Page 23 of Wicked Mistletoe

I turn back to Romero, studying him carefully. “Are you saying once we bag this bastard, you’ll bail on us again?” I ask, and Michael stops typing to glance at him.

Romero holds my gaze. “No. I want the power and authority that comes with the underworld. There are too many loopholes in the system, too many rules in the law that only aid and coddle monsters. I’m going to put an end to their reign of terror, one way or another.”

I grin at him. Everything’s finally clicking into place. I have my city, my brothers, and my woman.Emilia.Just thinking her name sends a jolt of electricity through me. My grin widens as memories of last night flash through my mind.

I need to get her to accept my proposal and move into my apartment where I can keep her safe. Because once words get out about her, she’ll be in danger. I’ve pissed off a lot of people during my rise to power, and they’ll jump at any chance to hurt me. I’ll be damned if I let anyone use Emilia to get to me.

As if he can hear what’s going on in my head, Michael’s gaze shifts to me. “You know one thing I’m great at, Rafael? Multitasking. Want me to look for Em while I hunt our sicko?”

Romero and Maximo perk up, suddenly laser-focused on me. My heart swells seeing how much they care about Emilia. To them, she’s more than just my girl— she’s asorellina,the little sister they never had.

So it’s with a light heart that I announce, “No need for that, Michael. I’ve already got her. And soon, she’ll be by my side, ruling this city as my Queen.”

6

EMILIA

Dark voices overlap in hushed, rapid Italian. I’m too busy trying to force air through my nose to decipher their words, but their malevolent intent is crystal clear. My heart’s a wild animal, thrashing against my ribcage as I claw desperately towards a freedom I know is just a cruel mirage. I’m trapped, and in too much pain to run.

Help me!

The plea echoes deafeningly in my skull, but what comes out is only a weak, pitiful whimper. Behind me, someone chuckles, and I whimper again, digging my nails into the cold, unyielding floor, desperate for any semblance of grip.

Another chuckle, closer this time.

No. No. Please, no.

Then an icy, meaty hand clamps around my ankle. I shriek and?—

I jolt upright with a scream tearing from my throat.

My face is on fire, my heart pounding viciously, and my body won’t stop shaking. Drenched in sweat, I sit in bed, gasping for breath.

It was a nightmare.Just a nightmare.

It wasn’t real.

No. It was real. Once.

Six years ago, that nightmare was my reality.

And still, it refuses to let me go.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I start rocking side to side, my eyes flying around the room as I try to ground myself in the present.

Christmas lights. Fireplace. Green curtains. My purse on the dresser. The vanity. The closet. Sneakers by the door. The wall mirror.

I breathe. In, out.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, my breath evens out, and the shaking eases as I catalog the things I can see.

I’m not back there anymore. I’m in my room.Safe.

This nightmarish ritual has tormented me every single night sinceIthappened. And it got so bad that that Stacey insisted I see a shrink—Lana. Sweet, well-meaning, utterly clueless Lana. As if talk therapy and pills could exorcise these demons. But she did give me one useful tool. This grounding technique. Because sometimes, in those first disorienting moments of waking up, it’s damn near impossible to convince myself that I’m not stillthere. To remind myself that Rafael showed up when he did, pissed as hell, ready to tear the place apart when he saw what was going on. That he cared enough to save me when everyone else was just getting their sick kicks.

And I owe him for that.

I blow out a long, shaky breath as my skin finally begins to cool and my heart rate normalizes. Shit, I slept so well last night, wrapped in the afterglow of what happened between Rafael and me, despite my self-loathing, that falling right back into my nightmare makes me a little bitter. One night of peace, then bam—straight back to the horror show.

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