Page 21 of Mafia Christmas Vows

“Take me to Orlov House.”

He pauses. “The weather…”

“Are you a fucking mouse, Anatoly? You wish to hide so the snow doesn’t bury you?”

Anatoly growls. “I will meet you in five.”

I hang up the phone.

Anatoly doesn’t need to make me second guess my choice. I want to be out of here, and I don’t want to be in Novgorod.

I have the strangest compulsion to be at Orlov House.

And I am concerned that it has something to do with the newest inhabitant.

The snow is thick, and even I will admit that. Despite the SUV’s tires and drive system, we slide the majority of the way back to Orlov House, and when we pull into the long drive, the front of the vehicle pushes snow in front of it.

Anatoly looks at me. “If the snow increases, I will not be able to take you back to Novgorod.”

“We can take the tank,” I rumble.

“It’s still being serviced. And you’d use a tank to get back to Novgorod?”

If I need to escape, I will take any avenue that I need to.

“Boss,” Anatoly sighs. “I’ll take you wherever you need. You know this.”

“Stop complaining about it, then.”

He doesn’t answer.

Safely parked in the garage, I slam the car door shut and march into the house.

The first thing I notice is the scent.

It kicks me in my chest. My mother used to make the house smell like this around the holiday season. Spices, citrus, and something sweet all grab my chest and pull at my heart.

I shut my eyes for a second, overwhelmed by the nostalgia of it.

It is the music next. Orlov House is a large home. Parts of it are old, but most of it is built as a manor house in the style popular in the 1800s.

Which means that it is a house of many hallways, many rooms, and very few large spaces.

The trill of music, melodies that seem bright, with all the singing in English, pulls me through the house. Hallway after hallway, room after room, everything looks…

Bright.

Finally, I find the source of the music. Gathered in the great hall, the living room where my mother loved to host her holiday gatherings, I find Elena and Magdalena.

And, surrounding them, are memories that I would rather have never faced.

My jaw drops.

Holiday decorations drip from every surface. Most of them are familiar; my mother had them, and I’ve seen them before.

However, they are in different locations than I remember. Or they are positioned differently. Or there are some that I don’t remember at all, and that bothers me too.

There is a tree.

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