Page 41 of Wicked Mistletoe

Three pairs of eyes snap to me, and almost immediately, all three have their guns pointed my way. I force out a chuckle as I glance around the room that looks like someone’s sad attempt at a living space—a ratty mattress shoved against one wall, a mini-fridge humming in the corner, and behind a hulking desk, another door, probably leading to a bathroom.

“Hello, boys,” I drawl. “Heard you’re looking for a surgeon, and lucky for you, I happen to be—” The words die in my throat when my gaze meets the familiar brown eyes of the man sitting behind the desk.

Tomassi Rossi.

Emilia’sdeadfather.

“Detective Rossi?” I choke out.

He frowns as he takes me in, then his expression shifts. “Rafael Moretti,” he spits in disgust.

My phone begins to vibrate again—insistent, urgent—but I can’t tear my eyes away from this man who seems to have risen from the dead. His death was the catalyst for the torture we all faced at my father’s hands. Emilia was heartbroken, consumed by grief and anger. So, hungry for revenge, she went to one of my father’s warehouses and started the domino effect of it all.

But here he is—alive.

Not only alive but apparently dabbling in child trafficking and organ harvesting as well. What happened to that self-righteous son of a bitch who used to hound my father?

“What have you done?” The question comes out raw, disbelieving. I’m staring at him, trying to reconcile the upstanding law enforcer with this… this monster. How the hell does one go from upholding the law to—this?

“You don’t get to judge me, Rafael. Not after what you and your friends have been up to the past two months. So what if I faked my death to dodge suspicion for any of my crimes?”

Crimes? Just how much evil has this sanctimonious prick committed while playing dead? I grit my teeth, fury bubbling up. “And Emilia? You just abandoned her.”

“I never abandoned my daughter.” He says it with so much conviction, it almost makes me sick. “I knew she would be alright. I had…connections.People who promised to take care of her on the occasion of my death. She was fine; sheisfine. Besides,” his eyes narrow dangerously, “you should be more worried about yourself right now.” He folds his arms across his chest and nods at the two other men, who cock their guns. “What are you doing here?Howdid you find us?”

I’m about to sneer out a response, but before I can, there’s a loud thud outside the room. Then two young boys burst in, both panting heavily, panic clear on their faces.

“Boss! We gotta split, now!” One gasps out. “Just passed by some officers on our way here. They’re nosing around outside—think they found something.”

His warning is accentuated by a loud gunshot from outside, and I stiffen, glancing back just as Rafael, Michael, and Maximo pour into the room, faces grim.

“There are over a dozen officers out there.” Michael frowns into his phone as he speaks. “But they’re not in uniform. They—fuck,” his head snaps up, eyes wide, “they’refeds.”

What the fuck are the FBI doing here?

“You fucking led them here!” Tomassi roars as he gets to his feet, raking his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair.

I raise an eyebrow and snort. “What a wild accusation.” But inside, I’m reeling.How did this go sideways so fast?What the hell is going on? And why won’t my goddamn phone stop vibrating! Landon is not the type to spam me with calls unless… unless it’s life or death. Something’s really wrong.

With a growl of frustration, I turn away from Tomassi as I answer, “I’m a little busy right now, Landon, we?—”

“Emilia Rossi is an FBI agent!” he gasps out, rocking my world.

Everything stops. My heart, my breath, time itself.

What the fuck?

“I’m on the run right now because the database I hacked into to get the information got corrupted as soon as I accessed it, and they might be able to trace my IP back to me. My life might be in danger right now, so I’m about to go off-grid. You won’t be able to reach me for the next few days.”

Landon’s voice fades into white noise. My mind’s still stuck on the first part—Emilia.FBI agent.

Before I can even begin to process this bombshell, an actual explosion erupts through the main room.

The blast shakes the entire basement, sending shrapnel flying as the walls shatter. The force of it throws me to my knees, ears ringing, the sharp sting of dust and debris scratching at my skin.

The girl. Christ, the little girl was out there.

Coughing, I scramble to my hands and knees, spitting out dust, eyes burning. Through the haze, I see Romero and we share a quick glance. He pulls himself up shakily, dust falling from his body as he tiptoes to check out the incinerated room. One look at his face tells me everything. She’s gone. Another innocent claimed by the FBI’s scorched-earth tactics.Fuck.

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