Page 22 of Wicked Mistletoe

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, waving a hand dismissively without tearing his blue eyes from the screen. “Sorry, bro, this is a make-or-break moment for HartSphere. Our first app is about to go live, and I need to squash as many bugs as possible before launch.”

I feel a vein throb in my temple. “Oh, of course. By all means, let’s put this meeting on hold while you play tech wizard. I’m sure our enemies will be as patient. Heaven forbid all the hardwork you spent developing this groundbreaking gaming app goes to waste.”

I expect my sarcasm to fly right over his head—he’s usually oblivious when he’s working—but his fingers freeze mid-keystroke, and he looks up, frowning at me.

“You’re either fully in, or you’re out, Michael,” I remind him. “There’s no straddling the fence in our world.”

“And I am fully in, Rafael.” He gives his laptop one last longing look before closing it with a sigh that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul.

“Thank you,” I nod at him, knowing full well the herculean effort it took for him to disconnect. HartSphere is his baby. He just started the company, and he’s determined to make everything go right. It’s a single-minded drive I understand all too well.

“Right, just make it snappy,” Michael grumbles, sliding his gaze to his phone, which lights up on the desk.Don’t you dare.But he surprises me again and doesn’t reach for it.

“Fantastic. Now that we’re all—” The words die in my throat as the door flies open with a bang. I’m on my feet in an instant, ready to tear into whoever dared interrupt us, but my anger fizzles out when I see who it is. A grin splits my face as I wave away my anxious-looking secretary hovering behind our unexpected guest. “Fratello! You decided to grace us with your presence after all.”

Romero’s piercing green eyes land on me briefly before moving to our other brothers. “I see the gang’s all here. Quite the mess you’ve made of the city, boys.”

Maximo chuckles, “What’s wrong, Romero? Pissed you missed out on all the fun?”

I sink back into my chair as Romero strides further into the conference room and claims the seat next to Michael. “Is your offer still on the table, Raf?” he asks.

“Always,” I reply without hesitation, leaning forward.

Two months ago, I seized control of our old town—Piccola Italia, aka Little Italy. High on victory and craving even more, I reached out to my brothers and invited them to join me at the high table. After all, what fun is there in owning a city this big if I can’t share the power with the people I trust most in this godforsaken world?

I thought they’d jump at the chance. Both Maximo and Michael did, but Romero… he wasn’t as eager. Fresh off starting his shiny career as a hotshot criminal lawyer, he couldn’t quite stomach the idea of joining the other side. Until now, it seems.

What changed, fratello?

“Good.” He opens his briefcase, pulls out a thick manilla folder, then slides it across the table to me. “I want in, but on one condition.”

“Name it,” I say, my finger drumming a restless beat on the folder. I’m curious to see what’s inside, but I’m even more curious about his condition. What could possibly make Mr. Straight-and-Narrow abandon his precious ethics?

“I need your help—all of you—to bring a sick criminal to justice.”

I don’t point out the irony of askingusfor help, but Maximo does. Of course he does. “Some would consider us the sick criminals.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself,stronzo.I might dabble in a few criminal activities,but that doesn’t make me sick.”

Maximo straightens, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he zeroes in on Michael. Before he can start something, I rap my knuckles on the table. “Let Romero speak.”

“You guys are different from this psycho,” Romero says, his voice tight with disgust. “You have codes you stick to, honor. Buthe doesn’t. No code, no honor, no limits. He’s going after kids, Raf.Le ragazze.”

The temperature in the room plummets. If there’s one thing that unites us, it’s our hatred for cowards who prey on women and children.

“Little girls?” Michael’s face darkens. “That twisted fuck. Spill it. Every detail.”

“Over the past two months, more than a dozen girls have disappeared from the city,” Romero explains. “And each time a new one is taken, the previously missing victim turns up… minus a few body parts. Open the folder.”

Michael and Maximo crowd behind, peering over my shoulders as I flip it open. Ice floods my veins at the first image. Behind me, Maximo lets loose a string of curses.

A small, broken body lies discarded by a river bank, mutilated beyond recognition. Her stomach has been cut open, showing that her intestines, heart, and other inner organs are gone, leaving nothing but a gaping hole.Jesus fucking Christ.

“Every single girl ends up like this,” Romero continues, his voice hollow. I look up at him as I close the folder. I don’t need to see more. I’ll be seeing that image in my nightmares for weeks. “I suspect someone’s making a tidy little profit selling their parts on the dark web. But the bastard is slippery, always one step ahead of the law. If playing by the rules won’t nail him, I’m prepared to throw the damn rulebook out the window.”

Michael stalks back to his seat and flips open his laptop with renewed purpose. His fingers fly across the keys with a ferocious look on his face. “If this piece of shit’s selling their parts onanypart of the web, I’ll find him. And when I do…”

“We’ll make him wish he was never born,” Maximo finishes, dropping heavily into the seat next to Michael.

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