Page 72 of Santa Daddy
Mrs. Zverev.
The name hit like a slap.
Not Dani Morales, girl with $87k in loans and a radiator that sounded like it murdered squirrels.
Not the mall elf. Not the witness.
His wife.
His property.
His problem. His leverage. His shield.
“Come,” he said under his breath, fingers tightening around mine. “We say hello, then we talk business.”
The sacristy behindthe altar smelled like old stone and cold incense.
It also smelled like power.
Six men stood waiting. Older, heavier, in suits that probably predated the iPhone. Faces like weathered granite. Their eyes went from me to Konstantin like I was a question and he was supposed to provide the answer.
“Pakhan,” Konstantin said, inclining his head slightly to the one in the center. “You look well.”
The old man—Baranov, from the whispered intel I’d half-overheard earlier—snorted.
“I look old,” he said in Russian-tinted English. “You look stupid. Marrying for heart.” His gaze slid to me. “American one, even.”
His accent was thicker than Konstantin’s, vowels flattened by decades.
“She is not for heart,” Konstantin replied. “She is who I want.”
Pakhan’s gaze sharpened.
Konstantin’s thumb brushed my knuckles once, hard. “You know rules.”
He switched to Russian. The words rolled too fast for me to catch more than fragments, but I heard my name.Nevesta.Zhena.Wife.
Baranov grunted. “If she dies now, it is as if they kill you,” he said in English, for my benefit or just to twist the knife. “That is what you want, boy? To tie your throat to a stranger?”
Konstantin’s jaw flexed. “She is not stranger.”
Could’ve fooled me.
A voice to my right cut in, smooth as silk over a blade.
“Or maybe she is,” it said. “Maybe that is the problem.”
Maksim.
Of course.
He lounged against a stone column like this was a fashion shoot, hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed. Blond hair slicked back. Smile like a halo on a devil.
“Cousin,” he said, eyes sliding from Konstantin to me and back. “You never did learn to separate business from… distractions.”
He let the last word hang.
“Congratulations, by the way,” he added. “She is…unexpected.”
