Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 22

The Santa

L eaving Carolina naked in bed is harder than it should be. Normally, I revel in business, love the power that comes from ruling. Since my hellcat entered my life, I don’t have the same thirst for it.

No matter how I feel I can’t keep leaving it to others. I can’t afford for anyone to realize how absent I’ve been, especially not with what Sergei found. So no matter how much I want to stay in bed with Carolina, business calls.

She’s my addiction, making the blood rush in my veins just thinking about how she feels under my touch. I’ve never been one for obsession, always keeping control, but she makes me want to lose it.

Marco catches up with me as I make my way into the room we usually reserve for meetings like the one tonight. “Boss,” he says, dipping his head.

“Is everything ready?” I ask, already knowing it is.

He nods and opens the door for me, flicking on the light. “It is. Some of the guests have already arrived. Is it okay to let them in now?”

I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the New York skyline that stretches in front of me. A testament to the empire I rule over, to the power I wield. “Get the rat first,” I reply through clenched teeth.

Tonight’s meeting is impromptu, and I don’t like when things change like this. This is my domain, and I don’t suffer fools or disrespect. The Russian we found sniffing around where he doesn’t belong fits both categories, and tonight he’ll pay the price.

Marco returns with the bound and gagged man. He is bleeding onto my rug from the multiple lacerations on his torso and face. One eye is completely swollen closed, his nose is broken, and when he opens his mouth to groan in pain, I notice several teeth are missing. One leg is broken so badly the bone is sticking out, and the opposite shoulder has clearly been pulled from its socket.

“Did you have fun?” I observe dryly, raising an eyebrow at Marco who just shrugs and grins.

“He told me there was nothing I could do to make him talk,” he states. “And you know how much I like proving people wrong.”

Yeah, that would totally do it. Marco takes things like that as a challenge, one he will never back down from.

I watch as he throws the man into the corner, chaining him to the radiator. Not that it’s needed, I don’t think he’ll ever walk again. I mean, he’ll never leave alive, sure. But even if I let him go, he’d have to drag himself out of here, or slither like the snake he is. I snort at how fitting that is.

“You can let the three in now,” I say, eyeing Greta as she joins us, placing bottles of alcohol on the table, before getting the glasses from the corner cupboard. “Thank you.” I give her a curt nod.

As soon as they’re both gone, I crouch down in front of the man. He seems to be so far gone in his pain that he barely registers he isn’t alone anymore. I run a finger down his face, making him flinch as I pull the gag out.

He lets out another pitiful moan. “P-please l-let me g-go.”

His words are boringly predictable, so I shove the gag back into his mouth. Then I stand up and kick at his broken leg, which causes him to howl in pain. “You won’t find any sympathy from me,” I say coldly.

I sit down at the end of the table, taking my spot just as Marco returns with our guests. Each of them dip their head in a show of respect before taking their seats. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows over the faces around me—men who hold power in their respective territories, yet all of them answer to me.

Across the table, the crime lords who answer to me sit with a mixture of tension and respect. Dominic, the leader of the East Side operations, wears a patch to hide the eye he lost. It’s a reminder of a past betrayal that he handled with swift, brutal efficiency. His good eye darts around the room, always calculating, always watching.

Next to him is Lee, a man who built his empire with a mix of charm and fear. His suits are always impeccable, his manners flawless, but there’s a coldness to him that makes even the hardest men wary. He smiles easily, but it never reaches his eyes.

And then there’s Sergei, the Russian who caught the spy, presumably sent by one of his brethren. He’s newer to this circle, but he’s already proven his worth. His presence is like ice—calm, deliberate, and utterly ruthless.

I tell Marco to sit opposite me, at the other end of the table, so when Dad arrives, he tries to take the seat to my right. “No,” I bark. “That’s for Jack.” As if on cue, my brother walks in, smirking as he shuffles into the chair I’ve reserved for him.

There’s only one spot left, and it’s not one of any importance which is exactly why I want Dad to sit there. It’s also why he’s not happy about it. “Surely—”

I interrupt him. “Just sit down so we can get started.”

The scowl he sends my way is the same one that made me cower when I was growing up, but now it doesn’t do a damn thing to me. That’s not true, it amuses me.

I let the silence stretch for a moment, letting them feel the weight of it. This room, this table, is mine. They know it, and I don’t need to remind them. The city outside is ours to control, but only if we stay in line— my line.

I lean forward, breaking the silence. “Let’s get to business.”

“Who is he?” Lee’s voice is gravel mixed with silk, referring to the bound figure slumped against the wall.

Sergei leans forward in his chair, going straight for the vodka. “He’s the reason we’re here,” he replies while filling his glass to the brim.

“A Russian spy,” I state, my voice carrying the weight of my authority. “He was found lurking in our territory. Thanks to Sergei’s quick thinking, we managed to get him before he could disappear.”

Jack shifts in his seat, a predator ready to pounce. “What do we know? Has he talked?”

“Only enough to confirm his purpose.” I tilt my head toward the man who dares not move, who knows any breath could be his last.

“He sang for me,” Marco chuckles coldly. “And it wasn’t pretty.”

This earns a round of laughter from everyone at the table.

“Is that so?” Dominic laughs boisterously. “That might be the gravest offense of all.”

Marco leans forward, his fingers steepled before him. “May I speak?” Even though he already has, I appreciate the question and I nod. “He confirmed he was sent here to spy on us, but he never told me exactly what he learned, how long he’s been in your territory, or who sent him.”

Lee growls. “Kill him.”

Dominic and Sergei quickly rumble their agreements.

I drum my fingers against the table, considering the options. Just because there’s only one outcome doesn’t mean there’s only one way to get there. “Sergei.” He slants his head in my direction as I say his name. “Is it odd to you that he won’t tell us who sent him?” Although I’m pretty sure I already know the answer, I have to ask.

“Not at all,” he says, confirming my suspicion. “If he speaks—”

“But he’ll die either way. So why not save himself the added pain?” Jack asks.

“As I was trying to say,” Sergei continues. “If he speaks his family will more than likely suffer. There’s a good chance they’ll be left unharmed, hell, maybe even receive some kind of payment, if he doesn’t sing like a canary.”

I cup my cheek, feeling the scar beneath my thumb. There’s no glorifying tale linked to the injury. I was betrayed after putting my trust in the wrong people, something I’ll never do again.

Dad rolls his eyes. “If you need these…” Pausing, he gestures around the table. “… men to tell you what to do, you’re not ready to lead. It’s pathetic.”

Inwardly, I bristle, but outwardly, I keep my expression neutral, careful not to show how much his attitude is bothering me. “And if my dad thinks I need him around to conduct business, maybe he shouldn’t be here,” I reply coldly.

No one says anything while I stare Dad down, refusing to blink first. The problem with a staring contest between the former and current leader is that neither wants to back down. But if I’m the one to do it, I’m showing everyone I’m the weakest. That isn’t happening.

Dad looks away as Jack slams his fist into the table. “We should send them a message.” I mentally make a note to thank him later. “No one spies on the Knight family and lives to tell about it.”

“I agree,” Sergei says, cracking his knuckles. “A bloody one.”

“Agreed,” I say, signaling Marco with a nod. He understands; this isn’t just about punishment, it’s about setting an example. No mercy for those who cross us.

I glance at the spy, his chest heaving beneath the tight ropes, his fear palpable. He’s heard everything, yet can say nothing. Good. Let his mind paint the gruesome pictures of what’s to come.

“Marco, move our guest closer,” I order.

“Of course,” Marco replies smoothly, already rolling up his sleeves.

The blade in my hand feels like an extension of my will as Marco holds the Russian’s arm outstretched on the dark wooden table. The spy’s eye, wide with terror, darts from me to the steel glinting under the lights. His muffled whimpers are the only sound in the room as I position the edge against his flesh.

“Any last words?” I ask, though the gag in his mouth makes the question rhetorical. No one betrays Nicklas Knight and lives to speak of it.

I slice down with precision. Blood spurts, staining the wood a deep crimson. The man’s scream is stifled behind the gag as his hand falls onto the table. It’s a clean cut—a warning to anyone who dares cross me.

“Package it,” I command Marco, who nods without a flicker of emotion across his stoic face. He’s seen this before; he’s done this before. The severed hand is a message that cannot be ignored.

“Sergei,” I call, and when he looks my way I continue. “The kill is yours.”

He grins and inclines his head, knowing it’s an honor, one I didn’t have to give him. But we both know he’s earned it. “Thank you,” he says, coming to stand next to me. “Do you mind if I use my own weapon?”

“Not at all,” I say.

Apart from Dad, I trust every single man in this room. We’ve bled together, and each and every one has bled for me. So I don’t take their weapons when they come here, my one and only demand is that no one is allowed more than one.

Sergei pulls a small vial from the inner pocket on his suit jacket, the liquid a bright pink.

“Of course the Russian carries poison,” Lee snorts derisively.

“But why is it pink?” Jack asks.

Unperturbed, Sergei removes the cork and places the small glass on the table. “Open his mouth,” he instructs Marco, who looks at me for confirmation, so I give him an encouraging nod.

“This is Sergei’s show,” I confirm as I sit back down.

Marco traps the spy between his legs, and then he takes the knife I used to cut his hand off, using it to slice the gag, making sure to knick the corner of his lips as well. Then he shoves his hand into the man’s mouth, grabbing hold of his tongue.

“Open wide,” he barks.

The man does as he’s told, and as soon as Marco’s no longer holding his tongue, Sergei pushes the entire vial into the spy’s mouth, making me wonder why he even bothered to remove the cork lid.

“Keep his head tilted up,” the Russian instructs Marco.

Sergei puts one hand on top of the spy’s head, clamping the other around his jaw. He repeats the motion until we all hear the bottle crunch. For a couple of moments, nothing happens. But then the spy’s face turns pink; multiple shades of the color.

Using his remaining hand, he claws at his throat. He screams as he scratches at his flesh until it breaks. I’ve seen a lot of bad ways to die, but this has to be one of the most gruesome ones. Yet another reason to keep Sergei close.

“And that’s why it’s pink,” Sergei says, winking at Jack.

“Nicklas,” Caspian’s voice slices through the room as Marco wraps the severed hand in cloth. “What of Carolina? Any news of an heir?”

I take the blade from the table where Marco left it. As I wipe the blade clean, feeling the weight of my father’s gaze, I remind myself why I shouldn’t just outright banish or kill him. “That’s none of your concern,” I reply, refusing to give him more than that. “And this isn’t the time to discuss her.”

“Are you testing her endurance? Her ability to adapt to our way of life?” He persists, his tone demanding.

“She’s more than capable,” I say, sliding the blade back into its sheath. “She’ll bear my heir and that’s the end of that.”

“Make sure of it,” Caspian presses, his eyes hard as flint. “We can’t afford weakness in our lineage.”

“Carolina isn’t weak,” I snap, the thought of her soft curves and fiery spirit igniting a possessive fire within me. “She’s stronger than you know.”

He snorts. “She’s a woman, son. Of course she’s weak.” Dad’s voice is clipped. “Especially with the way you’re catering to her every whim—”

“What did you just say?” I snarl, interrupting him. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Dad shrugs as though the accusation is neither here nor there. “Not at all. But I have friends who were at that party. They all noticed that you were too busy with your toy to conduct business.”

As Marco exits with the grisly parcel and barks at some of his men to come get the corpse, I do my best to keep my cool. But the more I feel my dad’s eyes bore into me, the more I want to remind him who’s in charge. And maybe I should, but respect can’t and shouldn’t be demanded—it has to be earned.

I glare at my father, the warning in my eyes as sharp as the blade I just cleaned. “Don’t even think about Carolina,” I say with a growl. “She’s off limits to you.”

“Off limits?” he scoffs. “She’s your—”

“ Mine, ” I cut him off, feeling a surge of possessiveness I’ve never known before I met her. My chest tightens. This woman has become my obsession, my every waking thought, and I’ll be damned if anyone, even my own dad, tries to tell me what to do about her. “She’s not your concern, and she’s not your responsibility. So the next time you mention her name better be to greet her, or I’ll take your tongue.”

I’m aware that everyone is looking between us like a twisted ping-pong match, but I don’t care. Backing down isn’t even in my fucking vocabulary, and I refuse to do it just because he’s my dad. I scoff because calling him ‘Dad’ is generous. He didn’t take an interest in any of his kids until we were old enough to be introduced to the family biz.

That happened when I was thirteen, and from that day, he took over raising me—or as he called it; training me.

“Not. Another. Word,” I warn him, and when he opens his mouth to argue, I wave him off. “Or I’ll have Marco remove you. The only reason you’re allowed at this table is because of my grace.”

“Bullshit!” he sputters.

I make a show at looking at the men around the table. “No,” I calmly reply. “It’s not bullshit. Everyone here would happily volunteer to slit your throat. My ruling is the one thing keeping you alive. Remember that because the only thing keeping me happy is Carolina.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, I roll my hand in the air in an ‘are you stupid’ motion. “It means that as long as I’m happy, I’m less likely to give into the constant pleas for you to be put out of your misery.”

I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to stand up to him. I mean, I do know. Years of conditioning isn’t to be scoffed at. He’s succeeded in making me see him as the god of my world. But no more. Because I no longer need a god; not when I daily worship a goddess.

As if summoned by my thoughts alone, said goddess bursts through the door. She looks like a vision against the starkness of this bloodstained room. I rise, my chair scraping back, tension coils in my gut. Every muscle primed for action.

“Nicklas, I thought—”

“No women are allowed here. Leave!” Dad barks at her.

Instead of flinching at his harsh tone, she holds her ground, those wide eyes scanning the room, landing on me. In that split second, something primal within me snaps. I cross the space between us in two long strides, grabbing Carolina by the arm and pulling her close.

“Never speak to her like that again,” I snarl at my dad, the menace in my voice unmistakable.

“Son—” Dad starts, but he’s talking to my back.

Carolina’s pulse flutters beneath my fingers. I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her robe. With a firm tug, I draw her to my side, settling her onto my lap once I retake my seat. Her soft curves press against my hardened body, an intimate fit that sends a jolt straight to my cock.

“Everyone,” I command, my tone leaving no room for debate, “this is Carolina. My future wife, my fiancée.” The words roll off my tongue with an unwavering certainty. She’s mine, and I want these men to know it.

The room reacts immediately. Heads bow, murmurs of respect circle among them—all but Caspian, who stands rigid, his jaw set.

“Congratulations,” Marco says, breaking the tense silence as he returns. Obviously, he already knew, so his reaction is more to get the ball rolling.

“Thank you,” I reply, my hand resting possessively over Carolina’s thigh. I can feel the warmth of her through the layers.

“Welcome to the family,” Jack adds, though his gaze lingers a bit too long for my liking. I squeeze Carolina’s leg, a silent reminder that she belongs to me.

“Thank you,” Carolina says softly. There’s vulnerability there, and it strikes a chord deep within me.

As the meeting dissolves, I hold her close, reveling in her presence. Carolina—the woman who unknowingly walked into a mafia den but so far, she’s taken it in stride.

“Come,” I murmur, standing with her still in my arms. “We have much to discuss.”