Not So Saint Nick Novels & Stories

Nick is in his late 20s, whereas Paul is in his late 30s. Before the breakup, Nick constantly visited our home, and I always used to wonder what kind of relationship the two maintained with each other. Despite the age gap, they were pretty close, and there’s no denying they looked more or less alike. Nick is a bit shorter than Alex but is definitely tall, considering that Alex stands six feet, three inches. Nick's face is square-jawed, whereas Alex's is long and angular.

Nonna asked, grinning at him. Saint let out a sigh. "I don't know, Nonna. I haven't found the right one yet." "You need to look harder, dear. We want to have some great-grandchildren soon!" The table erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at their antics. Saint was twenty-two and didn't even finish college yet and now they wanted a baby out of him. Well, I couldn't blame them, my Papa had me at twenty-one and if he was alive today, he would be thirty-nine years old.

Sebastian chuckles, finding Killian in such a fragile state. He never thought he would get to see Killian in this way; scared out of his mind. Who knew the Bad Boy of Milestone High believes in fairies and monsters? "Hey, my boy ain't no atheist. Stop judging." Nick jumps in to defend his best friend all while chuckling himself. "It's hard not to."

=DISCLAIMER= ©2021 NOT A SAINT written by JL Dane All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. PIRATING CONTENT IS ILLEGAL: If this content is captured and published, the offender can be traced and will face the full extent of the legal ramifications stated by the law.

Piper. I gape at him, caught off guard by the arrogance lacing his words. “No,” I snap, recovering. “The CEO got me this dress. Who the hell is Santa anyway? I’ve never heard of such a name.” His grin falters just a little, but he quickly recovers, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Santa,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mockery, “is an Alpha who can grant your every wish. But I suppose if you’d rather believe it was the CEO…”

By the time Yves Golding got home, it was already midnight. I was lying in bed, staring at a photo of him and Melissa Lane. His abs showed faintly beneath his red Santa suit as she leaned against them, eyes shyly closed. Their colleagues had left comments below the post, saying that they were a perfect match and that Yves was quite bold. Melissa commented, "You guys, stop making things up. Mr. Golding was just being kind by keeping a lonely soul like me company for Christmas!"

he stated and wrap his arms around my small waist. I buried my face on his neck even more while I felt his lips pressing on my shoulder. "You're not mad right?" I whisper like a child. His hand starting doing a circular motion on my waist but I didn't complain. I am more attentive to his answer. "I will never get mad at my wife, I already told you that Svanna," he said lowly in a deep baritone voice. My hug tightens. "I miss you so much, Saint," Short-tempered Saint Vicenzo Santorini. He might not be a saint nor an angel, he's definitely the opposite of it. But despite that, despite the danger he brings, I foolishly wanted to stay where I was. Stay beside him...

Marco's name is on the screen. "Capo, we have a problem." "What kind of problem?" "The kind that requires your immediate attention in Naples. Don Amato is making moves against our territory there, and the old families are choosing sides." I closed my eyes and leaned against the warehouse wall. Don Amato Torrino had been a thorn in my side for years—an old-school traditionalist who saw my expansion into America as a betrayal of Sicilian values. If he was making a play for my Italian operations, it meant war.

It sent a shiver down her spine as her name rolled off his tongue. She turned slowly, her pulse quickening. Santa Claus—or Nick, as he insisted the staff call him—wasn’t dressed in his usual festive red tonight. His black slacks clung to his muscular thighs, and the white shirt he wore was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing tanned forearms dusted with white hair. He wasn’t smiling. Her gaze darted to his hands, strong and, one of them gripping a clipboard. The other… empty, but she could imagine it holding things far more dangerous than a pen.

But how? “Anyways, there's only one way out if you want your secret sealed and I can help you get out of the consequences that would follow, when Scorpion spills the beans “ Fiona offered. Jeniva gnashed her teeth . Scorpion? oh she even knows the nickname of that criminal? Well, that's too late. The idiot was already dead along with others. She chuckled softly and said “Looks like you're a little late. This celebrity is not afraid of anything because the dead can no longer speak” she boasted.