Page 59 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

“You did so well to survive on your own,” I say softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Those are the words I desperately wanted to hear as a twelve-year-old who had just witnessed her mother’s murder. And now I get to say them to comfort the only person who feels like home in the same way my mother did before she died.

CHAPTER 15

Dominic

One day, sweetie, you’ll find a girl you’ll really like. And then you’ll fall in love with her. It’ll be the scariest thing you’ve ever done. But it’ll also make you happier than you can imagine.

My mom said those words to me when I was, I think, eight years old. Two years before they all died. I think the only reason they stayed with me for so long is because I was so sure I would prove her wrong. I didn’t think I had in me to feel that degree of affection toward another person. Especially after all the pain I’ve had to experience. But Madelyn’s proving me wrong.

It would be so easy to fall in love with her. But I’m being held back. Because I know without a doubt that losing her is inevitable.

She’s in my arms when I wake up the next morning, and it feels good enough that I never want it to end. It’s about six o’clock when I slowly climb out of bed, careful not to wake her. She stirs a little, moving in search of my warmth, but grows stiller once I throw a blanket over her.

I watch her like a creep for a couple of seconds before leaving the room. I never start any day without surveillance, checking in on members of the mafia and potential trouble. This morning,everything looks good on all fronts. With confirmation that nothing’s amiss, I step out of the room.

When I walk out of the door, I find Madelyn awake and standing at the end of the hallway. Her eyes brighten when she sees me. I subtly step away from my surveillance room, shutting the door behind me.

“Hey,” she says, smiling, as she walks over to me. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Morning, baby. Did you sleep well?” I ask, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah, I did. What’s in there?” she questions curiously.

I subtly clench my jaw. “Nothing, it’s just my office. I was trying to make up for the work we missed yesterday.”

“Oh, right. About work. I forgot to tell you. I managed to recover enough of Torres’s footage. We can narrow down where his hiding spot is now,” she says excitedly.

I smile. “That’s really good, Flowers. You can tell me all about it on the way to work. But first, how about you go take a shower and I’ll make us some breakfast.”

She nods in agreement. “Hey, could you take me to my house so I can get a change of clothes?”

“Sure.”

She leaves and I let out a breath of relief. I’m not worried about her going into the room since it has a biometric unlock, but if she’s going to be spending more time in this house, she’s going to start wondering why a simple home office needs such an elaborate security system.

One problem at a time, though.

An hour and a half later, we’re both ready to go. On the drive to her house, I can’t help but notice the glinting silver hanging around her neck.

“You put on the cross this morning,” I decide to mention, fishing for more information about it.

She took it off the night she got to my house. And I’ve noticed she doesn’t wear it often. Some days she comes to work with it, some days without it.

“Oh, yeah,” Madelyn murmurs, her hand trailing over to touch it around her neck. “It was my mom’s. She was a devout Catholic. She grew up in a hyper-religious Mexican home. I think she’d be sad to know that I barely go to church anymore. Religion has just never provided me with any peace.”

I get what she’s trying to say. My family was never inherently religious, but after they died, I spent so many nights praying to God or whoever would hear me, wishing it was all just a dream and that they would come back. Then I would pray for the pain to go away. Still, nothing worked. It didn’t help.

“I wear the cross on the days I miss her the most,” Madelyn explains. “With Christmas coming, her absence in my life hurts more. My mom loved Christmas. That’s why it’s so special to me. We didn’t have much when I was growing up, but she always made sure to go all out for the holidays. She blasted Christmas music non-stop throughout December. She’d always buy a tree that we’d decorate together and cook up a feast on Christmas Day. It was just the two of us, but it was so much fun.”

“I’m sure she’s happy watching you wherever she is. Especially since you became such a Christmas-crazed weirdo,” I tease, trying to make her brighten up a little.

It works because she ends up laughing at that.

“Yeah, definitely. I know Mama’s proud of me.”

I’m about to ask her exactly how she died, but she gets a text that makes her giggle. I arch an eyebrow when she looks up at me.

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