Page 9 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

No one’s that happy all the time. Least of all her. Which is how I’m sure she’s hiding something. Her attitude toward life is a defense mechanism. I would know. While I tend to shut out the rest of the world, it looks like she went about it the opposite way.

One more thing I’ve been able to glean about her character? She has no concept of personal safety.

I grit my teeth as she turns the corner to an empty street without any street lamps. It’s dark, with the only source of light coming from the full moon above. There’s no movement anywhere nearby, no shops, no houses. Only a dark alleyway. As soon as she walks in, I lose sight of her.

“Is she fucking kidding me right now?” I ask no one in particular.

I turn off the ignition and park before stepping out. As soon as I do, I hear a shriek followed by the sound of her voice.Against my better judgment, I stalk over to the scene, and of course I find her surrounded by three other men.

They’re bulky men. One of them is bald and they’re all heavily tattooed. I’m guessing petty thugs. Right now, they’re sizing her up like she’s their next meal. To her credit, she doesn’t look all that scared. She reaches into her bag and waves a badge in their faces.

“I’m FBI, assholes! Leave me the fuck alone or you’ll regret it,” she threatens, her green eyes narrowed.

I pause for a moment and just stare.

She looks different now—fire in her eyes, jaw set like steel. Gone is the sunny façade, replaced by something raw, untamed. It’s magnetic.

She looks fierce. Fierce enough to take down every single one of those men. Iridescent is the word that comes to mind as I stare at her. Something in my chest unclenches at the sight. That look on her face is more honest than anything she’s projected in the last three days.

I decide there and then that I’m going to see this through to the end.

But first, I might have to save her from the questionable situation she’s practically walked right in to. Although from the look on her face, I don’t think she needs saving. The idiots exchange a look before advancing on her.

“Wrong choice, dickheads.”

“Shut up, bitch!” one of the men hisses.

She throws the bag on her shoulder to the ground before fisting her hands. As soon as the first man is within reach, she crouches and kicks his knee with her leg. He groans before moving to touch the wounded area, and then she punches him in the face.

Damn.

“There’s more where that came,” she states, getting to her feet once again. “And stop calling women bitches, son of a bitch.”

I smirk at that. The expression on her face is taunting. She wants them to come for her. Interesting. Another one advances. She tries to get him in the shoulder but he swerves to the side and lands a punch of his own to her stomach. A punch that knocks the breath out of her. She bends over with a short gasp.

I wince slightly. That must have hurt like hell.

But then I watch her lift her head, her expression becoming even more fierce.

“Bastard,” she spits. “You are so going to pay for that.”

It’s becoming increasingly clear that she’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever encountered. The man in front of her tries to throw another punch, but she’s faster. Fast enough to raise her knee to his balls. He groans, dropping to the ground immediately. My lips curve in amusement.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” she screams, glaring at the last guy.

Something in the air tenses and my eyes narrow at how still he is. He just watched her take down his two friends and did nothing. He seems more menacing than them. I don’t think she can tell, though. She continues her taunting, practically begging him to come at her. And then, suddenly, she grows quiet.

I catch sight of something glinting. A knife?

Now she’s the one who’s still. Her face grows pale with terror. She doesn’t move as he walks toward her, brandishing the weapon in his hand with intent.

“Not so loud now, huh, sweetheart?” the man says.

His friends are on their feet now, too, and I can practically taste the bloodlust in the air. They’re going to kill her.

“Come on, move,” I whisper under my breath. “Do something.”

When it becomes clear she’s too panicked to move, I start approaching them. My jaw tightens when the one with the knife slices her arm. She gasps and stumbles backward before lowering herself to the ground. Her eyes are empty. The fire in them is gone. That more than anything pisses me the fuck off.

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