Page 45 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

“Why do you have that scar? Who hurt you?”

I run a hand through her hair, keeping my gaze fixed on hers. “That’s two questions, Flowers. I’m only going to answer the first one,” I suck in a sharp breath before telling her the truth. “I got stabbed when I was seven. Right above my heart. I needed several surgeries to get it fixed.”

Her eyes soften. “I’m so sorry, Dom.”

“Save the sympathy. Now answer my question. Why are you so interested in the Cosa Nostra?”

“Because,” she starts and then pauses, looking up into my eyes.

“Tell me,” I prod.

She leans back into the wall, exhaling. “Because I want to find my father.”

The revelation has me feeling a plethora of emotions in a manner of seconds. The most potent is relief. Because she still has no idea what’s really going on. She’s still unaware about the truth. I’d like to keep her that way for a little longer.

There’s some resentment directed not toward her but toward her fucking father. And finally, a spark of pain slithers through my chest, mixed with foreboding. Camila’s warning blares in my head, reminding me that I don’t have a lot more time.

“What has your father got to do with the mafia?” I ask, my voice softer.

The ache in my chest grows at the expression that crosses her face. She offers me a bitter smile before answering.

“I’ve never actually met him, my father. He abandoned us when I was a baby. Left us and never looked back. The only thing my mom ever told me about him was that he was Italian and a member of the Cosa Nostra, a powerful one. That’s all I know about him, but it should be enough. I need it to be enough so I can find him.”

“Why?” I question.

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, why? The guy was responsible for bringing me into the world, the least I can do is try to meet him at least once.”

I call bullshit. I stare at her for a couple of seconds, coming to the conclusion she refuses to say out loud.

“You want to punish him, don’t you? This isn’t just some quest to find your long-lost father and a journey of love. You want to find him and then you want to make him hurt, just as bad as he did to you and your mother.”

Her fists clench as she glares up at me.Gotcha, Flowers.

There’s a darkness in her, as well. One that calls to me. I just hate that in this instance, all that pain and need for revenge will go nowhere.

“Perceptive bastard,” she mutters.

I can tell she’s shutting down. If I try to push her any more, she’ll tell me to fuck off. So I step back.

“Alright,” I say simply.

“Alright, what?”

I shrug. “Nothing, Flowers. You can go.”

“You can’t just drag me over here and dismiss me like I’m some kind of prostitute,” she snaps.

“Calling yourself a prostitute when I didn’t even fuck you? I keep telling you sweetheart, all you have to do is ask,” I say on a smirk.

She glares even harder, trying and failing to push me backward. “You’re an ass.”

I’m about to reply when I hear a grating voice over my shoulder.

“What’s going on here?”

Madelyn’s eyes widen as she looks toward the newcomer. Meanwhile, my jaw tightens and I take my sweet time turning around to face none other than Kenneth fucking Pratt.

“Maddie, are you okay?” he questions, blue eyes narrowed onto my face.

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