Page 55 of Naughty Santa Daddy

My fucking everything.

The grave comes into view, and I hear her breath hitch. Curling my arm around her shoulder, I read the headstone, myheart aching at a young life cut short at such an early age. I know my woman still carries guilt over that long-ago day; my goal is to ensure that she has more good days than bad, and I make a silent promise to the best friend she lost but still loves that I’ll make it happen.

I watch as a red cardinal appears and lands on the top of the grave, remembering that Granny has always said when they’re near, so is a lost loved one.

“I think she approves,” I murmur, my voice softer than normal, which is a feat in itself.

When a butterfly settles next to the bird, she gasps, her gaze meeting my own. “I think you’re right, Braxton. I’ve asked for a sign for years but never got one.”

“Thinking you got one today, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Emily, we’ve got her now. Rest in peace, sweet girl, and know that you’re still loved and missed, even all these years later.”

“Hey, Em,” she softly says, one hand reaching out to touch the marble headstone. “I want you to meet our daughter, Emily Noelle.”

Part 2

Massimo & Hadley

Massimo & Hadley

Chapter 1

Chelsea Camaron

Chelsea Camaron

Massimo

“Another top off?” she asks with a smile. Always chipper, that one. Not sure what she had to be so damn happy about.

In return, I give her a nod. Do I actually like the cup of cheap java? Not in the least, but there has to be some reason I’m here.

Her smile grows bigger. “Today’s special is Mamaw Jones’ blueberry cobbler if you want to give it a try.”

Frowning, I shake my head negatively. I’m not here for the cobbler, the pie, or even the fucking company. Mission: information.

“Black coffee only, got it,” she mutters more to herself than me. “One day, I’m gonna get him to try something, sheesh.”

Ignoring her challenge, my attention goes back to the newspaper in front of me. There isn’t a damn word on this paper I care about. Just like every other day for the last three months, I skim the words in front of me, sip this poor excuse for java, and watch.

Patience. A must-have skill in my line of work.

To truly capture a prey, a predator must be calculating, swift, but patient. The timing is crucial. Currently, it’s not time, but it’s creeping up faster than I would like. I need to sort this shit and move on.

Does she know how deep she is?

Not one fucking bit.

Does she know she’s on my radar?

Not a single clue.

Does she even know who I am?

Not at all. Hell, she doesn’t even know whosheis.

Hadley Bernard has no idea of her roots and how far they grow.

She knows shit about shit. And I hope to keep it that way. This world isn’t for her. She’s had enough darkness in her life; it’s time for her to be free to have peace and happiness. Nothing I can give her will allow her that. Some skeletons need to remain buried. Her history is one of nightmares, and the less she knows, the better. Except I have a nagging feeling it’s coming crashing down all around us.

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