Page 52 of Santa Daddy
Almost there. Not yet.
I stepped back, palms smoothing down my shirt like not a single part of me was on fire.
“The cookies smell good,” I said. “Don’t let them burn.”
Then I turned and walked away.
Let her think about that. Let her remember I could taste and walk, devour and deny in the same sixty seconds.
I made it three steps before she found her tongue.
“You bastard,” she called after me. “This is psychological warfare.”
I smiled.
“I prefer to call it foreplay,” I said without turning.
Her sharp inhale followed me down the hall. I had to adjust myself before I stepped into the office.
All I had to do was make it through Christmas Eve with my new bride intact and my enemies convinced.
Later, I found her near the bookshelf, fingers trailing along the spines. She lingered by the section where the panel that concealed my war room sat flush with the wall.
Too sharp. Too curious. Too much like me for comfort.
Voices murmured on the other side of that door—my men, discussing routes and targets and which rival operations didn’t intend to send us Christmas cards this year. Dani heard enough to know there was something there. She moved away before she caught details that could get her killed.
She was learning to listen. To watch. To survive.
“Find something interesting?” I asked, settling into my chair.
“Just browsing,” she said, but there was wariness in her eyes now. The thought that every bookshelf might hide a secret was a good one for her to carry.
In the evening, Valentina returned with seamstresses and navy garment bags. Dani disappeared into the bedroom with them and emerged an hour later in white silk, pins marking where the dress would be taken in.
“For the bride,” Valentina said then, producing a small velvet box and opening it between us.
The necklace nestled inside was delicate gold. Simple. Classic. The kind of thing you could call an heirloom and no one would question it.
It was also exactly heavy enough to house the tracking chip embedded in its clasp.
“Let me,” I said, taking it before Dani could.
She turned without protest, lifting her hair. The skin at the back of her neck was warm under my fingers. Vulnerable. I fastened the clasp, the tiny mechanism clicking into place with a satisfaction that had nothing to do with sentiment.
Now I’d always know where she was.
My bride. My leverage. My liability.
“My God,” Valentina breathed, stepping back. “She is perfection. You will make a stunning couple on Christmas Eve.”
We already did.
Dani’s fingers went to the pendant as soon as Valentina’s eyes shifted away, testing its weight, the chain, the way it lay against her collarbones.
She frowned.
She could feel there was more to it than metal and love story. She just didn’t know where to press yet.
