Page 55 of Santa Daddy
I looked at Dani.
Expected horror. Disgust. Maybe nausea.
Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted. But it wasn’t fear that flickered in her gaze. It was something else. Darker. Hotter.
She liked it.
Liked watching me put a man down for touching her.
Good girl.
Medvedov tried to talk through the blood filling his nose and mouth. It came out as a gargled mess of threats and spittle. I twisted his head at an angle that made him whimper like an animal.
“Apologize,” I said.
“F–fuck you?—”
I dug my fingers in and lifted his face just enough that he had to meet my eyes.
“Cyril,” I murmured. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He swallowed. Pride and blood together.
“Sorry,” he gasped, voice ruined. “Apologies to the lady.”
The room stayed silent as I released him. He pushed himself upright, one hand clamped over his ruined nose, eyes promising revenge he’d never manage to collect.
Let him stare. Let him bleed.
“Gentlemen,” I said, smoothing my sleeves, my tone as civil as the Christmas jazz leaking under the door. “Shall we continue?”
We did.
But the game had changed.
The cards kept coming. Chips slid across the felt. Holiday music in the main room rolled through the standards—“Jingle Bell Rock,” “Winter Wonderland”—each song more inappropriate than the last for a room where men were mentally recalibrating how far they’d test me.
No one dared try anything with Dani after that.
Message received.
When we stood to leave an hour later, the air in the back room went heavier again. Every gaze followed as I helped her rise, hand firm on the small of her back.
Medvedov sat hunched in his chair, napkin now speckled red, a crooked wreath of dried blood already forming around his nostrils. His eyes tracked us all the way to the door.
Good. Let that image stain his skull.
The main room hit us like a different country.
Crowded bar. Women in glittering dresses, men in expensive suits. Colored lights flickering on the dance floor. A big tree drowning in ornaments and fake snow. The band had switched to “Last Christmas,” which felt on-brand.
I guided Dani through the crowd to the side exit, away from watching eyes and broken noses.
The drive back was quiet at first. Snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, muting the world. Streetlights turned the city into a slideshow of white and gold. The car’s heater hummed.
Then she broke.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded, twisting in her seat to face me. Fury sparked from every line of her body. “You could’ve killed him.”
