Page 27 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

I’d been expecting the little tantrum Madelyn threw earlier. When she brought me to that hallway, I had to fight every instinct in me not to pick her up and punish her for running. But that will happen in time.

Patience is a virtue—or so they say. With Madelyn, it feels more like a test I’m willing to endure.

“That’s none of your business, Benson,” I say to my friend. Though I should probably be nicer to him, considering he’s the reason I’m here right now.

“She already met you before today. Did something happen between you two on Friday night?”

Since I hate repeating myself, I stare at him blankly until he gets the message that I have nothing more to say.

“Fine, whatever. I’m just going to pretend I don’t see anything going on between you two. There’s a cubicle outside with your name on it. You can leave my office, asshole.”

I arch an eyebrow, offering him an unimpressed expression.

“What?” he asks on a sigh.

“I want an office.”

Joshua groans, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You’re not exactly in a position to make demands here, Dom. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Actually, I’m doingyoua favor,” I counter. “You only agreed to my request after I promised to catch Torres for you.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Fucking fine. I’ll make a few calls and get an office ready for you. You do realize my team is going to give me shit when they find out I gave my friend a job.”

“Who cares?”

He pauses, thinks that over before running a palm across his face. “Alright, fine. But what about my dad?”

“As long as he stays in New York, Papa Benson will remain oblivious to my presence here,” I reply easily.

“He’d better,” Josh murmurs, reaching for his phone to request that an office be cleared out for me.

Thirty minutes later and I’m in a space of my own, complete with a desk, chairs, and a laptop for me to work. I take a seat in my chair, looking around the gray walls of the office for a couple of moments. There’s a knock on my office door and I call for whoever is on the other end to enter.

A tall man with shaggy blond hair walks in, carrying some files.

“Hey, man. Joshua asked me to bring our unsolved case files over so you could check them out,” he informs me, dropping the stack on my desk.

I cock my head to the side, staring at the files. “Your team having this many unsolved cases speaks volumes about the efficiency around here.”

The man blinks, taking in my statement slowly. Then he chuckles awkwardly.

“You’re kind of funny, Hale.” He speaks with a slight Southern drawl. I’m not sure what was funny about the statement I made. “I’m Kenny, by the way.”

He thrusts his hand towards me. “Nice to meet you, Kenneth,” I say, shaking his hand from my position in my seat.

“Kenny,” he corrects.

I give him a look that conveys my absolute lack of interest in calling him that. We have a stare-down for a couple of seconds before he looks away, pulling his hand from mine.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

He walks out of the office, leaving me alone. Having nothing better to do, I start going through the files one by one. Some of them are pretty old, dating back seven years ago, probably when Joshua moved back to Chicago and started working here.

The oldest is a missing persons case—four students at a prestigious university who went missing without a trace. They never found the bodies but they’re presumed dead. I go through the details of the case, wondering how anyone could have gotten away with kidnapping and murdering four kids without leaving a trail. I set the case aside, intending to come back to it later.

Another case is all too familiar to me. Shipping containers found at a port outside the city, each containing millions worth of pharmaceuticals. It happened about a year ago. A shootoutoccurred between the cops and the criminals who were trying to recover the shipment, and three people died in the process. Nicholas is still pissed about that incident. The FBI had planted an informant within our ranks and it took me a while to fish the guy out. Too long. We lost the shipment, which was a pretty big blow at the time. I toss the file to the side. No use solving something I had a hand in.

There’s of course the Torres file, which is the main reason I’m here. I happen to know Torres personally. The slimy fuck tried to cut a deal with the Cosa Nostra when he first clawed his way out of the ground. He wanted us to help him build his empire, we refused. The FBI aren’t the only ones with a vendetta against him.

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