Page 13 of Oh Holy Knight

Chapter Five

Enzo

I hate Christmas—correction,I loathe it.

Go ahead, gasp and call me Scrooge—I can take it.

But I got good reason.

To some his name is Al, to others he’s Wolf, but to me he’s dad and he’s batshit crazy when he’s in Christmas mode. I was already feeling the holiday blues before he announced his grand scheme to bring back the spirit of Christmas or whatever the fuck he wants to call this circus. I mean have you looked around, I’m the last man standing here. Everyone is either married, engaged or coupled up one way or another. I love Patty and all, but I’m getting sick and tired of having my dad’s first wife and Nico’s mom, be my plus one.

Don’t mistake what I’m saying—I’m perfectly content being single. I have a solid rotation of women who don’t expect much of me besides the occasional dinner and a couple of mind-blowing orgasms. I come and go as I please and make no apologies for it. But things get a little tricky around the holidays. It’s like all those women forget our arrangement and suddenly want more. It starts with them asking me to take them to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, then they start dropping hints on things they wish I’d buy them for Christmas. Before I know it, they’re asking me to meet the family.

No, thank you.

I’ve got my own crazy family to deal with, not looking to expand on that shit.

Anyway, that’s why I make it a strict rule not to answer the phone throughout the month of December. It’s also why I decided to go to Costa Rica for the holidays this year. I should be laying on a fucking beach right now, but instead I’m overseeing the renovations on Maria’s house—ensuring her and my father have enough room to seat the fifty fucking people they invited to Christmas Eve.

The only good thing about all this nonsense is that Maria always has leftovers on hand and while Stryker, Bash, Deuce and Bishop bust their asses sanding the new floors we installed on the extension, I’m eating a meatball parmigiana hero.

There’s even fresh garlic bread!

Who’s better than me?

The guy sitting on a beach right now drinking pina coladas and getting it on in the rain, that’s who.

I carry my plate to the kitchen table and take a seat, tucking a napkin into the collar of my shirt. The sound of the sander working the wood is way too loud, so I grab my AirPods from my pocket and fix them to my ears. I pull up my Biggie playlist on Spotify and when the legend starts rapping about showing love the Brooklyn way, I take a bite of my sandwich. That’s another thing—I don’t mind Christmas music all that much but every day we’ve been here working to get this project done we’re greeted with Lou Monte’s Dominick The Donkey. The fucking thing plays on loop all day. I thought about disconnecting the surround sound speakers, but then I realized I’d only be giving myself more work.

I’m halfway done with my lunch when Maria and my dad come in through the back door, their arms full of food. Sighing, I press pause on my phone and remove my AirPods just in time to hear Maria gasp.

“Why is my china cabinet in the kitchen?” she shrieks.

To be fair, we took the china out before we moved the cabinet into the kitchen—that should count for something. Her dining room table and the buffet server are also in the kitchen and the couch is on the front lawn, but if she’s not bringing those things up, neither am I.

In the years since she and my dad have married, I’ve become very aware of the tones of her voice and what each one means. There’s the soft tone she uses around the grandchildren and then there’s the tone she reserves for Riggs—that one scares the fuck out of me because you know when she uses it, the pots and pans are about to start flying.

Can you guess which tone she’s using now?

I’ll give you one guess.

I’m about to take cover when a loud crash erupts from the dining room, it’s followed by the distinct sound of glass shattering.

Uh oh.

That can’t be good.

My father drops the box of frozen lobster tails on the floor and glares at me.

“Look what you made me do!”

I roll my eyes and take another bite of my sandwich.

“Yeah, because I totally made you drop the box. Why the hell do you have a box of lobster tails anyway? Christmas isn’t for another two weeks.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going to set foot in Costco anytime during the next fourteen days. That’s when all the crazies come out in a tizzy to get their fish. No, sir, not I.”

I want to remind him that those who live in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones, that he’s the craziest of all, but Bash suddenly appears in the doorway holding Maria’s crystal chandelier in his hand—or rather what’s left of it.

---