Page 34 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
Every raised voice, every hurtful word, and every tear that slips from Mom or me is the price I pay to keep them safe. If Maxim’s threat against them wasn’t enough, then the old stories overheard from my father as a child are. Tales of informants cut down because they talked too much, families slaughtered to send a message, and people disappeared, never to be found again. That’s all from regular criminals.
Maxim is in the Mafia. I don’t want to know the extent of organized crime and the harm they can bring to the ones I love.
So I face it all while feeling like the worst daughter to ever exist. My mother cries over the wedding I denied her, my father’s fury rages at my reckless decisions and the strange man I’ve brought into their lives, and Maxim remains silent by my side.
All of it is worth it so they walk away from this without a single drop of pain.
By the time the world grows dark, things calm. My parents run out of things to say and we settle into a disappointed silence while the fire reduces to embers and tears finally stop.
“I think we need some time,” Mom says from her corner on the couch. “You’ve really hurt me, Hollie, but if you promise to really focus on us at Christmas, then we can work on it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say earnestly. “But please try and be happy for me. This is my decision and my life. And I promise, everything and anything you need for Christmas, I am here. I promise.”
“Him too?” She points at Maxim, who now leans against the wall near the window.
“Yes.”
“I’ll think about it, then,” Mom says.
“Leave,” Dad says stiffly, then he turns and moves into the kitchen and I never see him again. Staying will only increase the pressure, so I stand and try to meet Mom’s eye, but she keeps looking away from me.
“Bye, Mom. I love you.” Despite our troubles, it’s true. She doesn’t say it back.
Outside, the first touch of snow drifts through the air and soft, fat flakes float past my face and catch in my hair. The air is bitterly cold but pleasant against my faintly throbbing cheek. I bury my hands in my pockets and groan softly as the door closes behind us and Maxim and I stand in a growing winter wonderland. It’s been snowing for a few hours, judging by the white blanket that covers the garden and the car where Stu is huddled inside his coat. The first snow of the year usually callsfor a celebration. Mom and I would make hot chocolate and watch it fall, then come out here and make snow angels. Been doing that ever since I was a kid.
How different this year is going to be.
As I start to walk, Maxim stops me.
“Hollie.”
“What?” I spin to face him. “Are you happy? Was my performance enough for you?” Anger flares inside me and I fight to keep it at bay. One wrong word, one wrong move, and it won’t matter what I told them. He could decide at any moment to kill all of us.
“Your passcode is one, two, three, four.”
I gape at him. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t try it, actually.”
Dragging my phone from my pocket, I unlock it with the simple code and let out a soft groan. “I can’t believe it.”
“Since you’ve lied to the cops and to your parents, I think you’ll hold up your end of this. I’m happy for you to return to your normal life—under our protection, of course. As long as you maintain the marriage around anyone who asks, of course.”
“So this is a reward for breaking my mom’s heart?” Tapping the screen, I quickly set a new passcode and slide my phone back into my pocket. “Am I supposed to be grateful?"
“You’re alive,” Maxim replies curtly. “So are they. I would think you would be happy.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Before I can stop myself, I prod his wide, solid chest. “You might have a fucked up relationship with your dad, but mine trusted me. Sure, they aggravated me and signed me up for things I hated and there might be a lack of respect about my work, but they raised me and they cared for me. And I just sat there and lied to their faces while denying them any detail of a wedding they both dreamed about for their only daughter. Do you even understand what kind of pain that gives me?”
“A pain that isn’t comparable to what you would feel if you lost them,” Maxim replies as if we’re having a casual conversation.
“If youkilledthem, you mean,” I snap, prodding him again and growing more irritated when he appears unbothered. “I hate this and I hate you! I get it, it’s the cost of survival or whatever, but I’m allowed to be angry that it’s shitty!”
Fighting to keep my voice low, I turn and stomp toward the car. Stu catches sight of us and straightens up. As we reach the vehicle, I turn back to Maxim and glare at him. “Ride in the front. I want to be alone.”
His brows twitch but he nods quickly. “Alright.”
“And one more thing,” I snap as I open the door. “The next time you want to murder someone in cold blood, make sure I’m not there to witness it!”
