Sebastian Volkov hated Christmas.
He hated the lights, the forced cheer, the jingling music that followed him like a stalker, and most of all, he hated the way the holiday reminded him of everything he had lost.
The only reason he was currently stepping out of a black SUV into a snow-covered luxury lodge in Aspen was tugging on his gloved hand.
"Daddy," Noelle Volkov said, her tiny boots crunching happily against the snow. "Is this where Santa lives?"
Sebastian looked down at his six-year-old daughter—wide-eyed, red-cheeked, bundled up like a walking marshmallow—and sighed.
"No," he said flatly. "Santa is a myth."
Noelle gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. Like a child who had just discovered betrayal on a global scale.
"You promised," she accused, pointing an accusing mitten at him. "You said Christmas would be magical this year."
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I said we'd go somewhere cold," he corrected. "And safe."
Safe. That was the key word.
Aspen was neutral territory. No blood feuds. No bullets. No rivals. Just snow, expensive cabins, and people who drank overpriced cocoa and pretended the world wasn't run by men like him.
That was the plan.
The universe, however, had always enjoyed laughing at Sebastian Volkov.
The lodge doors burst open, letting out a wave of warmth, laughter—and her.
Sebastian froze.
She walked out like she owned the snow beneath her boots.
Long dark hair spilled from a wool hat, her coat cinched at the waist, confidence in every step. She was beautiful in a way that felt intentional. Dangerous. Her eyes scanned the area sharply, calculating exits.
Sebastian's hand twitched toward a gun that wasn't there.
Because he knew her.
Nyra Valen.
Mafia queen. Strategist. His biggest rival.
And apparently… a Christmas tourist.
"Well," Nyra said, spotting him instantly. Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. "If it isn't the Grinch himself."
Noelle looked between them. "Daddy, is that your friend?"
Sebastian and Nyra spoke at the same time.
"No."
"Absolutely not."
Noelle frowned. "You talk like married people."
Sebastian nearly choked.
Nyra laughed—an honest, surprised sound—and Sebastian hated that his chest reacted to it.
"Your daughter's funny," Nyra said, crouching slightly to Noelle's level. "What's your name?"
"Noelle," she said proudly. "Daddy brought me here for Christmas so Santa can finally find us."
Nyra blinked, then shot Sebastian a look. "You brought a child into my vacation town?"
"This is not your town."
"Oh, sweetheart," she said sweetly. "Everything is my town."
Sebastian leaned down. "Noelle, go inside. Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows."
Noelle hesitated, eyes narrowing. "Don't fight her."
Sebastian stiffened. "I won't."
Nyra smirked. "Liar."
Noelle sighed like an exhausted adult. "Grown-ups are weird." Then she skipped inside.
The moment the doors closed, the air shifted.
"This is neutral ground," Sebastian said quietly. "Whatever game you're playing—"
"I'm playing Christmas," Nyra interrupted. "Try it sometime. You look like you'd benefit from joy."
"I don't trust you."
"Good," she said. "I'd be offended if you did."
They stood there, snow falling softly around them, two enemies pretending not to feel the strange pull crackling between them.
"You're a widower," Nyra said suddenly.
Sebastian's jaw tightened. "Don't."
"She died three years ago," Nyra continued, her tone softer now. "I know."
Silence stretched.
"You did your homework," he said.
"I always do."
Another pause.
Then she smiled again—dangerous, teasing. "Relax, Volkov. I'm not here to kill you. It's Christmas."
"That's not reassuring."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Besides, if I wanted you dead, it wouldn't be in front of your child."
Sebastian hated that a part of him believed her.
"I booked this lodge for two weeks," she continued. "Looks like we'll be… neighbors."
"No."
"Oh yes."
Inside the lodge, Noelle pressed her face to the glass, watching them.
She grinned.
Her daddy had finally met someone interesting.