Page 39 of Wicked Mistletoe

Stacey

Found anything?

I stare at the screen, paralyzed. This is it for real now. I have a moment to make a decision. Lie and say I found nothing, that there was nothing incriminating on his desk, and I couldn’t get into his computer. Or… tell her the truth, potentially destroying not just Rafael, but myself and the others in the process.

It shouldn’t be hard to make a decision, but fuck it is.

My eyes flick back to the tracker, studying it like it holds the answers to the universe.

What I’ve done so far can still be forgiven. I could rationalize it. But this, giving out their locations to the feds—that’s some next-level shit, even though I’m with the feds now—that would be breaking the omerta. And there would be no coming back from it.

But as I study the map, zeroing in on the little red line trailing what I assume is their vehicle, the air knocks out of my lungs. The more I look, the worse it gets. No, no, this can’t be right. My hands shake uncontrollably as I double-check the path, hoping I’m wrong. But there it is, staring me in the face.Little River Home.

What are the odds that they were right there the same night a child was kidnapped?

“No.” I shake my head in denial as I take a step back from the laptop. “No. No. No.”

But the evidence is right in front of me, undeniable and damning.

“Well, I discovered more about the–” Michael trailing off with a cough, his light blue eyes settling on mine. “We needed to discuss a course of action for that… thing, so we came over to wait for you.”

Rafael’s gruff, “You should’ve called me.”

The memories loop in my head like a horrible reel, over and over and over, until I’m about to break. I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, trying to physically block out the truth. But it’s no use. My knees buckle weakly, and I let myself crumple to the floor, rocking back and forth as my mind wages war with my heart.

There has to be an explanation. There has to be. There has to be.

What other explanation could there be? Stacey showed you evidence that you refused to believe, and now you won’t believe what you’ve seen with your own eyes?

Another message chimes in, breaking through my internal turmoil. I slowly drop my hands from my ears to check it.

Stacey

You there?

What does it say about me that even now, faced with hard evidence, I still can’t fully accept that Rafael could be capable of something like this? Am I really going to choose my heart over the right thing to do?

What would my father have done?

Even as it pops into my head, I know it’s pointless. Because I already know exactly what he would’ve done. Tomassi Rossi was a hero who died in the line of duty while trying to bring about justice. And who killed him? Alfonso Moretti—Rafael’s father.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.

I feel the numbness creeping in, taking over as I type out a reply to Stacey, spilling everything about the tracker. Time loses all meaning as she asks me to share the screen so the bureau’s tech team can duplicate it to follow the trail. I watch as the duplication happens, barely processing any of that.

“Stay put,” Stacey commands once it’s done. “We might still need your presence there. Be careful not to blow your cover.”

“Alright,” I answer emotionlessly.

There’s a pause, then, “I know you wanted him to be innocent, Emily. But it is what it is. Are you alright?”

No. I’mnotalright.

I’m standing in the ashes of my world, and I lit the match myself.

“Let me know how it goes, please. If you—if you arrest him.” I force out before ending the call.

13

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