Page 108 of Naughty Santa Daddy

The beautiful sight of Massimo and Amos sitting on the couch together stole my breath away when I ventured downstairs after putting on the gorgeous pajamas my Mafiaprincipelaid out for me. I’ve never had anything so luxurious and expensive. The dozens of fuzzy socks tossed beside them haphazardly were absolute juxtaposition perfection to the fancy pjs.

I laughed so hard imagining him in the department store, fretting about which I’d like most, then buying all of them for good measure. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and my belly ached. What a lovely way to begin the day…Christmas Day.

I did not expect to find the sadness on Amos’ adorable face after wishing them a Merry Christmas and kissing their heads.

My heart is in my throat as I come around the couch and sit beside them. Gently, I caress his cheek, my gaze flicking to Massimo’s, then back to Amos. “Is everything alright?”

“Mhm,” Amos nods, leaning his face into my hand.

“Well, you don’t look okay. Has something happened?” It might seem pushy, but I believe it’s best to talk about things so maybe we can fix them instead of bottling stuff up. In one so young, he should not be burdened in any way. Life is hard on the best day for most, and I won’t stand for him to be sad on Christmas.

Massimo stares at me, almost like he’s mesmerized. I feel his love for me pouring out of him, just as I did last night when he made love to me.

Our love story will be one for the ages. I should write it down, perhaps publish a memoir of my life… how I was stolen from my parents and sold to a monster. The abuse. The horror. The many foster homes I was sent to would make for some riveting reading. Then…

A brutal Mafia man takes an oblivious waitress captive and forces her to sleep in his bed.

Okay, not much forcing was involved regarding sex.

Since the first day Massimo strolled into the diner with his newspaper in hand, I fantasized about him rescuing me, sort of like in “Pretty Woman.” But Richard Gere has nothing on Massimo Costa.

The more I consider the possibility of penning my childhood experiences, the more I believe it would be cathartic. And as it appears, my story is ending in a happily ever after.

There isn’t one speck of doubt in my mind, this is where I am meant to be, with Massimo and Amos.

“Santa isn’t real.” Amos’ declaration slices through my thoughts and jerks me back to the present. “Kids at school toldme our parents pretend to be Santa, but I didn’t believe them.” A tear skitters out of the corner of his eye.

“Piccolino,Santaisreal. Don’t listen to those stupid kids. They’re children. What do they really know?” Massimo tells him. “But sometimes, parents have to help the Jolly Man out. With the snowstorm hitting Texas and shutting down most of the state, along with the dangers we experienced earlier in the week, maybe he couldn’t get you everything on your list. I mean, one in particular takes months…”

Months? I furrow my brow at Massimo. What is he talking about?

“But if Santa is magical, it doesn’t take months to get me what I want.” He scowls at his dad and hops off his lap. “Look at all this.” He points at the presents under the tree.

“Yes, I see it,” Massimo replies. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m sure you’re going to enjoy everything,” I say, trying to help out Massimo. Somehow, someway, we need to change the drab mood in the cabin. This isn’t how I thought today would be.

“What I really wanted, and told Santa if he can only bring one thing, then I want—” He snaps his mouth shut and crosses his arms. I’ve never seen this side of Amos. And here I thought he was an old spirit trapped in a child’s body. It’s a relief to know I was wrong. He should behave like a child. Have a tantrum or two. Whine. Okay, maybe no whining, but he doesn’t need to act like an adult. There is plenty of time for that.

“What do you really want,piccolino?” I move to the edge of the couch, anxious to hear the child’s greatest desire.

Massimo inches forward too and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I rest my hand on his thigh and ignore the tingling sensation he stirs up inside me whenever he touches me. Tonight, after Amos goes to bed, we can delight in each other. Right here and now, I’m all about Amos and the splendor that is Christmas.

I’m about to start a game of twenty questions with Amos to figure out what’s bothering him so much, when Massimo clears his throat…

“I understand your disappointment,figlio.I must ask, did you look inside your stocking?” Massimo points at the stone hearth where we hung the ones Greta knitted for each of us. She amazes me. Someday, I hope to be more like her—a Jack of all trades.

“Daaad,” Amos groans. “My gift can’t fit in that little sock.” He dramatically slaps his hand on his forehead. I nearly snort at his cuteness but refrain.

“Just go check it out, okay?” Massimo says, and the young boy listens to his father.

“What did you put in his stocking?” I whisper into Massimo’s ear.

“You’ll see.” He steals a kiss, then turns his attention back to his son.

I’ll see? Flutters erupt in my stomach. Something big is coming, I feel it deep in the marrow of my bones, but what?

Amos sighs as he digs into his stocking. “It’s not in here.”

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