badly I’ve fucked this up.

I’ve dragged her into this mess when all I ever wanted was to leave that life behind. Not only has it returned, but it’s pulling her down with it—the first woman I’ve cared about in a very long time. Hell, if I’m being honest with myself, she could be the only woman I’ve ever felt this way about.

And now I don’t know what the fuck to do.

I want to protect her. More than that—I need to. I care for her more than I imagined possible after such a short time. She’s wrapped herself around my life in a way that goes beyond physical, deeper into a part of me I didn’t even know existed. I can no longer imagine my life, or this house, without her in it.

I won’t lose her. Not to them. Not like this.

I’ll kill anyone who tries.

I’m almost certain that the pair who followed us earlier were the remaining brother and whomever else he’s roped into this mess. Both of them have to die. There’s no other way. But it’s not going to be simple. It will take careful planning and precision, and I’ll need help. More than what Mashkov can provide from across an ocean.

A name surfaces in my mind. One from my past. One I swore I’d never say aloud again.

Sasha.

He lives north of the city on a posh estate in Sausalito he bought with his Bratva nest egg. Sasha is perhaps the only man I ever considered a real friend, but our past is dark. We’ve killed together. We’ve buried secrets and bodies alike. Reaching out to him means acknowledging that my old life isn’t just knocking on the door—it’s kicked it down and marched right in.

There’s no shortcut out of this.

I take out my phone, scrolling until I find the number I hoped I’d never have to use.

For a second, my thumb hesitates over the screen, but then I press call. The line rings once, twice, before a voice answers, rough and heavily accented in Russian.

‘Melor. It’s been too long.’

My grip tightens on the phone, and I stare at the wall in front of me, knowing that this call is pulling me right back into a world I’d fought so hard to leave behind.

‘Indeed, it has,’ I reply. ‘I need your help.’

I step into Amelia’s room. It’s past midnight, and she’s finally asleep, curled up under the sheets, her breathing steady. I stand there watching her, feeling a mix of emotions that I can’t quite place. She looks peaceful, but I know better. The world around her is anything but safe, and I’m the one responsible for that.

After a moment, I turn and leave. There’s work to be done.

A half hour later, one of Mashkov’s men is posted in front of my house. I head to The Rusted Nail, a dive bar tucked away on 24th Street. The place reeks of cheap beer, stale cigarettes, and desperation. It’s dark, the kind of spot where people come to disappear. The flickering neon lights above the bar cast an eerie glow, illuminating the rough edges of this forgotten corner of San Francisco. A few Christmas decorations are hung here and there, almost as an afterthought.

My eyes scan the room until they land on a massive figure sitting at the end of the bar. Though dressed in a sharp jacket, he still looks like he belongs in a cage fight. Tall, burly, and broad-shouldered, the man’s sheer size makes him hard to miss.

As if he could feel my presence, Sasha slowly turns toward me, a sly grin spreading across his face. He hasn’t changed a bit.

“Melor!” he bellows, his voice booming through the bar. Every head turns, but I keep my eyes locked on him.

Before I can say a word, he’s up and wrapping me in a bear hug that crushes the air from my lungs. I laugh, more out of impulse than joy.

“Good to see you, Sasha,” I say, pulling back. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you, brother,” he says, and for a moment, it’s as if no time has passed.

I size Sasha up again, letting my eyes drift over his sharp, expensive jacket and tailored pants. “Actually, I was wrong. You have changed. What’s up with the fancy clothes? They’re a far cry from the shit we wore when we were young punks fighting our way out of the gutter.”

Sasha throws his head back and laughs, the sound reverberating through the bar. “Let’s just say I made a few solid investments over the years. And as far as new looks, I could say the same about you.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly slumming it these days either.”

I grunt, acknowledging the truth. “Fair enough.”

We order a couple of whiskeys and find a worn-out booth near the back—dark and dingy, the kind of spot where no one will bother us. Perfect.

We sit down, and Sasha takes a long sip of his drink as he eyes me.

“So, Melor,” he says, leaning back, “what the hell’s a guy like you been up to? I hear whispers, but it’s not like you’ve been in touch.”

I smirk. “You know I left that life behind. I’ve been busy creating a new life for myself.”

Sasha chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I heard. Mr. Straight and Narrow now, huh? Bet it’s a hell of a lot different from the old days.”

I shrug, taking a sip of my whiskey. “A little quieter, but I make it work. What about you? Living large with that Bratva retirement fund, I see.”

He grins. “Yeah, you could say that. Bought myself a nice pad up north. Got the toys, the cash, but it gets boring, you know?”

“Boring, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s a new one for you.”

Sasha laughs. “Yeah, well, we’re getting old, brother. But you didn’t call me just to catch up, did you?”

I glance down at my drink, swirling the liquid before looking back up at him. He’s just as sharp as he’s always been. “No, I didn’t.”

Sasha leans in, his expression turning serious. “So, what’s going on? You said you needed my help.”

I lay it all out for him—Amelia, the home invasion, the assassins. How they’ve been following us, waiting for the right moment. I admit that I’m stuck. “No matter how many times I replay it in my head, I can’t figure out who’s behind this,” I tell him.

Sasha listens intently, swirling his whiskey with a smirk. When I finish, he lets out an amused chuckle. “I know exactly who it is.”

I frown, setting my glass down. “Who?”

He leans back, looking at me like I’ve missed something obvious. “You don’t remember Akim Medvedev?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, his voice heavy with amusement. “You weren’t the one who had to rough him up before we finished the job; I was.”

That jogs my memory. Akim Medvedev was a thief we needed info from. It was starting to come back to me.

Sasha nods, seeing the recognition in my eyes. “That’s right. Akim was a piece of work, tough as nails. But what stuck with me was what he said right before you ended him.”

I narrow my eyes. “What did he say?”

Sasha’s voice drops, taking on that edge of menace I haven’t heard in years. “‘If you kill me, my brothers will come for you tenfold, no matter how long it takes.’”

I clench my jaw, the weight of the memory settling in. “His brothers.”

Sasha nods. “Looks like they finally decided to deliver on that promise.”

I sit back, furious with myself for not piecing it together sooner. “How the hell did I miss that?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Melor. We did a lot of dark shit back in the day. Can’t expect you to remember every bastard we put down.”

“Still,” I say, shaking my head. “I should’ve been able to piece this together.” I pause, thinking it through. “You know anything else about the brothers? Where they are now? What they’re capable of?”

Sasha nods, taking a sip of his whiskey before answering. “Yeah, I looked into them after we took out Akim. Figured they might come looking for payback someday, so I did my homework.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “There were two. Denis, the hothead. He’s impulsive, reckless, always looking for a fight. He’s the type to shoot first, ask questions never.”

I nod, remembering bits and pieces now. “And the other?”

“Daniil,” Sasha says, his expression darkening. “He’s a lot more dangerous, in my opinion. Cool, collected, calculating. He’s the brains.”

I take that in, feeling the weight of the threat. Denis should be easy—he’ll come at me head-on. But Daniil? He’s the one I need to worry about, the one who’ll wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Sasha’s eyes lock onto mine. “If they’re coming for you, Melor, it won’t be pretty. These brothers don’t forget, and they’ve most likely been planning your demise for years.”

“Makes sense. They’ve been biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike. They’re not going to give up until it’s done. I can’t afford any missteps or mistakes.”

Sasha’s eyes narrow. “Who was it you killed in your place? The one who broke in?”

“Some goon. An associate, no doubt. Nothing more.”

He grunts, swirling his drink. “That means both brothers are still alive, still coming after you.”

I run my hand through my hair, the gravity of it settling over me like a vice. Two relentless brothers with nothing but revenge on their minds. It’s not just me they’re after now, it’s Amelia, too.

Sasha notes my anxiety and his voice softens slightly. “You’re in a mess, no doubt. But I’ve got your back, Melor. You’re not in this alone.”

I look at him, guilt taking over for a moment. “I’m sorry for dragging you back into this world. I didn’t want to—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t be. You know I live for this shit. Besides, if they’re coming after you, it’s only a matter of time before they come for me, too. Might as well get ahead of it.”

He leans forward, his eyes hard. “Now let’s take the fight to them.”

I nod. The game has changed, and I know exactly what I need to do.