Page 111 of Beneath the Light of the Moon

“Never lose that, Mikko. It’s what makes you special.”

“I won’t.” He picked up his brush again, motivation reinvigorated.

Little did he know that would become a lie, that his promise would falter in the face of his father’s anger. Everything his mom worked for would crumble, the city forgetting what kind of woman she’d been.

And never would he have guessed the same hands she painted with would wither away to bone, motor skills gone from the chemotherapy, and her brilliant shining light snuffed out like a candle blown out from a cold wind.

32

Masks

Mikko

Halloween.

The city was crawling with ghosts and ghouls wandering the streets in search of treats, and for the adults, alcohol to encourage the frivolity of the holiday.

Despite his best efforts, Mikko was among them, being pulled along by Cristiano—his hair currently orange with a jack’o lantern design etched into the short hairs.

“Keep up,” he encouraged, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “We’re going to miss the costume contest.”

Mikko huffed. “I don’t think I’m winning it regardless.”

Cristiano socked him in the shoulder. “That’s what a sore loser would say.”

The historic neighborhood they wove through boasted small corner shops currently either selling wares for Halloween or they were reconfigured to entice people to enter into their “haunted” depths. After parking down the block, the place they headed toward wasone Cristiano’s friend owned. Mikko had only been convinced to come out because for one, Cristiano was too sweet to say no to, and two, because he promised the venue was quaint and cozy. No large, distracting crowds for either of them to become potential targets in.

Hopefully.

It still didn’t prevent Mikko from looking over his shoulder and noting every face passing by him. Even if he was mainly doing that to see if he’d catch a glimpse of Anika. He’d finally opened her file late last night. Anika Naidu’s past was much different than Anika Simmons. Petty crime including theft, hacking, and physical assault littered her teenage years until she went to a local college for data analytics. After that, her life seemed to straighten up, her appearances aligning with the young business woman she was today.

But none of that was what made him pause.

It was her parents instead.

Khalid and Ira Naidu. He was dead, and she was currently living in an assisted living facility. The last name seemed familiar, and upon further investigating, Mikko found out one of their properties was acquired mere weeks after Khalid’s death. By Romanov Real Estate.

His blood had run cold, his father’s signature smattered across the scanned in paperwork. That could only mean one thing. Anika’s father had paid in blood, and now she was hellbent on forcing Mikko to do the same thing.

Revenge brought them together.

Even though his brain tried to deny it, Anika was the one behind his men’s deaths, picking them off in order to get closer to him—to incite fear.

Clever,cleverwoman.

And that should’ve sent him running right there, but a more twisted realization formed in his head. They shared the same enemy: a dead man.

Then, there was the more complicated matter of their kiss. It still seared against his lips, the same balaclava he’d worn last night adorning his face now. He could faintly smell her perfume on it, and he’d be damned if he washed it.

While Mikko had chosen an unremarkable costume—he’d thrown his balaclava, helmet, and hoodie on to emulate a biker—Cristiano’s getup was the complete opposite.

The Headless Horseman.

Cheesy eighteenth century garb cloaked Cristiano’s frame. An inky frock coat with gold buttons glinting in the streetlamps was perched on his shoulders, a white and wrinkled waistcoat beneath it. Dark breeches with tall socks and silly buckle shoes at his feet completed his outfit. He’d be lucky if those lasted the night with how cheap they were. A long cloak was draped over his arm, a necessary accessory he’d mentioned on the way over, but he kept it off so people didn’t “step all over it.”

But the final piece was his hair. The Headless Horseman’s signature pumpkin head colored into his buzz cut. It was clever, and Mikko knew there would be endless praise coming his friend’s way.

Mikko’s armored hoodie and pants kept the chilly wind at bay, but once they reached their destination, it may bite him in the ass.