Chapter 32 Masks
Masks
Mikko
Halloween.
The city was crawling with ghosts and ghouls wandering the streets in search of treats, and for the adults, alcohol to encourage the frivolity of the holiday.
Despite his best efforts, Mikko was among them, being pulled along by Cristiano—his hair currently orange with a jack’o lantern design etched into the short hairs.
“Keep up,” he encouraged, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “We’re going to miss the costume contest.”
Mikko huffed. “I don’t think I’m winning it regardless.”
Cristiano socked him in the shoulder. “That’s what a sore loser would say.”
The historic neighborhood they wove through boasted small corner shops currently either selling wares for Halloween or they were reconfigured to entice people to enter into their “haunted” depths.
After parking down the block, the place they headed toward was one Cristiano’s friend owned.
Mikko had only been convinced to come out because for one, Cristiano was too sweet to say no to, and two, because he promised the venue was quaint and cozy.
No large, distracting crowds for either of them to become potential targets in.
Hopefully.
It still didn’t prevent Mikko from looking over his shoulder and noting every face passing by him.
Even if he was mainly doing that to see if he’d catch a glimpse of Anika.
He’d finally opened her file late last night.
Anika Naidu’s past was much different than Anika Simmons.
Petty crime including theft, hacking, and physical assault littered her teenage years until she went to a local college for data analytics.
After that, her life seemed to straighten up, her appearances aligning with the young business woman she was today.
But none of that was what made him pause.
It was her parents instead.
Khalid and Ira Naidu. He was dead, and she was currently living in an assisted living facility. The last name seemed familiar, and upon further investigating, Mikko found out one of their properties was acquired mere weeks after Khalid’s death. By Romanov Real Estate.
His blood had run cold, his father’s signature smattered across the scanned in paperwork. That could only mean one thing. Anika’s father had paid in blood, and now she was hellbent on forcing Mikko to do the same thing.
Revenge brought them together.
Even though his brain tried to deny it, Anika was the one behind his men’s deaths, picking them off in order to get closer to him—to incite fear.
Clever, clever woman.
And that should’ve sent him running right there, but a more twisted realization formed in his head. They shared the same enemy: a dead man.
Then, there was the more complicated matter of their kiss. It still seared against his lips, the same balaclava he’d worn last night adorning his face now. He could faintly smell her perfume on it, and he’d be damned if he washed it.
While Mikko had chosen an unremarkable costume—he’d thrown his balaclava, helmet, and hoodie on to emulate a biker—Cristiano’s getup was the complete opposite.
The Headless Horseman.
Cheesy eighteenth century garb cloaked Cristiano’s frame.
An inky frock coat with gold buttons glinting in the streetlamps was perched on his shoulders, a white and wrinkled waistcoat beneath it.
Dark breeches with tall socks and silly buckle shoes at his feet completed his outfit.
He’d be lucky if those lasted the night with how cheap they were.
A long cloak was draped over his arm, a necessary accessory he’d mentioned on the way over, but he kept it off so people didn’t “step all over it.”
But the final piece was his hair. The Headless Horseman’s signature pumpkin head colored into his buzz cut. It was clever, and Mikko knew there would be endless praise coming his friend’s way.
Mikko’s armored hoodie and pants kept the chilly wind at bay, but once they reached their destination, it may bite him in the ass.
Oh, well.
The price he’d pay for being lazy and wanting to keep his face and skin covered.
“How much longer?” Mikko asked, tired of bumping shoulders with everyone on the sidewalk.
“Why? Second guessing this already?”
“No…maybe.”
Cristiano laughed.
“What? These boots are meant for riding not walking,” Mikko added defensively.
“And who’s idea was that?”
“Mine,” he grumbled. “But you encouraged it, saying something like ‘it’s Halloween, Mikko, live it up.’”
“Fair, but when I’m right and the ladies are hanging off your arms by the end of the night, I expect a thank you.”
There was only one woman he wanted hanging on his arm. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Suit yourself.” Cristiano grinned, before pointing up ahead. The brownstones had thinned out, a large swatch of grassy lawn—its green dulling with the frigid air—spread out before them. “But here we are.”
Faux tombstones lined the tall wrought iron fence edging the sidewalk from the manicured landscaping.
Fallen leaves filled the spaces between the decorations.
Twinkling lights and skeletons littered the lawn, the voids between them creating walking paths.
A few mature trees stood stoically, sheltering the “quaint” house they were going to.
“You said this was a small party,” Mikko commented as people filed up the drive and into the ornate, Romanesque house. It felt rude to only call it a house; its grandeur deserving more. It was reminiscent of a castle.
And he was going to laugh his ass off if Cristiano’s friend was dressed as Dracula.
People dressed up for the occasion mingled on the lawn, either surrounding a couple of the small fire pits or wandering through the maze of decorations expertly set up.
“It is a small party…for us.” Cristiano wasn’t technically wrong, but—
“You’re lucky your pumpkin head is truly attached, or else I’d swat it off your damn shoulders.” Mikko rumbled darkly, though his words lacked any true malicious intent.
His friend’s laughter warmed something deep inside his chest as they headed toward the entrance.
As soon as they’d stepped inside the time capsule of a mansion currently draped in cheap Halloween decor, Mikko had flipped his helmet’s visor down. The dark tint of it made it hard to navigate parts of the house, the wall sconces dimmed to set the mood, but it also allowed him to remain anonymous.
Rugs softened his footsteps as he followed Cristiano toward the kitchen where the drinks were being served.
Apparently, the friend who set up this “quaint” party could be found there.
Brushing past the shoulders of other partygoers, Mikko trailed behind, his sharp eyes cataloging his surroundings.
It was a habit he found hard to break, even when he was somewhere non-work related.
Polished woodwork lined the halls before opening up to a bright kitchen, its tiles spotless.
Everything had a place and purpose, an idea he could personally get behind, but something about the coldness of it had his mind pausing.
Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if this room was even used by the family who owned the mansion.
More cheesy decor was scattered about, flickering faux candles and black glittery skulls lined every flat surface.
There were two large islands amidst the sprawling white marble.
The first one was where a group of people gathered to talk, and the other had a man dressed up as a werewolf serving drinks to whoever wandered up.
It was trendy and gaudy, but he had little time to formulate a retort to Cristiano about how their definitions of small were vastly different when his friend was already making a bee-line for the bartender.
Be ready to socialize, he thought.
“Weston!” Cristiano called out, rounding the island and clapping the other man on his back.
Most of his costume had been shucked off, claw gloves and mask sitting on the counter, to give him the ability to play bartender.
Weston’s light eyes lit up when he spotted Cristiano, quickly setting a bottle of liquor down so he could embrace the other man.
“Cris, glad to see you”—a lifted brow as he took in his costume—“and I see you’ve outdone yourself. As usual.”
Cristiano spun playfully to show off his outfit and hair.
“Every year has to be better than the last. I’m the Headless Horseman,” Cristiano said before gesturing to Mikko. He opened his mouth to follow in suit, but his friend beat him to it. “And this is my steel horse also known as my getaway method, Mikko.”
Weston chuckled and reached out to shake his hand.
Quickly, the other man grasped his fingers, and Mikko was grateful for his gloves.
Mikko nodded before flipping his visor up to appear less closed off and more personable for the benefit of his friend.
He added, “More like I’m the only one who can drive us home after these kinds of parties. ”
“Ha! You’re just jealous I know how to let loose,” Cristiano jabbed.
“Sure, something like that.”
“Let’s get Mikko here a drink, what do ya say?” Weston nodded along with Cristiano. “Somethin’ to loosen up his jaw.”
Mumbling phrases that would warrant soap in his mouth, he told Weston he’d take anything as long as it was a vodka neat.
DRINKING WAS MORE of a challenge than he’d anticipated.
While his helmet kept him tucked away like a piece of armor, it prevented him from accessing fluids easily.
Cristiano noticed a few minutes into their evening and promptly got him a straw, but he was still apprehensive.
While drinking may be one of his questionable outlets, he wasn’t one for getting intoxicated at a stranger’s house.
And he wasn’t lying entirely when he told Weston someone had to get both him and Cristiano home. He wanted his friend to have a good time, so he’d be their designated driver.