Page 34 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

I settle Mary on the bench inside the shelter and flash a warning at Fianna to make sure she doesn’t move.

Three strides, and I’m back outside shoving the man in the chest. He stumbles backwards, arms flailing, but manages to stay upright. Then he comes at me, his fist narrowly missing my jaw.

I grab his arm and twist it behind his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the snow with one shove. “If I was you, I’d get back into my car now and drive away.”

The guy clambers back onto his feet and tries rugby tackling my legs. But he’s drunk, and I have the sober edge, dodging him easily. He lands in the snow a second time, his jaw colliding with the frozen ground beneath the layer of white.

I grab the back of his coat and haul him upright. Turning him around, I shove him back against the shelter, my fist circling histhroat. His eyes bulge. His fingers claw at my arm. He reminds me of a fly trapped in a spider’s web, and I can’t bear the thought of him touching Mary.

“Listen to me carefully. If you ever come near me or my woman again, I will personally see to it that you have no fingers left to touch another soul with. Do you understand?”

A clicking sound emits from his throat, as his fingers scratch my sweater.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to get back in your car and drive off without a glance in your rearview mirror.”

He’s still struggling to breathe under my grip, his gray stubbly face turning puce.

“You want to make sure we never cross paths again because I never forget a face.”

I shove him away from me, and he stumbles through the snow, dry heaving as he sucks in great gulps of cold air. He hesitates by the driver’s door of his car, turns back to face me, and yells, “Fucking wanker!”

I don’t waste a beat.

I run, and he scrambles inside the car, slamming the door behind him and driving away on squealing tires.

Adrenaline pumps through my body as I go back to the bus shelter, pick Mary up, and carry her back to the 4x4. Her eyelids flicker as I settle her on the backseat.

“Your woman?” she murmurs with a half-smile.

12

MARY

“Can I get you anything else?” Sinead has been fussing over me since Emmett brought me home, and I feel guilty because it’s Christmas Day, and she should be opening gifts and checking the turkey in the oven instead of worrying about me.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

I’m on the huge squashy sofa in the living room snuggled under a fluffy blanket. I’ve drunk two mugs of hot chocolate and eaten an entire tub of shortbread biscuits, and although I still can’t feel my toes, I’ve stopped shivering.

“When are we eating breakfast?” one of the twins asks.

“We’re skipping breakfast today,” Sinead says. “But you can come and help me make pigs in blankets, and I’m sure Uncle Patrick will let you have some chocolate.”

The boys follow their auntie to the kitchen leaving me and Emmett alone in the living room with the twinkling fairy lights and the aroma of roast turkey wafting through the doorway.

He sits on the end of the sofa and rests his elbows on his thighs, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“I feel so bad for ruining everyone’s day,” I say. “Is it my fault no one ate breakfast?”

He looks at me then, and his expression seems softer somehow, as if I’m viewing him through a rose-tinted lens. “We always eat too much food on Christmas Day. It’ll save till tomorrow.”

Tears well in my eyes. I screwed up their Christmas, and everyone is still being nice to me. It’s so much more than I deserve, and I know that I owe them an explanation.

“How are you feeling now?” Emmett finally looks at me.

“Aside from guilty?” He nods. “Tired. I feel like someone drained my blood and replaced it with some kind of liquid that never heats up.” I swallow hard and hide behind my third hot chocolate. “How can I make it up to your family?”

His eyes dart to my fingers. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Granny Mary’s engagement ring. “You can start by putting this back on before anyone notices it’s missing.”

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