Page 84 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
MAXIM
“Higher… a little higher… almost… perfect!” Susan claps her hands together and cheers softly. “Oh, it looks so good there, don’t you think, Martin?”
Bernard grunts from behind the Christmas tree where he’s been trying to find the source of a fault with the Christmas lights for the past twenty minutes.
My shoulders ache, but it’s worth it. The last of the streamers now dangle from the ceiling, the party table is set up and straining with food, the record player is set up with classical Christmas songs at Martin’s request, and all that’s left to do is add a dusting of fake snow to all the table decorations and ornaments set up around the home. Hollie wasn’t kidding when she said her parents went overboard.
The first guests start to arrive, so I retire to the kitchen where Toto’s up to his elbows in potato peels.
“Help me,” he groans. “My fingers are going to wrinkle off!”
I take over and nudge him with my shoulder. “Go. Take a break. Rex is around somewhere. He might still be out back finishing the snow maze for the kids.”
“I’m trading vegetable water for the cold?” Toto wrinkles his nose but grabs his coat from the hanger near the back door and vanishes out into the garden.
He approaches Rex stealthily and then announces himself so loudly that Rex jumps out of his skin and falls flat onto the portion of the maze he was working on. A fight ensues and I chuckle to myself, peeling the last of the potatoes while Rex and Toto cover themselves in snow.
“I know who you are.” Martin’s voice rises up from behind me and I flinch. He approached so quietly, I had no idea he was there. Glancing over my shoulder, I smile politely.
“It’s me. Maxim. It’s not that dark in here, is it?”
“Not that.” Martin leans back against the kitchen table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you really think a career criminal like you could marry a chief’s daughter and I wouldn’t find out?”
My hands pause in the water. Potato peel floats past, following the lingering ripples from my last movements.
There was always a chance, a slight risk that Martin would be suspicious enough to do some digging. But even if he puts Hollie on trial, she can’t say a thing about me, although now I don’t think she'll say anything, anyway. From a woman who saw me as nothing but a cold-blooded killer at Thanksgiving, a week before Christmas and she’s warmed to me.
I turn away from the sink, the peeler clutched in one hand. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is that what he trains you to say? I knew as soon as it was difficult to see Hollie’s marriage certificate that there was something off about you. She never told me your last name, but when you were here helping me in the garden? I saw some of your tattoos.”
Suddenly, my long-sleeved shirt doesn’t feel as secure as it once did.
“There aren’t many who are inked up to the degree you are. And even less with the last name Krasnov.”
“I bet there’s more than you think,” I reply carefully.
“Don’t bullshit me, Son. Your father is Igor Krasnov. It might have taken me this long to work it out, but I promise you, I won’t be forgetting it.”
Tension thickens in the air. Is he telling me this because he’s called his buddies and I’m seconds away from being arrested on some bullshit charge? Or is this something else? Bringing this up at a Christmas party, of all places, is one hell of a choice.
“I don’t know my father.” An easy lie.
“I said don’t bullshit me,” Martin snaps. “I know who you are. You come into my home, you share dinner with mywife, you marry my daughter. Don’t stand there and treat me like I’m stupid.”
He has a point. My breath hitches, and I’m acutely aware that if Rex were to walk in right now, things could go south. He’s overly protective, but Martin isn’t a threat. Not physically, at least.
“So, what is this?” I ask slowly. “You know who I am. You bring it up now? Are you expecting me to cause a scene at your party? If you think this looks bad for me, then think how it also looks to others. You, a retired police chief marrying his daughter into the Mafia. Some might question if your loyalties were always with us.”
“Is that a threat?” Martin’s bushy brows knit together.
“No. I’m pointing out that this can look like either thing.”
He remains silent for a long minute, then his hands tighten around his elbows. “Is she in trouble?”
His question catches me off guard and for a second, my mind is blank. His concern is his daughter and I didn’t see it immediately. Everywhere I look, there’s a threat or someone eager to take me down, but Martin isn’t one of them. Not anymore.
“Hollie,” Martin repeats. “Is she in trouble?”
