Page 78 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

He smiles, and it feels more genuine than his other smiles.

“Sweetheart, I’m the stuff of nightmares.”

“Okay, then. I’m going to go. And I want you to never show up in front of me again,” I tell him.

“I’m afraid it’s likely I will be showing up in front of you again. I’m sure it’ll be under less than pleasant circumstances, but oh well. There’s lot of ways to die. I’m choosing the poetic one.”

I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. And I don’t care. My mind feels like a dark cave, threatening to collapse on me. I need to get out of here.

“Can I go?” I ask.

“Sure, but don’t go out the front. Use the back. I’m sure they’re searching everywhere for you by now.”

I realize I’m curious about the man who knows so much about my life and the people around me.

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Scepter. We’ll see each other again, Madelyn.”

With those words, he steps out of my way, and I don’t hesitate to rush out the door. He’s right. It’s a little hard for me to dodge the numerous guards that seem to be keeping an eye out for me in the house, but I manage it. Thankfully, there’s a back gate close to the mansion that I’m able to use as an escape. A taxi passes as soon as I’m outside and I quickly get in and leave.

As soon as I’m inside the safety of my home, I collapse to the floor. It’s like my whole body just gives out on me. I don’t cry,though. I can barely even feel. I just sit there in shock, trying to come to terms with everything I’ve just learned.

Dominic arrives ten minutes after I get home. It’s not surprising. I was expecting him.

“Open the door, Flowers,” he calls, knocking on my front door.

I release a staggering breath before getting to my feet on shaky legs. My hands are trembling, so it takes me a couple tries to turn the key and unlock the door. Once I do, he bursts in.

Relief shadows his expression for a full minute when he sees me. He gives me a once-over to check for injuries, and when he finds none, his expression changes. To one of caution.

It’s funny how the sight of him starts my heart up again. But it also brings back the pain. I see a vast sea of red in my vision, and before I know it I’m slapping him across the face. His head snaps backward before he rights it again, rubbing his jaw.

“I probably deserved that,” Dominic starts. “If you want to hit me again, you can do it. I’ll let you hit me all you want, baby. But first, you need to talk to me. What happened at the party? What did the Specter say to you?”

“Did you kill my father?”

It’s amazing how steady my voice is despite the question I just asked. Dominic clenches his jaw and I’m pretty sure I glimpse the light leaving his eyes. He stares at me for a silent beat before answering.

“Yes.”

But I’m not done. “Are you a member of the mafia?”

“Yes.”

“Did you approach me knowing who I was and who my father was?”

His expression grows even tighter. “Yes.”

“That was a nice, simple Q-and-A session, wasn’t it? I asked questions, you answered, and we both found out a lot ofinteresting facts about each other. So why the fuck did it take you so long to tell me the truth!” I scream.

Dominic winces. I’ve never seen him like this before. He looks scared. No, scratch that. He looks terrified, and that more than anything breaks me. The well of tears inside of me overflows, and then it just spills over. I’m crying harder than I ever have before. Dominic tries to reach for me, but I slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” I screech. “Do you—Do you even know what the worst part is? It’s that if you’d told me all of this yourself, I could have found it in my heart to forgive you. Because I knew—no, I thought—you weren’t a terrible person. So what if you’re a part of the mafia? I thought I knew your heart. I was so sure you weren’t a monster, Dominic. So why didn’t you just tell me yourself?” I ask, feeling my heart break into tiny pieces.

Tears stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision until it becomes distorted.

“I killed your father, Madelyn,” he says softly, in pain, staring at me like I stabbed him.

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