Page 63 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

Conversation halts as soon as Dominic, Joshua, and the others walk in. And then it picks up almost immediately. A few people offer them smiles, probably out of relief that they’re okay, but the mood in the room isn’t exactly celebratory like it usually is when we catch a criminal.

“I’m happy to see you’re okay, Benson. But could you please explain what sort of mission you all went on and why the entire team wasn’t made aware of it?” Laura, a senior agent with sharp features and a shaper tongue, is the first to voice her displeasure.

She crosses her arms and fixes Joshua with a pointed stare. Our boss looks a little disheveled and there’s no missing the tightness in his expression—which, now that I look closely, Dominic seems to be mirroring. Actually, Dominic just looks pissed, which is miles away from his default blank expression. They should be happy the mission was a success. What the hell happened?

Joshua raises his hands in a placating gesture. “The reason not everyone was told about the mission was to ensure transparency and because of worry about internal informant?—”

“A spy. So what you’re saying is that you took a small team on a mission because you simply don’t trust the rest of us. You didn’t trust us to keep it under wraps,” Laura interrupts, her tone biting.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Joshua insists, his voice steady but tired. “This was about minimizing risk. We all know how slippery Torres can be. I didn’t want to give him a chance to vanish again.”

I’m trying to focus on what they’re saying but my gaze keeps getting drawn to Dominic. He hasn’t seen me yet, considering I’m at the far back and the rest of our coworkers have formed a sort of circle around them. His face is set in stone, his dark eyes scanning the room. It’s hard to miss the tension radiating off him.

His gaze finally locks on mine and everything else fades into the background. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t give me time to react. He just starts toward me. My lips part in surprise.

“We need to talk, Flowers,” he says brusquely, and before I can respond, his hand is around my wrist and he’s guiding me away from everyone else.

“Hey, wait a second,” I protest, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s already steering me toward my office, his grip firm but not rough. Behind us, I hear Joshua trying to calm Laura down, his voice strained but steady. Dominic doesn’t even look back until we’re inside my office.

The door closes with a quiet click. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes in his direction.

“I was in the middle of something, Dominic. I’m not your fucking puppet. You can’t just pull me away from everyone else like that,” I tell him.

“I can do whatever I want to do,” he retorts tensely.

My jaw drops. “No, you fucking can’t. Especially not when it comes to me. Let’s get one thing straight—we’re not even in a relationship. And even if we were, you don’t own me, Dominic. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

He stalks toward me at that. My breath catches when he invades my space, standing so close that I can see the shadows in his eyes, the barely restrained anger. But I know it’s not directed at me, and I also know he would never hurt me.

“You’re mine, Madelyn. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been inside of you. I’ve memorized every inch of your body, so don’t give me that bullshit. Not right now,” he grits out.

I know I’m sick because instead of those words raising red flags, all they do is make my heart start to race.

“It’s nice to know you care so much, but the caveman attitude won’t cut it—especially not in front of our coworkers. Got it?” I say, refusing to back down.

His eyes flutter shut, and when they open, he seems to have gained some modicum of control.

“Okay. It won’t happen again. Now can we talk?” he asks calmly.

My brows furrow in worry. “What’s going on?”

Dominic steps away, giving me space to breathe. But I can tell he’s still rattled. It takes him a moment to speak.

“Baby, I’m going to ask you something and your gut reaction is going to be to fight me on it. You’re not going to want to tell me, but I need you to understand that this is important,” he tells me.

“I’m not making any promises,” I mutter.

His lips twitch. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Enough with the suspense. Just tell me what’s wrong,” I prompt.

He hesitates, and that more than anything bothers me because Dominic never hesitates.

“I know your last name isn’t Flores,” he finally starts.

I suck in a sharp breath. “What? No, you don’t,” I say in disbelief.

---