Page 11 of Wicked Mistletoe

Something flares in his eyes—a spark of the old fire. And he spits out, “Only because you came after me when I was weak. I was not expecting you.”

I click my tongue in disapproval. “That’s the thing, Conti. In our world, you can’t afford to be weak. Not ever. You should always expect an attack.” I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Especially after you directly sabotaged my trading route last week. You lost me millions in firearms, cunt. Did you honestly think I’d let that slide?”

“Your father should have made sure he finished you,” he groans, pressing harder on his bleeding arm.

The mention of my father sends a jolt of ice through me, but I don’t let it show. Instead, a humorless chuckle leaves my lips. “He really should have. He and a dozen others would still be breathing if he had the balls to finish what he started.” I crouch down, getting right in his face. “You should have surrendered when I gave you the chance, Giovanni. Maybe I would’ve spared your miserable life.”

“Like you spared Arturo and the rest?Lies.”

“Hmm,” I tap my index finger against my cheek, pretending to consider his words. “You know what? You’re right. You would have died either way. But you get why, don’t you? I can’t exactly trust your allegiance, can I?”

“Fuck you, Rafael,” he spits out.

I stand up, towering over his wounded form. “If you had just stood back and done nothing, I would have granted you a quick and painless death. Now?” I pause for dramatic effect, relishing the fear in his eyes. “My men will take great pleasure in drawing out your pain. Consider it a thank you for the hell you put us through.”

“You think you can just kill your way into power? The city will never be yours,” he threatens, but it sounds more like the desperate whine of a corned animal.

My lips curl into a grim smile.

“Wrong again, old man. It’s mine already.” Without warning, I level my Glock at his legs and blow out both his kneecaps. The screams that follow are a symphony to my ears. When his voice finally gives out, he slumps to the floor, a broken heap of flesh and bone. “When my men are done with you, I’ll string out your entrails with the Christmas lights in your own restaurant and gift-wrap your bloody head. You’ll become the cautionary tale used to warn other idiots not to fuck with Rafael Moretti.”

Holstering my gun, I walk out of the backroom, Enzo close behind. I pause in the main area of the restaurant, admiring our handiwork. Dead bodies litter the floor and the Christmas tree is now decorated with splashes of crimson.

Perfect.

Enzo and I leave the carnage behind and make our way back down the street to where our cars are parked. He gets into the driver’s seat and tosses me a glance, “Back home?”

“Yes, but first, we need to stop at a florist.”

“A florist?” His voice rises in surprise.

I don’t bother to explain. With Giovanni now out of the picture, my thoughts have already shifted back to the next most important piece on my chessboard.

Emilia.

Five years. Five long, frustrating years I’ve been searching for her, ever since she disappeared without a trace. All she left behind was a measly letter that told me absolutely fuck-all. It was like she’d been wiped off the face of the earth, like she never existed at all. But I never stopped looking. As I climbed the ladder, got richer, more powerful, I kept upgrading my private investigators.

And then she just waltzes back into my city? Without so much as a heads-up? The sheer audacity of it makes my blood boil and sing at the same time.

My cock stirs, and my hand flexes as memories flood my mind—the feel of her soft ass in my palm, the way she ground up against me, her sweet little moans. I didn’t plan that out, not during our first reunion. But then again, when has anything ever gone according to plan with Emilia?

I certainly didn’t expect my chest to tighten when I watched her sleep in my old shirt, either. Or for my breath to momentarily seize when her eyes lit up with recognition. Or for the mouthwatering scent of her skin to fill my head when she hugged me.

And I definitely didn’t expect how much those pouty pink lips would tempt me…Goddammit.

I lost my damn mind. And that’s dangerous.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Emilia, it’s to always expect the unexpected. So maybe I should have known I’d end up kissing her.

And that she’d kiss me back with equal fervor.

But does she understand what that means? Does she realize how she sealed her own fate?

She wanted more. And fuck, so do I.

Emilia Rossi ismine.

And I willnotlet her slip through my fingers again.

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