Page 19 of Naughty Santa Daddy

“Thank you, Mamá.”

“You know I’ve missed you, no? That we want you to come home, where you belong?”

I nod. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard it this trip. It’s not what I want, though. I told Papá I’d only be here for the holiday, but he’s back to doing what he does best, putting his hands in all the pots and controlling the fate of thefamiglia. I was finally feeling like I was beginning to get somewhere in Alabama. Is it New York? No, it’s far from the biting cold that hits you for halfthe year, sharp enough to make your bones ache and your teeth rattle… but it has its own charms, some I’ve grown to fondly think of. Like the massive pear trees and all their gorgeous blooms. I swear I’ve never seen such beautiful foliage and that amount of green for most of the year, and let’s not forget the southern drawl most of the men carry down there. Something about the way they talk gives me warm fuzzies all over; now toss in Goliath, and yeah, my freedom to be my own woman… and I’m ready to call it my home. I’ll always return here to visit my family; it’ll have a chunk of my heart for as long as I live, but I need my freedom as well, and no matter what I do or become here, it’ll never happen.

“Oh no, are you alright?” she asks, brow wrinkling as she takes me in closer.

I do feel a little off. The back of my neck prickles with sweat, then my temples. A hot flash hits me out of nowhere, which is crazy because I’m always cold. The flutters in my stomach disappear, leaving behind the swirling sensation of dread. I was fine, excited even, but now I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. “M-Mamá, w-what’s that smell?”

“It’s the vodka sauce, your favorite. I told you I’d make it for later.”

“Oh God,” I retch.

Her mouth pops open, “Wh-”

I miss whatever she's going to say next as I make a mad dash for the closest bathroom. My head hangs over the toilet when I finally flick the lock for Mamá to come inside. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I was fine one moment, then not the next. My vision swims as Mamá wets a towel in the sink, then wrings it out. She lifts my hair, placing the cool cloth on the back of my neck. She repeats her moves, handing me a second towel to wipe my mouth, and she moves to dot my brow. “I’m sorry, this bathroom is disgusting now.”

“Shh, relax. Just concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. I grabbed a bottle of water for you.” She twists the lid off, handing it to me, then she roots around in the cabinet, coming back with a miniature-sized new mouthwash. “Use this, then let’s get you up to your room.”

“The smell, I don’t know if I can go back in the hallway.” I manage to get myself up and swish a bit of the mouthwash around, spitting it into the sink, then drinking a couple gulps of the water. I’m already feeling a little bit of relief, but the sensation hasn’t completely disappeared. “I’m not being rude,” I say, the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. She’s right; vodka sauce is usually my favorite, but just the thought of it makes me want to puke again.

“Here,” she hands me a clean towel. “Hold it over your nose and mouth so you will only smell the fabric softener on the way to your room. Let’s get you in bed. Do you think it was something you ate? I don’t think anyone has been sick lately. Probably the De La Rosas; their children are always coming down with something. Little menaces.”

“Mamá!”

“It’s the truth, terrible little devils. I’m so grateful you and your cousins were never like that. Now let’s go; we have to get you feeling better. It’s almost Thanksgiving, and my Christmas tree has to go up in the entryway before anyone else comes over.”

“You’re crazy, you know not everyone will freak out if your tree isn’t up, right?”

“It’s your stomach talking, so I’ll allow it. Never mention not decorating my Christmas tree early again,” she orders with such a straight face that anyone else would take her seriously. However, I know she’s being her usual dramatic self, so I chuckle as we get to my room, and she pulls my blanket back for me. I climb into my bed, allowing her to cover me up to my chin.

She beams at making me laugh, hustling into the bathroom to grab the wastebasket along with another hand towel. “You just rest,amore mio.”

I wake sometime later, groggy and disoriented. I’d taken some medicine earlier with a bit of hot tea and broth, Mamá insisted, and when she gets like that, you just go with it. My face itches, something smells weird and as I shift to itch my nose, I realize I can’t move my hands.

What in the ever-loving fuck is going on? I’d hoped to get another blissful glimpse of Goliath in my dreams, but it didn’t happen, and now I feel like I’m caught in a bad dream altogether. I shift, and then something touches my nose again. My eyes shoot open as I immediately attempt to sit up. My lids part, only to meet the stare of a stranger.

He was touching my nose! Hovering over me, he has a towel in one hand, entirely too close to be appropriate in any manner. Was he about to smother me? I attempt to scream, but his big, glove-covered hand clamps over my mouth. I’ve never seen his face before; he’s definitely not one of my father’s men, or he’d know better than to ever come into my room, let alone have the nerve to touch me.

“You scream, I break your jaw,” he threatens, his dialect telling me he’s definitely a New Yorker, and a poor one at that. Brooklyn maybe? Sometimes I can pick out someone if they grew up there versus around here. Regardless, I’ve learned from my training that in this instance, fuck what he says, because there’s a good chance one of my cousins or someone will hear me and be able to help save me. I can’t fight him off, so Ibuck around, screaming like a madwoman. I’ll probably end up puking all over him once I get too warm from this, but maybe not if he decides to smother me completely.

“Stupid bitch,” he hisses, yanking me out of the bed. His rag falls, and he doesn’t reach for it, thank God, but he does something even scarier. He heads for the far side of my room, dragging me with him towards the window.

It’s open.

How did the chill in the air not wake me up before him touching me? I must’ve been exhausted, or whatever was in the tea Mamá gave me was stronger than usual. This is so bad.

I keep trying to scream, but it’s hard with his meaty hand clamped over half my face and his tight grip around me crushing my ribs. “I oughta off you right here and leave you for yourfamigliato find ya. You’d like that, huh? Me to strangle ya?”

This dipshit. I swear I’d give him a piece of my mind if he’d move his fucking sausage fingers for a moment. Wracking my mind to not panic, I go through the steps I was taught. The past threatens to claw at my mind, memories of when I was a child threatening to assault me and effectively cripple me in the process. I survived my best friend’s tragic murder; I can survive these assholes. They’re forever trying to get to me. I’m always on the offense, but I let myself believe I was safe at home. Being in Alabama has made me let my guard down here, thinking my father and cousins have everything under control, as they always do. Thefamigliais powerful, but our enemies have always been plentiful. Didn’t I learn as much from my childhood? I was just at her grave, it should’ve served as reminder enough to always watch my back, check my fucking windows, under my car… everything! I feel so damn stupid right now, that trapped little girl at a bad man’s mercy once again.

Inhaling, I collect my thoughts from spiraling and relax my muscles to the point my body drops, and I become dead weight.I have to keep screaming; we’re taught as women to always be loud, as it’s one of our greatest defense mechanisms. I do the best I can, but it’s difficult to do so and also suck in enough air to not pass out. Terror and rage claw at my mind, my vision growing hazy. Shaking myself out of it, I randomly jerk my head, dislodging him enough I can draw in a swift breath.

Something’s not right, the air’s weird. It tastes funny. No, that can’t possibly be right.

He snickers, the sound dark and demented, and so help me, the first chance I get I’m kicking him straight in his tiny chipmunk nuts. The chump was dumb enough to come in myfamiglia’shome; my father will have an absolute field day taking his wrath out on these fools. “Gotta get outta here, this place will be ashes soon enough.”

His comment hits me everywhere all at once, and suddenly, I’m attempting to scream for an entirely different reason. The taste… no, it was also the smell. When I drew in that deep inhale, it was tainted with something. With smoke.

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