Chapter Nine
Maggie
By the time we reach the cabin, the storm has gotten worse, with thick, heavy snow falling in waves. The mountain behind us is swallowed in white. Severin turns off the engine, but the silence following us feels too calm.
Severin doesn’t move immediately. His eyes scan the treeline, jaw clenching so tight he could crack his teeth. His shoulders are tense as if he’s waiting for something to emerge out of the wilderness.
He finally speaks in a low, distant tone. “They’ve already been here once. Rizzo’s men. They took the body, and now they know this land exists. If they’re clever enough, they’re still close by and even watching as we speak.”
A chill crawls up my spine. “You think they’d come here?”
He glances at me with focused eyes that somehow feels more guarded than cruel. “If they’re still in the area, they might have followed your tire tracks. Before we go inside, I'll do a walk-through.”
He’s already out of the UTV, heading toward the stairs, looking all around.
His boots crunch under the snow, gun in hand, scanning the edges of the property.
His movements are precise and controlled; every turn of his head, every pause, shows how experienced he is.
He’s in his own world right now, and he shows no fear.
And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot to watch him.
I stand by the vehicle, knowing if any of those guys come out to confront me, I have my pistol hidden in my sock. The cold wind sends pins and needles to my skin. It’s sharp and fierce today. This Christmas is going to be a snow-in one.
After a few minutes, Severin circles back, and his body has slouched some, and his shoulders have loosened slightly. “Don't see any tracks besides ours,” he says. “For now, it’s clear.”
I let out a relieved breath. “For now,” I whisper softly.
We walked to the porch together. We are so close that heat emanates from Severin's body. Inside, the cabin shines with firelight, warmth despite the blizzard. I can almost breathe again. But the fear still remains, and a heaviness lingers in the air, knowing danger is close.
Trying to push the unease away, I blurt out, “Can I ask you a favor?”
He gives me a suspicious, almost cautious look. “What kind of favor?” The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s expecting something quirky.
I roll my eyes. “Relax. It’s not that kind of favor. If I’m going to be trapped here with possible killers outside, I’d at least like the place to look a little like Christmas. My decorations are out in the shed.”
His expression is priceless and his eyes widen with shock. “Really. Decorations?”
I shrug, attempting to keep a relaxed tone since Christmas is my favorite time of the year, and if I die, at least I got to enjoy a little bit of the festive cheer.
“Christmas is my favorite holiday, and decorating will help me relax. And since the weather is so bad out, your father’s men will be delayed by the bad roads, we might as well make things fun until my place becomes a war zone. ”
He looks at me for a moment, seemingly torn between frustration and admiration. Then he says, “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I say, offering a small smile. “But you’re still helping."
A gentle softness appears in his gaze before he exhales through his nose and nods. “Fine. But I’m checking the shed first.”
“Of course you are,” I whisper as he heads into the shed, gun drawn. Severin exits the small building, gun in hand, with a calm expression. “All clear.”
I finally exhale, crossing my arms over my chest, holding back my chuckles. “So,” I say, offering a slight smile, “no mafia guys hiding inside?” I need to be serious about this since our heads are on a chopping block for a pissed off Mafia family. Yet I try to take some edge off of this situation.
He slides the gun back into his holster and shakes his head slightly. "No. Just dust and a raccoon jumping out of the trash can. It almost caused me to shoot it.”
That makes me quietly laugh, the first real one in what feels like days. “Oh, that's just Snickers.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to decorate with killers after me?”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” I admit, meeting his gaze. “I’m just choosing not to look like it.”
He nods his head in approval or perhaps as a sign of respect. He turns his gaze back to the cabin. “Let’s get your belongings inside. It’s starting to get dark, and if Rizzo’s men are nearby, I don’t want us to be out here when they return.”
I hesitate, looking at the storm clouds rolling over the ridge. “The roads are bad. Anyone trying to come here will take hours, maybe longer.”
“The mafia, angel, doesn’t let anything get in their way. They will find us,” he says quietly, scanning the tree line once more. Then, he adds more softly, “And I need to ensure you’re safe.”
The way he says it sends a wave of warmth through the cold, blustery air. I clear my throat and nod toward the shed. “Then you can start by helping me carry the Christmas boxes in.”
He lets out a sigh, mumbling something in Italian quietly, but still follows me. “Fine. But if any of your ornaments explode, I’m shooting it.”
I giggle with excitement. “Deal.”
I jog to the shed and lift the lid, the scent of cedar and old ornaments rising like a memory. Boxes cling to each other with dust. Old tissue paper crackles like dry leaves as I pull things free.
Severin follows, already carrying the heaviest item as if it were light. Up close, the bandage on his side is visible when he starts to walk. No new blood is present. This is a very good sign.
As the last box gets set beside me, I finish the last layer of stringing lights on the bottom of the tree.
We work closely and quickly, placing ornaments on the tree.
At first, he’s awkward and very cautious with the fragile glass balls, but after watching me layer them without caring where they went, he got into the rhythm.
When our fingers touch, his hands are warm, and it feels like a static shock under my skin.
“Where should this go?” he asks, holding a faded wooden angel.
“On top,” I say without thinking. “Grandpa always puts it on last.” I glance at him. “You know about holiday traditions?”
He shrugs, the ghost of a grin. “Not really. My mom would sneak me and my brother out of bed on Christmas Eve when our father would go to sleep. She would let us hang one ornament each and enjoy one of her homemade brownies. But there were never gifts under the tree. Our father said we are to be men not boys.”
My mouth drops with shock. How could his father not let them at least enjoy Christmas? I know there are families who don’t have anything, but at least they show love to one another. It’s the little things that count.
“Well tonight I’m going to show you the meaning of Christmas.” I place my hand over Grandpa's wooden, carved angel.
He sets the angel on the chair and moves both hands onto my sides, hoisting me onto his shoulders.
A sudden gasp comes out of my mouth, but then I start to laugh.
He hands me the ornament. The bulbs start to flicker, and the music begins playing “Silent Night.” I should be scared at this moment, but having him between my legs takes my mind off everything.
Both of his hands settle on my thighs, nearly having me drop the angel in my hands. He doesn’t linger, but the touch has my body on fire.
We avoid talking about Rizzo’s men or his father's phone call warning of danger lurking.
For now, my cabin feels almost magical: the angel is placed on top, my beautiful tree shines brightly, and the storm continues, bringing snowfall.
Inside, everything feels warmer and magical.
After one more glance at the tree angel, it is slightly lopsided, yet uniquely perfect the way it is.
He clears his throat. “I think your tree is done.”
Before I could blink, he swiveled me off his shoulders, and straddles me across his waist. He twists me around, sliding me along the front of his body. All I can do is wrap my legs around him and hold on.
My breath catches in my throat at the feeling of our bodies together. “It's perfect.” I reach up, taking my thumb near the corner of his mouth and wiping the snow glitter off. “Thank you for doing this for me.” I smile.