Page 42 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump

“I was going to spend time with Hollie today, but this is too important.”

“How is she?”

“She accepted the ring last night. And dinner was… good, I thought. Until she went to the restroom. When she came back, she was different.”

Rex’s head tilts as the wind cuts through his hairline. “Do you regret what you did?”

“No. Killing her goes against everything I stand for. I just…” Shaking my head, I drain my coffee in one gulp. “It gets to me how she looks at me, and I don’t understand why. I like listening to her, even when she’s angry. I like her music. At the bar where we originally met, she caught my eye so quickly. Now she looks at me like…” Trailing off, my heart squeezes as if a fist has reached up from my guts and ensnared it. “She looks at me like my mom used to look at my dad.”

“You’re not like him,” Rex cuts in immediately. “The fact that she’s alive proves that.”

“Does it?” With a final glance, I head back into the apartment. I’m met by warmth that chases away the bitter sting of the December wind within seconds as I walk toward Hollie’s room. Ideally, I’d like to speak to her before I leave.

My soft knocks on her door go unanswered, so, daringly, I turn the handle and ease my way inside.

She’s asleep. Her curtains hang closed over the window, but a sliver of light escapes through a crack and illuminates her face on the pillow. With the bruise fading from her cheek, Hollie almost looks like her old self. Both her arms wrap around the pillow she’s sleeping on and one leg appears cocked upward under the blanket, bent at the knee. The blanket itself pools at her waist, giving me a glimpse of her bare back.

I should leave, but something keeps me there.

Admiration.

Concern.

A lick of desire.

Walking forward slowly, I pick up the end of the blanket and very gently cover her back up. She sighs and shifts against the pillow, tightening her arms a fraction, but she doesn’t wake. She sleeps on, as peaceful as a baby.

That comforts me.

If she were at the point of no return, she wouldn’t find sleep here with me.

All I can do is hope that in time, she will understand.

Leaving her room, I softly close the door and meet Rex back in the lounge. “Stay with her. I’ll send Toto up. You both need to stick to her like glue, understand?”

Rex nods. “What are you concerned about?”

“My father. He called last night but I didn’t answer. If he’s about to make a move, I want her protected.”

“Understood.”

Stu and I arrive at Vinnie’s apartment forty minutes later. It’s small for an apartment, on the ground floor of a shabby block with cracked windows, peeling railings, and a front door that’s not seen a lick of paint since its installation.

“He lives here?” Stu looks up and down the street. “This is on the edge of our territory. One block over and you’re eating with the Irish.”

“You think there’s a connection?” I ask as we approach the door.

Stu shrugs. “Nah. Last I heard from your father’s men is that the Italians are the biggest aggressors right now. The Irish have a lot of infighting to keep them busy.”

“That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have run with my girls.”

“Sure.” Stu leans heavily on the door and within a few seconds, the lock splinters free. “But it does mean they don’t want your eyes prying too close while they fight out their own promotions.”

“Hm.” Inside, we’re greeted with the sour stink of off milk and out-of-date meat. The source is the fridge. Judging by the piled-up mail that complains as we push inside and the lack of warmth within the apartment, Vinnie hasn’t been home in a while.

“Vinnie?” Stu takes the stairs two at a time.

The clatter of doors being kicked open rings through the apartment while I inspect the lower floor with my gun clasped tightly in my hands.