Page 32 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

“I’m coming with you.” Fianna is already on her feet.

“When did she leave?” Dad asks. “She can’t have gone far in this weather.”

“We’ll spread out.” Uncle Sean takes control. “Ciaran, you take a car too. We’ll search the land.”

“Silly question,” Mom says. “But she isn’t somewhere in the house, is she?”

“Her bed hasn’t been slept in.” I’m already halfway out the door, Fianna close behind me.

We don’t speak as we make footprints in the thick snow on our way to the car. It must’ve been snowing all night for it to be this deep and untouched; any footprints Mary might’ve made have been long since covered.

In the car, I crank up the heating and wait for the snow on the windshield to melt. I hope to fucking God she took a coat, or she’ll die of hypothermia out there. What the hell is she playing at? It’s one way to ruin everyone’s Christmas.

“Did you have a fight?” Fianna’s voice jolts me back to the present.

I slide the car into gear and drive slowly along the driveway. The snow is still falling, not heavily, but enough to make visibility difficult. I think of Mary wandering around in this weather without a decent coat and boots—if she’s still alive when we find her, I’ll fucking murder her myself for pulling such a dumbass stunt.

“No.”

I pull out onto the road and turn left, Ciaran’s brake lights visible in the rearview mirror as he heads in the opposite direction. Mary doesn’t know the area, so I’m hoping she’ll have headed towards Laragh, the closest village.

“Why did she leave then?” Fianna’s gaze flits between me and the road ahead, the car’s head beams carving arcs of light across the snow. “Something must’ve happened. Did she find out who you really are? What was it, huh? Did she read an email that mentioned bumping off someone you don’t like?”

I’ve never heard Fianna speak about the family with such distaste, but I can’t think about that right now. Mary is missing because I fucked her and then told her it didn’t mean anything. And Fianna is right, that’s who I am.

My anger dissipates when I think of my role in Mary’s hasty departure. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. One death on my conscience is enough to deal with, but Mary’spresence here is entirely down to me, and there’ll be no shaking this one off. Ever.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me, Emmett.”

Jeez, the O’Hara women know when to stick the knife in and keep twisting.

“Who is Mary really?” She keeps her voice low.

I think I spot movement in the glow of the headlamps and lean closer to the windshield, rubbing the inside of the glass with my sleeve to clear the steam. I slow the car to a crawling pace, but there’s nothing there. My imagination playing tricks on me.

“She’s Mary Chrysler. She works in IT.” It’s the truest thing I’ve said since I arrived.

I can’t tell Fianna that our relationship is fake. Not yet. For her sake as well as Mary’s. If Fianna knew the truth, she would tell me to be honest, to stand up to the people who tossed a man off the roof of my building, to do the right thing by Mary. Because, despite the dangerous family connections, she still looks for the best in everyone.

“What about you and Ronan?”

That’s it, Emmett. Divert the attention onto the only other person in the car.

“What about us?” She turns her face away from me and stares out the passenger window.

“Don’t try telling me that he has changed.”

“People do change you know. You’ve changed. Mary has brought out the best in you.”

I grip the steering wheel, keep my eyes on the road. I tell myself that she’s only saying this because she likes Mary. She’s on her side. She thinks this is all my fault.

It is all my fault. I slam the steering wheel with the heel of my hand.

Mary has brought outsomethingin me, even I can’t deny that. A softer side. A part of me that doesn’t hate the festivities as much as I usually do. I mean, I watchedIt’s a Wonderful Lifeall the way through last night without closing my eyes once or making a work-related telephone call.

I drive in silence. My thoughts are filled with images of Mary in that red dress at the party, her red hair tumbling over her shoulders. Mary dancing barefoot in the conservatory, her face flushed with excitement. Mary’s breasts in my hands. Mary sitting straight-backed on Fianna’s horse, her face so serene.

It isn’t real.

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