Page 10 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

“Of course it wasn’t,” I mutter under my breath.

It never is. I mean, you only have to watch a Hallmark Christmas movie to recognize that the path of boy meets girl and lives happily ever after never runs smoothly. But if he thinks I’m accepting that as a valid reason for abducting me, he really doesn’t know me at all.

“The guy on the roof,” he continues, “he knows my family.”

Oh, well that’s just what I wanted to hear. If he doesn’t kill me for witnessing him at his psychotic best, the O’Hara family will.

“Haven’t you guys heard of Christmas spirit? You know, the season of goodwill and all that? I promise, all you need to do is sit me in front of the TV with Macauley Culkin and a twinkling tree, and I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

A smile tugs his mouth up at the corners, and my stupid, cheesy-movie-fueled heart does the stupid fluttery thing that is the staple of every rom com ever made in the history of time.

“No one is going to hurt you, Mary. You have my word on that.”

“Well, forgive me if your word doesn’t exactly inspire me with confidence, Mr. O’Hara. Who drugged me and flew me halfwayaround the world without my consent?” I press a finger to my lips and pretend to ponder the question.

“Look, I’ve already apologized for this.”

The plane lists to one side again, and he watches me closely with something that might’ve passed for concern in his eyes if I didn’t know that he was a coldhearted self-absorbed kidnapper.

“We just need to get through Christmas. Then, when everything has settled down, we can go back to our own lives.”

Can he even hear himself?

“So, let me get this straight because, you know, you changed the rules while I was in a drug-induced coma.”

“You were not in a coma, Mary.” Is that amusement in his voice?

“You want me to pretend,in front of your family, that we’re in love and engaged to be married, and then, when the Christmas tree comes down, we walk away like nothing ever happened?”

“Aye, correct.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say. They’re your family. They know you. God knows how many other women you’ve brought home to meet them.”

“None, Mary.” He shakes his head. “You’re the first.”

I don’t believe him.

“But what about me? I’m going to be permanently scarred. I’ll probably need therapy for PTSD.” Tears sting my eyes. “My first proposal was supposed to be special, and you’ve taken that away from me.”

His eyes flicker as if he’s waiting for the punchline, and then he furrows his brow when he realizes that I’m being serious. “You’re being melodramatic now. It wasn’t a real proposal. It doesn’t even count.”

Ugh! The man is despicable.

I press my face against the cool glass of the window and plot my escape. Once I’m free, I’ll start plotting my revenge. People like Emmett O’Hara think that they can get away with murder—literally—and it’s about time someone taught him a lesson.

When we stepoff the private jet, my stomach sinks through the floor. Where’s the airport? Where’s the security, the airline staff, the other travelers? There’s nothing here but a huge shed-type building, and a 4x4 with the engine running.

“Wh-where are we?”

“Welcome to Ireland.” Emmett, wearing a beige cashmere overcoat, takes my hand and leads me down the steps and towards the waiting car. His driver has already gone ahead and is waiting to open the car door for us. “Smile.”

I do. Although inside, I’m screaming, “Let me out of here!”

The driver refuses to make eye contact. Of course, he does—he was probably in on the whole abduction thing. The thought of him carrying me, unconscious, onto the private jet makes me cringe, but I refuse to let them see it. I am going to get away from Emmett O’Hara and his murderous family if it’s the last thing I do.

Inside the 4x4, I lean against the window and watch the world go by. The countryside is green. Not the kind of green yousee in Central Park, but vibrant green, a green that’s alive and thriving and fertile. There are rolling hills—who’d have thought that hills could actually roll—and craggy mountains, and blue sky that bleeds into the horizon. There are streams and sheep and endless forests, and not another person in sight.

Sitting back, I realize how much I’ve missed all this color. I like living in New York with its relentless noise, its varied cultures, and its busyness, but I realize with a jolt that even when I’m in my apartment with the door locked and the blinds pulled and a book on my lap, I never truly experience the kind of peace I feel right now.

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