Page 100 of Naughty Santa Daddy

“I know you are, buddy,” I say. “But we’re going to be okay. Your dad and Zio will make sure of it.”

“That’s right,” Greta agrees. “Your dad would never let anything bad happen to you.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind her that-that isn’t a guarantee anyone can make, but I have no interest in scaring the poor child any more than he already is. I know fear, and it’s no fun.

“And neither will we.”

“Here we go,” Greta says absently as she leads us into her bedroom. “Lock that door behind you,” she instructs.

“I don’t think a lock is going to stop anyone with a weapon.” Despite my reservations, I do as I’m told. “Now what?”

She moves to the opposite wall where the door to her closet is. After opening it, she punches in a combination on a keypad just inside.

“Now, we wait,” she says and moves deeper into the walk-in.

Amos follows her like this is something they do all the time, but I’m a little more hesitant. When I enter the space, shock washes over me.

“Damn. He’s really prepared foreverything, isn’t he?”

Like keeping captives cozy?

“Massimo doesn’t take any chances with the people he loves,” Greta says.

The gunfire continues outside, although the noise is muffled and barely audible. The walls of the cabin must be reinforced to have such an effect.

A tingle races up my spine, and I glance over my shoulder. Part of me wants to hide away with Amos and Greta, but then there’s the piece of me with inner demons stemming from my past, and she needs to use the balls she’s spent years growing.

“As soon as you close that door, we can’t be harmed,” Greta tells me. “Not only is it bulletproof, but unless you have the original blueprints, it’s impossible to know this room is even here.”

“What about Massimo?” I ask, torn about closing myself off to him. “We can’t help him if we’re in here.”

“And we also can’t be used against him.”

Used against him?

Without giving myself time to change my mind, I step away from two of the people I’ve come to cherish.

“Hadley, what are yo—”

I slam the door closed, cutting off Greta’s words and Amos’ shouts for me to stay with him. My heart cracks knowing I’m scaring him, but I have to do this. I have to help the other person I’ve not only come to cherish but also love:Massimo.

Love?

Admitting my feelings to myself is one thing, but now that I have, I know I have to tell him. And I can’t do that if he’s dead because of some misguided notion that I need protecting.

I’m coming, Massimo!

As I move through the cabin, I take deep breaths in an attempt to slow my heart rate. Focusing will be infinitely easier if I can hear myself think over the thudding in my chest.

I detour to the kitchen, realizing that I don’t have a weapon. Grabbing the biggest knife in the butcher block on the counter, I turn it over in my palm, testing my grip. The blade is serrated like a bread knife, and I grin, knowing the damage it can cause.

Thank God Greta likes to cook.

Retracing my steps, I move to the front door. I can hear the bullets flying more clearly, and for a split second, fear threatens to take over. I refuse to let it, though. Not now, not when it really matters.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders as I shove the door open, exposing myself to the chaos.

“Massimo?” I call out, scanning the area before me.

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