Page 36 of A Mafia Mistress for Christmas

Except I want to stay. I want to talk to Marco even though it’s a terrible idea. He finally turns away from the door and sets me with a look, capitalized and potent.

“Where do you think you’re going, Lacey?” he asks. “Or should I say, Agent Matthews?”

There’s something sad in his tone, like it’s official that our job is done, our fake-relationship over, and I’m his mistress no more.

I shrug on my coat, wrapping it around my front and making sure it’s on tight. It’s ruined, just like the dress, covered in blood, but at least Marco is okay and I haven’t sustained any injuries. The bruises on my throat will fade.

Let’s hope the memory will too.

“I’m heading out, but I wanted to say goodbye before I left. And…and thank you.”

Why is this so much harder than I thought it would be? I barely know the man. I don’t know what kind of food he likes to have delivered if he’s staying at home on a Friday night. I don’t know what show he prefers to binge watch, or his favorite song. None of those things.

I like to think I’d started to see his heart, the goodness inside of it, the way he looks out for me and my safety. It counts. It has to count for something, because the feelings bubbling up inside me are real.

Fast, maybe psychotically so, but real.

He’s staring at me with a hooded expression, and I can't tell what he’s thinking anymore.

“You think this is goodbye?” Marco finally says. “Because the way I see it, we have a whole lot more to say to each other. I’m not sure I’m in the right kind of mood to let you leave without saying it all.”

My heart leaps in anticipation—foolishanticipation.

I have no idea what he wants to talk about. For all I know, he’s still unclear on what sort of trouble he’s in. Hell, I’m not even sure how Wes is going to play this, but I do know it’s going to be a lighter sentence for Marco, unless we can somehow spin it so that he gets no time at all. Already, the wheels are clicking inside my head.

“What would you like to say?” I sound breathless.

“It’s Christmas.”

Okay, definitely not the two words I thought would pop out of his mouth. His lips curve sensuously, a little bit of mischief finally playing across his face. Even wounded, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. My heart flutters a little harder against my ribs.

“Yes, it’s Christmas.”

He takes a step closer and halts inches away from my face, reaching out long enough to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.

“I know you’re not a fan of the holiday,” he replies. “There is, however, a certain tradition I’ve been meaning to get back to, something that used to mean a lot to me.”

He holds out his arm for me, the way he had at the charity event yesterday. Christ, was it only yesterday that I met him? It feels like I’ve known him my entire life. I take his offered elbow without hesitation, allowing Marco to lead me in slow, deliberate strides toward the living room, past the carnage of the dining room and all of Stefan’s damage.

A quick turn, a long hallway, and then the living room opens to an entire wall of windows looking out on a night landscape. Stars twinkle in the distance, but the multicolored lights wrapping around the tree steal all my attention.

Marco bids me to stay in place while he walks to the fireplace, and the quick press of a button has the flames roaring to life. He flicks a switch, and the lights overhead dim to a distant glow. There’s only the fire, the lights, and him, glowing brighter than everything else combined.

The flutter in my chest grows uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m perfecting the scene.”

“For?”

“For gift opening.”

I shiver at the dark intention behind those words.

He crooks a finger, beckoning me forward. There aren’t any presents wrapped underneath the tree, and the setup is almost too flawless to be either him or his brother’s doing. A decorator probably put it all together.

“I’m not sure you’re in any kind of physical condition to open up presents tonight.” I step forward and press my chest to his, lifting my hands to rest them on his shoulders and craning my head up, up, up to look at him. “You might be in good spirits mentally, but I shouldn’t have to remind you that you got shot tonight.”

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