Chapter 19
Amos
It’s Christmas! My eyes flash open, and I hold back a squeal. Christmas! Christmas! Christmas! I force myself not to clap my hands. Santa came! But did he bring my secret wish? I hope so!
My room is still dark, only the glow from my nightlight helps. The sun is still sleeping, but I don’t care. I kick off my blankets and rush out of my room. The whole house is quiet. It doesn’t sound like anyone is up, not even Greta.
That’s okay. I’ll be quiet as a mouse. The excitement dancing in my belly is too much for me. I must know. Right this second. My gift can’t be alone…
One step at a time, I make my way down the stairs. The twinkling lights on the gigantic tree pull me toward it, and hope explodes in my chest when my eyes land on all the presents that surround the huge pine tree.
I run the rest of the way on my tippy toes so I don’t wake up Dad or Hadley.
Scanning the room, I notice the cookies we left out for Santa are gone and so is the milk. Again, I hold back a happy scream. He came, he came!
The short glass next to the milk cup is also empty. A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips. Dad was right, like always. The Jolly Man finished the whiskey left out to warm his bones while he delivers presents to children like me around the world.
I slap my hand over my mouth and giggle.
Last night with Dad, Hadley, Greta, and Zio was the best I ever had with all my family. The food and baked goodies were amazing, as always. Hadley shared her favorite holiday music with us. Zio told us silly stories about him and Dad when they were children. Those were the funniest. Then we watched some Christmas movies before Hadley tucked me into bed.
Her words repeat in my head… Sweet dreams, principino mio. I can’t wait to have Christmas with you tomorrow. Tears appeared in her eyes, but she didn’t look sad. A smile was on her face as she kissed my forehead and left my bedroom.
Dad loves her; I can tell when he stares at her. She has the same look. They love each other, and that means we will be a family and…
I pinch my face tightly when I don’t find what I’m looking for. My secret wish isn’t under the tree. All the other gifts mean nothing to me. What I always wanted isn’t here.
Tears drip down my face, and it feels like my heart is breaking.
Didn’t Santa get my letter? Did Dad forget to mail it?
Crossing my arms over my chest, I sit in front of the tree and glare at the star at the top. It’s gold and bright and almost touches the tall ceiling. What good is all this stuff if I have no one to share it with? I just don’t understand. I put in my letter that the only thing I wanted this Christmas was…
I sigh and swipe the wetness off my face. Santa isn’t real. The kids at school were right. They called me a baby when I argued he was real and told me our parents put out the gifts and eat the cookies. Guess that’s why Dad poured a glass of whiskey.
Well, I’m not a baby.
And I don’t care about Christmas or Santa anymore.
I lower myself onto the soft, furry rug and curl into a ball. I’m not a baby, I try to convince myself as another tear rolls down the side of my face.
A yawn takes hold of me and I close my eyes…
Massimo
Principino mio. Shaking my head, I scoop him off the floor and carry him to the couch and sit with him curled in my arms. What on earth is he doing down here? Alone . On the cold floor with no blanket?
It’s just after five-thirty in the morning. I can’t imagine how long he has been down here in front of the tree. Not even Greta is awake yet. Or Hadley. I wore out my woman last night to make sure she had the best night’s sleep ever.
And because I’m a greedy bastard who can’t get enough of her.
And I’m on a mission to put my baby in her.
And, I love her .
All I want is to please Hadley and make her feel good. The way she cries my name when she shatters into a million pieces is like a beautiful song, one I will never tire of hearing.
“Dad?” Amos stretches in my arms. No smile. No twinkling eyes. Not a speck of excitement that Christmas has arrived.
“Merry Christmas, principino mio.” I kiss his head and hold him tightly against my chest to warm him up. “Why were you on the floor?”
His face falls and he shrugs.
Furrowing my brow, I glance at the obscene amount of gifts under the tree. Not all of them are for him. A few are for Hadley, Greta, and my brother.
Gesù, I went overboard again. It’s a challenge not to buy my precious boy everything in the stores. He’s so good and innocent. The best of me. He deserves everything his little heart desires.
However, the dozens of gifts, beautifully wrapped, seem to mean nothing to him.
“Is something wrong, piccolino ? Are you not excited for Christmas?”
He shakes his head.
“No? Why not?”
“Santa isn’t real.”
“What? Not real?” My eyebrows shoot up. Where is this coming from? “Why do you say that?”
“I just know. You put the gifts under the tree. You ate the cookies and drank the milk. And your favorite whiskey.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.
Actually, Hadley drank the milk. I’m lactose intolerant. And I haven’t drank it since I was a child. Never really cared for it.
“Amos, you know I don’t like milk. And Santa is real, figlio .”
He sits up on my lap and scans the room as if searching for something, then shakes his head. This disappointment on his face makes my chest tighten. Had I missed something on his list? I’m sure I got everything, but maybe not.
My ears dial into movement upstairs. Probably Greta getting ready to prepare a grand breakfast for us. Lord knows it will take hours to open up all these presents.
Cazzo! How could I buy into the commercialism of Christmas again? Every year I tell myself to do things differently, but do I? No. Cazzo, I should know better!
My son’s never been a gift person; his love language is quality time. Greta has told me this since he was a toddler. Her words come back to me, “I am not enough for him. He needs his father, especially after losing his mother.”
A sharp pain spears through my heart. My work takes me away from Amos a lot, and the guilt crushes me; hence all the things I buy him to try and compensate for my absence. But what Amos wants and truly needs, is a whole family, complete with a mom and a sibling.
“Why do you say no?” I’m so curious about what’s put him in a sad mood on what’s to be the happiest day of the year.
“Because he didn’t bring me a—”
“What’s this I see? Two early birds, maybe.” Hadley’s sweet voice comes from behind us. “Merry Christmas, my loves.” Her arms wrap around us, and she kisses us on the head. Instantly, my heart doesn’t hurt. She’s like a healing balm to my broken soul. Perhaps she’ll be the same for Amos. I’m certain she will be because nothing has felt more right… in a very long time.
“Merry Christmas, bellissima.” I take her hand and kiss the top of it, then nudge Amos.
“Merry Christmas, Hadley,” he says in a quiet voice, his gaze locked on the Christmas tree in front of us.
She comes around the couch, concern marring her pretty face. Just as I hoped, she found the red silk pajamas and robe I left on the bed for her. And the cringy fuzzy socks Greta told me to get—because women apparently love fuzzy holiday socks.
There were so many patterns. I couldn’t decide which ugly ones to buy. All were ridiculous, in my opinion. Dogs or gnomes dressed as Santa, some had gingerbread, others had snowmen and snowflakes. Naturally, I bought every pair. Interestingly, she’s wearing the gingerbread ones and looks good enough to eat… and I will gobble her up later.
Hadley
The beautiful sight of Massimo and Amos sitting on the couch together stole my breath away when I ventured downstairs after putting on the gorgeous pajamas my Mafia principe laid out for me. I’ve never had anything so luxurious and expensive. The dozens of fuzzy socks tossed beside them haphazardly were absolute juxtaposition perfection to the fancy pjs.
I laughed so hard imagining him in the department store, fretting about which I’d like most, then buying all of them for good measure. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and my belly ached. What a lovely way to begin the day… Christmas Day .
I did not expect to find the sadness on Amos’ adorable face after wishing them a Merry Christmas and kissing their heads.
My heart is in my throat as I come around the couch and sit beside them. Gently, I caress his cheek, my gaze flicking to Massimo’s, then back to Amos. “Is everything alright?”
“Mhm,” Amos nods, leaning his face into my hand.
“Well, you don’t look okay. Has something happened?” It might seem pushy, but I believe it’s best to talk about things so maybe we can fix them instead of bottling stuff up. In one so young, he should not be burdened in any way. Life is hard on the best day for most, and I won’t stand for him to be sad on Christmas.
Massimo stares at me, almost like he’s mesmerized. I feel his love for me pouring out of him, just as I did last night when he made love to me.
Our love story will be one for the ages. I should write it down, perhaps publish a memoir of my life… how I was stolen from my parents and sold to a monster. The abuse. The horror. The many foster homes I was sent to would make for some riveting reading. Then…
A brutal Mafia man takes an oblivious waitress captive and forces her to sleep in his bed.
Okay, not much forcing was involved regarding sex.
Since the first day Massimo strolled into the diner with his newspaper in hand, I fantasized about him rescuing me, sort of like in “Pretty Woman.” But Richard Gere has nothing on Massimo Costa.
The more I consider the possibility of penning my childhood experiences, the more I believe it would be cathartic. And as it appears, my story is ending in a happily ever after.
There isn’t one speck of doubt in my mind, this is where I am meant to be, with Massimo and Amos.
“Santa isn’t real.” Amos’ declaration slices through my thoughts and jerks me back to the present. “Kids at school told me our parents pretend to be Santa, but I didn’t believe them.” A tear skitters out of the corner of his eye.
“ Piccolino, Santa is real. Don’t listen to those stupid kids. They’re children. What do they really know?” Massimo tells him. “But sometimes, parents have to help the Jolly Man out. With the snowstorm hitting Texas and shutting down most of the state, along with the dangers we experienced earlier in the week, maybe he couldn’t get you everything on your list. I mean, one in particular takes months…”
Months? I furrow my brow at Massimo. What is he talking about?
“But if Santa is magical, it doesn’t take months to get me what I want.” He scowls at his dad and hops off his lap. “Look at all this.” He points at the presents under the tree.
“Yes, I see it,” Massimo replies. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I’m sure you’re going to enjoy everything,” I say, trying to help out Massimo. Somehow, someway, we need to change the drab mood in the cabin. This isn’t how I thought today would be.
“What I really wanted, and told Santa if he can only bring one thing, then I want—” He snaps his mouth shut and crosses his arms. I’ve never seen this side of Amos. And here I thought he was an old spirit trapped in a child’s body. It’s a relief to know I was wrong. He should behave like a child. Have a tantrum or two. Whine. Okay, maybe no whining, but he doesn’t need to act like an adult. There is plenty of time for that.
“What do you really want, piccolino ?” I move to the edge of the couch, anxious to hear the child’s greatest desire.
Massimo inches forward too and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I rest my hand on his thigh and ignore the tingling sensation he stirs up inside me whenever he touches me. Tonight, after Amos goes to bed, we can delight in each other. Right here and now, I’m all about Amos and the splendor that is Christmas.
I’m about to start a game of twenty questions with Amos to figure out what’s bothering him so much, when Massimo clears his throat…
“I understand your disappointment, figlio. I must ask, did you look inside your stocking?” Massimo points at the stone hearth where we hung the ones Greta knitted for each of us. She amazes me. Someday, I hope to be more like her—a Jack of all trades.
“Daaad,” Amos groans. “My gift can’t fit in that little sock.” He dramatically slaps his hand on his forehead. I nearly snort at his cuteness but refrain.
“Just go check it out, okay?” Massimo says, and the young boy listens to his father.
“What did you put in his stocking?” I whisper into Massimo’s ear.
“You’ll see.” He steals a kiss, then turns his attention back to his son.
I’ll see? Flutters erupt in my stomach. Something big is coming, I feel it deep in the marrow of my bones, but what?
Amos sighs as he digs into his stocking. “It’s not in here.”
“Just look.” Massimo waves his hand, encouraging him to press on.
Amos removes something silver. The lights on the tree bounce off the object as the boy inspects it. I can’t make out what it is from my vantage point. A small ball, maybe? Why would Massimo give Amos a silver ball?
Suddenly, he shakes it, and his face lights up. “It’s a rattle. A baby’s rattle and there’s a note!”
Shock bursts inside me, and my eyes widen as I watch Amos shaking the rattle. My hand moves to my belly, only to find Massimo’s is already there.
“Read the note, figlio, ” he tells his son.
“Okay, it says, ‘Dear Amos, I am sorry I cannot give you a baby brother today, but I promise you will get one by next Christmas if you are a good boy. Merry Christmas, Santa.’” Amos’ face lights up brighter than the gigantic tree beside him.
“A baby brother is what you asked for?” The words spill out of my mouth.
“Yes! I want a brother like Dad has Zio . But a baby sister would be good too!” He dances around shaking the rattle. “I want a whole family!”
“And I want that for you too, figlio, ” Massimo replies.
I’m in shock. Not a single word is on the tip of my tongue.
“Merry Christmas!” Greta says as she descends the stairs. “I’m slacking off, it seems, if you’re all up before me! I’ll put the coffee on and get cooking.”
“Greta, Greta! Look!” Amos runs over to Greta and gives her the rattle.
“Massimo,” I whisper his name. “We haven’t talked about a baby. We barely admitted our feelings for each other.”
“Yes, Bellissima. I know. But we have twelve months to figure it all out.” He’s so calm and relaxed, it’s almost disarming. Dare I admit I like this side of him?
Greta snorts while reading the note, then she shakes the rattle. “Go wake up your zio ,” she tells Amos.
“Okay!” The child runs off while I pick up my jaw from the floor.
“At the rate you two are at it, we’ll have a new baby in the family by Halloween.” Greta clucks her tongue and gets busy in the kitchen.
“That’s the plan,” Massimo says as he captures my face in his hands and smashes his lips to mine. He kisses me passionately but doesn’t go crazy. Pulling away, his gaze meets mine. “And for the record, I’m not trapping you with a baby. If you want to go to school or work outside the home, I’ll consider it.”
“You’ll consider it?” I hike my brow. “I’m an independent woman, Massimo. Don’t you forget it.”
“Trust me, I won’t. You’ve proven you can protect my son and yourself. We are a little bit equal.” With an oh-so-charming grin, he lifts his thumb and finger, spaced about an inch apart.
I roll my eyes. He’s incorrigible, and he’s all mine. There will be no complaints from me.
“Just remember one thing, Massimo.”
“What’s that, Bellissima ?”
“The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.” I peck his lips and stand. “Now, I’m going to help Greta prepare a grand feast. You just sit there and watch me.”
“Whatever you wish, Tesoro. ” Desire flashes in his brown eyes and turns them black as I sashay away. “Tonight, I’ll bring out the strand of twinkling lights…”
“I was hoping you would, so I can tie you up.”
“Dolce Maria!” he shouts as he adjusts the collar of his shirt, clearly turned on by my sass. He must know by now I’m equal parts sweet and naughty. And if not, he will definitely learn all there is to know about me by next holiday season.