Page 13 of Mafia Christmas Vows

She takes a hesitant step forward.

“Now!”

Maggie’s feet scurry along the carpet. She brushes past me, and I catch the slightest whiff of something tantalizingly floral as she rushes by.

I grab the door and slam it closed, the woodwork around the doorframe shaking as I do.

Chest heaving, I look at her.

Maggie’s eyes are wide. Her face is pale in the dim light of the hall.

She’s afraid.

Of me.

“You can never come to these rooms,” I say, my voice still deep. “Never again. Do you understand?”

“I…”

I don’t wait to hear her response.

I storm down the hallway, leaving my soon-to-be wife behind.

I drink vodka in my study until the light disappears around me.

The staff creep quietly by. I pretend not to notice their hushed whispers in the hallway, or the fact that Elena has been hovering by the doorway for the last hour or so.

I’m Russian. Vodka is practically part of my blood. So the fact that I’ve been consuming it like water all day means I’m not drunk in the slightest.

Elena knocks, and I struggle to my feet.

Well.

Maybe I amslightlybuzzed.

I open the door. “What?” I bark.

She bustles in past me, and even in the darkness I can feel her eyes on me. “You smell like you’re a pig,” she says.

“Good to see you too, Elena.”

“Well it would be good to see you if it was not so terrible!” she turns, her hands on her hips.

I glare at her.

“You scared the girl,” Elena says accusingly.

“She was where she shouldn’t have been.”

“She was in her house.”

“It’s not her house yet!” I snap.

Elena raises her eyebrows and turns to snap on a light. The brightness makes me flinch, and she makes a small, disapproving sound. “It will be her house. Or is she free to go back to America?”

I open my mouth.

Shut it.

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