Page 89 of Bought By Santa

As I undress her, she lifts her arms when I ask for it, her hips when I need to pull her pants down. But other than that, she’s completely immovable. Seeing her like this breaks my damn heart. This isn’t the Carolina I’ve come to know and love, this… this is an imposter; her shadow-self.

Once she’s tucked under the duvet, her breaths evening out in the dim light, I leave her side. The need to act—to do something—is burning through my veins. Willow’s cremation was supposed to offer closure, but instead, it’s opened a festering wound. Then again, who can get closure in the span of just mere hours?

Fuck!

My study awaits, shrouded in shadows. I don’t bother with lights. Instead, I allow the darkness to envelop me, a mirror to the turmoil churning within. Reports lay scattered across the desk, and I pick through them with cold precision, the lights coming from the windows allow me to read each paper carefully.

My mind races; every scenario it conjures up is more brutal than the last. Someone dared to aim at my inner circle, at my family. They’ll regret it.

I’m pacing the study, a predator caged by his own fury, when Marco slips through the door, a specter against the shadows. His presence is both a balm and an agitator to my frayed nerves. “Nicklas,” he begins, his voice as steady as ever, “we’ve taken care of the loose ends.”

Flicking the light on, I snap, “I want details.” My eyes are fixed on the city’s lights that dare twinkle, as if mocking me.

“The police are already in our pocket, so we know they won’t dig deep. The restaurant staff have been handled—memorieserased with crisp bills. Cameras, phones, anything that could have caught something, it’s all ash now,” Marco reports methodically.

“Good.” My jaw clenches, the simmering anger threatening to boil over. I trust Marco, but trust isn’t enough. Not this time.

Willow was innocence personified, and her death screams for vengeance. Carolina will want it—demand it. And I, well, I want to give her anything her now stained heart desires.

“Find out who did this,” I order, my voice low, lethal. “I don’t care how deep you have to go or whose blood needs spilling. They took one of mine. I want them brought to me.”

Marco nods once, the ghost of a grim smile touching his lips. He knows. There’s no line I won’t cross, not anymore. “I’ll give the order,” he says before slipping back into the night from whence he came.

“And call the three,” I shout after him.

It doesn’t take long before my most trusted men file in; Lee, Dominic, and Sergei. They’re stone-faced, ready for war, and hungry for retribution. The air crackles with tension as they wait for my command.

“Someone made the mistake of thinking they can touch what’s mine,” I begin, voice ice-cold, every word a sharpened knife. “Willow Sterling’s death wasn’t just a tragedy; it was a message. And I intend to reply in kind.”

They stand rigid, their silence a testament to their readiness.

“Pull in every favor. Crack open every secret. No mercy. We find who’s behind this, and we end them,” I continue, my resolve steel-hard. “But I want them alive.”

“Understood,” Lee says, his hand already on his gun.

“Nobody fucks with the Knights,” Dominic adds, his dark eyes gleaming with fury.

“Blood will answer blood,” Sergei vows, his Russian accent thickening his promise.

“Get to work,” I dismiss them, each man dissipating like wraiths on a mission of death.

The moment I’m alone, I allow myself a single breath, letting the beast of rage rest, but only for a heartbeat. Carolina’s face flashes across my vision, her grief-stricken eyes fueling my resolve. Whoever did this didn’t just aim at Willow. They aimed at us.

I move over to the window, looking at the city as it sprawls out before me, a network of shadows and secrets that belong to me. It’s a chessboard, and I am the king—Knight—poised for a deadly game.

My fingers drum against the window, the glass as cold and unyielding as my resolve. I’m missing something, I know I am. There’s more to all of this, I can feel it in my very marrow. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle where you know what piece is missing, even where it fits. Yet you don’t know exactly what’s on it.

What the hell am I missing?

The harder I try to think about it, the more my thoughts scatter. Mental images of blood and bullets assault me, but the more I try to latch on to each thought, the farther away it seems.

Carolina’s face flashes in my mind, her eyes haunted with grief that cuts deeper than any blade I own. That pain—her pain—fans the flames of my rage, igniting a dark promise within me.

I will rip apart every alley, every high rise, every hidden corner until I unearth the bastard who dared to shatter her world.

My thoughts are a whirlwind, but suddenly they screech to a halt; I need her. The need to see her, to ensure she’s safe and here and mine, propels me from the room, and I find myself moving through the apartment with purpose.

The bedroom door creaks open, and it’s like walking into a void. Empty. She’s not here. Panic claws at my chest, a fierce growl building inside me. I charge from room to room, my heart a thunderous beat in my ears until I find her.

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