Page 67 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

“So you have heard of him,” I note.

“Not in a very long time. That name held a lot of weight thirty years ago. But it’s impossible that he was responsible for your parents’ death. Specter died.”

“He’s alive and well,” I growl. “But you’re saying he died?”

Marco nods. “In a fire thirty years ago.”

“Was he a part of the Cosa Nostra?”

“No. Specter was a kingpin in a league of his own. At only twenty years old, he established his own criminal empire. He was hailed as a genius, an uncaring animal whose only instinct was to kill. He was good at fishing out his enemies and destroying them. But one of his enemies set fire to his home and it was believed by everyone that Specter had died. I remember thinking it was a loss of potential, because he died so young for a man who had crafted that sort of legacy for himself.”

“Adorable,” I mutter. “But I don’t give a fuck who he was or what he did. If he’s truly the person who’s come back to terrorize me, then I’m going to make him pay.”

“First we have to find him,” Nicholas states. “Everyone will get to work on that. Leave no stone unturned. Twenty years ago, he was a cowardly serial killer without a name, but now we have something to work with. We will find him.”

I offer the Don a grateful nod before looking at my cousin.

“Get Lukas to go to the Bratva as well. Things will move quickly if they throw in their resources to our efforts. You can tellthem everything. Even who I am. They’ll be interested to know just how much control I have over their organization.”

I might have been working from the shadows, but I’m still my father’s son.

My words make Adrian chuckle. “Mikhail, that bastard, is going to be pissed.”

“I’ll talk to Lukas about it,” Camila assures me.

The meeting comes to an end soon after and I leave the room as fast as I can. My chest still feels like it’s about to cave in on itself. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since I talked to Madelyn yesterday.

Between the time I walked into the mansion earlier this afternoon and now, it’s started to snow. Frozen crystals fall lightly from the sky. It’s fucking freezing, but I can barely feel anything.

“Hey, Dom,” Camila says softly, putting a hand on my shoulder from behind. “Just breathe, okay.”

I turn to see the concern in her blue eyes. Suddenly, I feel like that scared little boy who didn’t talk or smile. The one who had just watched his entire family get murdered. I’m transported to moments I hate to remember. My one defining moment of weakness.

Two decades ago, there was a serial killer terrorizing the streets of Chicago. No one knew who he was or where he came from. But he had two distinctive characteristics that separated him from all other murderers—the skull mask he wore when he committed his crimes, and the fact that once he was done, he would without fail always carve out the letter S on his victim’s wrist. It was a signature. A big fuck-you to the Feds that were trying to catch him.

After the first five murderers without a trace, it became pretty clear to everyone that they were dealing with a full-blown psychopath. There was seemingly no method to his killing, norhythm. He killed those five people over the course of a year. And then the next year, when my family was on vacation in Chicago to visit my mother’s sister, they ended up becoming his victims as well.

We were on our way to the airport when our car had a flat tire. My dad got out to assess the damage while my mom started calling for any tow trucks that could help us. It was a pretty deserted road and it was dark. He’s always so good at picking locations without any witnesses.

He got my father first. Everything happened so fast. One moment, I was a little boy in the back seat, arguing with his brother. In the next, I heard my father’s shouts, followed by the sound of him being stabbed. My mom got out to investigate and she met pretty much the same fate. I still remember the sound of her begging him to spare her children, until she went quiet. And then it was just me and Ilya.

My older brother was smart. He was thirteen, terrified out of his mind, but he managed to warn me that he was going to open the door, and as soon as he did, the two of us would need to run as fast as we could. I kept crying for our parents but Ilya told me to shut up. He held my hand tight and opened the back door. As soon as he did, S was there, standing waiting for us.

Ilya didn’t hesitate to throw his entire weight onto him. They both went flying out of the car. Ilya told me to run. He begged me to leave and so I did, running as fast as my little legs could carry me. But S was a full-grown man who caught up to me in no time. He finished my brother fast and was going to kill me, too. He managed to stab me right above my heart, and I was so sure I was dead. I remember that moment of acceptance that I was going to die. Because at least I’d be going with my family.

He was about to carve his signature into my wrist as I laid there beneath him, but then the car service my mother had called arrived, headlights shining on to the insanity as heapproached. S left before the man could reach us. Which is how I survived.

The stab wound to my heart should have killed me, but it didn’t. I had to get a lot of reconstructive surgery to fix the arteries that pump the blood through my body over the years. I think I had my last one when I turned sixteen. But I always have to be careful. It’s possible my heart could worsen, so I go for periodic checkups as often as I can. To ensure I’m healthy enough. To make sure Ilya’s sacrifice was worth it. I stayed alive to ensure my parents’ death meant something. To carry on their legacy.

But most of all, I stayed alive to kill that bastard.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I know you will,” Camila murmurs.

Everything in me aches to do it. I’ve never been one for murder. The few times I’ve killed someone, I did it in lieu of any other options. But with Scepter, I’m going to destroy him—and I’m going to enjoy watching the light leave his eyes.

It’s late in the evening when I finally leave the Don’s mansion. Camila follows me out, her expression making it clear she has something to say. I arch an eyebrow, when she walks with me all the way to my car.

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