Page 84 of Naughty Santa Daddy

“What, Amos?” I ask as he sticks his head in the doorway. He’s too nosy to keep his attention on me, trailing his gaze between Hadley, me, and the rest of the room. He’s got chocolate on his face; no doubt he was in the cookies they’d baked again. So much for them only being for Santa.

“Are we still getting our special tree tomorrow evening?” He’s persistent about getting a special tree this year. I don’t know where he came up with this idea.

“Yes, son. We will go and pick one out, chop it down, and bring it back to the cabin. Sound good?”

“Awesome, Dad. Greta said we can start the game now. You will come and play with us when you get done, won’t you?”

“Yes, we will.”

“Okay, Dad. Love you!”

“Love you too. Now go.” Pointing my finger at him, I silently tell him to leave me to business.

Hadley immediately begins talking when my little prince disappears, “I have to go back to work, Massimo. I’ve already told you why. This other stuff I don’t want to know or talk about. Take me home,please.”

“No. This isn’t the time, and you are not going back to work right now,” I reply in a gruff voice. I continue, “Do you know anything about your childhood before the foster homes?”

“No, Massimo. I saidno!”she yells as she stands and makes her way to the door. She’s trying to run away from this, and I’m not having it.

I jump from my chair to grab her as my cell rings. I know it’s Big John and I need to take the call. I’ll let her go for now, but not for long.

I take the call from him, his frazzled voice filling the line as soon as I hit accept. “Massimo, we’ve got a problem.A big one.I need you here.”

“Fuck. This isn’t the time for any of this shit. You can’t handle it?” I ask.

“No. It’s too serious. You have to take care of this, Boss.” He’s never this adamant, so I’d be a fool to not take him at his word.

“Fine, I’m on my way.” I hang up, my heart rate racing at this newfound issue. “Damn it all to hell.” I grumble the last part under my breath.

Chapter 12

Chelle C. Craze

Chelle C. Craze

Hadley

I barely dodged discussing my past with Massimo. I had never been more thankful for the interruption of someone else’s phone ringing mid-conversation in my life than when his did. Welcoming his distraction, I bolted through the house, staying as close to Amos as I could, hoping Massimo wouldn’t have a change of heart and decide to stay to talk.

A while later, Amos runs through the house, no doubt on a sugar high after devouring the cookies I sat out for us to share. Okay, I put them out for him but won’t admit that to Massimo if he asks. Considering how long he’s been gone, I don’t think I’ll have to answer for being the culprit of his son being wired and practically bouncing off the walls. Amos is a kid. He should be able to do normal kid things, even if his dad is in the Mafia. Every person deserves to enjoy life, especially the little ones.

The time I’ve spent here with Massimo, Amos, and Greta is something I will always cherish. Honestly, Emilio is starting to grow on me, too. Not that he and I see eye-to-eye all the time because he’s not one of my favorite people. Hell, he doesn’t even make the cut into the top five, but he’s quickly growing on me. Emilio’s drive to please his older brother and protect his family is something I admire, though. I don’t regret punching the bastard, but he does have redeemable qualities. Is that what a real family does for one another? —blindly follows the other simply because they share a bloodline?

Ma Carpenter was the closest I ever came to knowing what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Even though living with her wasn’t the picturesque fairytale of a family thatHallmarksells on Daytime TV, it is the only time I felt loved… until now.

I don’t want to leave them, but Massimo doesn’t understand the price he’s asking is one that I won’t be paying. I refuse to put myself through that. I chose someone else’s death in the diner, and since then, I have made some pretty questionable decisions when it comes to keeping myself alive. But now, I’m choosing life—I’m picking self-preservation.

Staying means willfully giving breath to the darkest parts of my past, along with the memories that I buried well beyond six feet deep. I swore if I made it out alive that I would never make myself relive those nightmares. Some people drown in theirvolatile past, locking their mind in the nightmarish moments that stole the biggest and most important pieces of what made them who they are. But I refused to give my soul over to the pitch-black memories then, and I still do.

My heart nearly stopped when Massimo asked me to talk about my past and it still hasn’t found a comfortable rhythm yet. Am I curious about the things he wants to tell me? More than I can ever describe with words, but do I want to give him the missing pieces of the story that only I know? The answer is hell no! Nothing I remember could even be important to anyone anyway. It’s years of trauma, abuse, and neglect as I bounced around from one foster home to another, each time praying the endless cycle of hell wouldn’t repeat itself. The thing is, it always did. The people and places were different, but the knowledge of the shitty situation only being temporary never changed.

Telling Massimo that it’s nothing personal when I don’t want to talk about this subject is out of the question. Of course, he’ll take it that way. He’s, well, Massimo Casto: mafia man, dad, and brother, and quite possibly the man who will take my life. To him, everything is personal. He isn’t a man who listens to reason. He takes what he wants, or in my case, who. I asked him when he was going to kill me, and he told me killing was easy, but living was harder. I agree with that, but I think he left out the part where, in the split second in which the decision between the two is made, people don’t have the time to understand the credence of their choice. Maybe that was exactly what he was telling me. I honestly have no fucking idea.

“Hadley, do we make you happy?” Amos’ feet still as he stops in front of me.

“Huh?” I answer absentmindedly, deep in my own thoughts, and shake my head. “What do you mean?”

“Are you happy here with us?”

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