Page 20 of Silent Night Sins
Tobias muttered something about calling our vehicle guy, and I trudged over to the running, working van. Our HVAC company’s label decorated the side. Should anyone look into the business, they would find clean records that weren’t traced to our more affluent companies. On paper, my father was an upstanding pillar of the community, who’d been a blue-collar worker for forty-some years. He even knew how to change an air filter if push came to shove.
I almost put the contraband inside the van. But a little voice had me pressing the button. The lid sprang open and antique diamonds glittered back at me. Ah, vaffà!These were pretty. They would look even prettier on the slender neck of an angel.
But they weren’t mine.
Stealing was one thing. Robbing the famiglia was another.
Don Morelli likely had a buyer lined up on the black market to purchase these. I would ask after this mess was cleaned up. Put in a bid for them myself. If they were already marked for sale, maybe I could borrow them for an evening instead.
When the merchandise was loaded, the HVAC company’s van took off down the road, passing Gio in the tow truck. I stooped to pick up the broken pieces of cheap ceramic dishes from the side of the road when my phone chimed. It was a special ringtone, and two chimes meant the back door.
I pulled up the camera feed.
Standing in the dark backyard, Nicky wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She tiptoed down the shoveled path, pausing beside the balls of stacked snow. Her fingers traced the frozen outline of water.
I smirked at the screen as she tugged the mask off the snowman.
Itwas impossible to see her face. To know what she was thinking. But I took it as a good sign when she didn’t throw the mask on the ground and start beating the snowy structure to a powdery pulp.
Keeping the phone and camera feed in one hand, I scooped up the bits of straw onto the slabs of wooden crate, hoisting the whole mess. I trudged back to my vehicle and deposited it in the back seat.
“You two have it from here?” I called out to the guys working on the broken truck.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gio muttered.
“Tobias? You good?” I snapped, cracking open the driver’s door.
“Togliti dalle palle!” the soldier bristled.
I snorted. Brave words, spoken in frustration. He was lucky my mind was otherwise occupied, or I would have popped him good for speaking to me like that. We’d saved his ass tonight. He should be on his knees, kissing my feet.
Sliding behind the wheel, a single chime from my phone told me the camera in her room detected motion. I switched the feed as I sped down the frontage road, turning onto the main drag seconds later.
The moan that came through my phone had me slamming the brakes.
A horn blared behind me, and the SUV swerved around my sports car.
I stared at the screen as I crept to a parking lot. There she was. My angel. Tucked in her bed, staring at the mask I’d left her, and…fuck me.
“So pretty,” I groaned.
The covers hid the wicked dance of her fingers. But there was no hiding what she was doing to herself. I flicked a glance at the clock on the dashboard. An hour until dawn. Grinding my molars, I forced myself to sit still, not to react. There wasn’t enough time to race back to her house to enjoy the sweet temptation.
I was stranded out in the dark, left with only a camera feed to keep me company. My gaze burned a hole in the screen. My ears bled to hear her soft pants and cries. She was so close, but so far away.
“I’ll be back, angel,” I promised as she collapsed in a heap.
Nicky traced the tip of her finger down the bony mask before pulling it against her chest and curling back to sleep. She’d just gotten off to the idea of her masked man, but cuddling the grotesque visage was probably the most depraved thing she’d done yet.
I rubbed my own chest, wondering if it was the idea of the unknown she craved, or if, like me, she felt the connection. Did she want me? The man behind the mask? I sure as hell hoped so, because that was exactly what she was getting this Christmas.
Chapter 7 – Nicky
Sugar and spice and everything nice filled the kitchen. The arm of the stand mixer thumped the butter and powdered sugar in the bowl, saving me from having to use my muscles, which were already limp from rolling and cutting dozens of shapes from the dough. On the small TV screen, Kevin cackled with fiendish delight as he chased out the burglars. That movie had been on repeat all afternoon, a prelude to my own impish plans.
Baking enough cookies to feed an army seemed like a great idea while I waited for the expedited delivery that was due to come by nine tonight. The baking seemed like a fun-filled way to bring some holiday cheer to the sepulchral mansion. Adding another cup of water to the glass teapot on the stove, I ensured the fruit and spices kept simmering for another hour, while I prepped the last batch of frosting for decorating day tomorrow. The rich citrus scent melded with the cloves, anise, and cinnamon, and the apple slices lent a sweet note to the concoction. The simmer pot was almost tempting to drink.
But I was on a straight espresso and sugar diet today.
