Page 36 of Wicked Mistletoe

“Relax,fratello,we know what we’re doing. We’ll get him. No need for overkill,” I tell him and he just grunts. I get it—the stakes are sky-high. But overthinking now will only trip us up.

The plan is simple but tight: we park our van in front of the orphanage for easy access while Romero goes in. His lawyer card and charm should be enough to smooth his way through without anyone kicking up a fuss.

Once inside, he’ll plant Michael’s micro cameras in as many rooms as he can so we can monitor what’s going on inside. He’ll feed the head of the orphanage some bullshit about him being there with the cops who received a tip on a crime in the neighborhood and that we’re on a stakeout. After which, he’ll head back to the van, where we’ll wait for our prey.

Maximo floors it the entire way, breaking every traffic rule known to man, so what should’ve been an hour-long drive is over in thirty–eight minutes flat.

“Nice one, fast and furious,” Romero teases as he puts on his cap, getting himself Maximo’s middle finger in return.

Romero exits the van with that cool confidence and jogs up to the entrance of the orphanage that’s definitely seen better days, and I feel a pang of… something. Guilt? Anger? The place is falling apart on its inhabitants—peeling paint, broken shingles, the whole deal. It’s a miracle it’s still standing.

If we weren’t on this case, this would be the perfect hunting ground for our sicko to snatch a child and remain under the radar. The way this place looks, I doubt any of the staff here would even give a shit if one of the children suddenly went missing. I file away a mental note to send an anonymous donation when this is over. It’s the least I can do.

A few minutes after Romero knocks, the front door creaks open, revealing an old place bursting with character. I hear him through my earpiece as he takes out his card and hands it to the woman. “Good evening, I’m Romero Lombardi, a defense attorney. Have you heard about the crime ravaging this neighborhood?”

He waltzes inside, charming his way past her, and before long, she’s telling him to hold tight before bustling off to fetch the matron. There’s a rustle of fabric and hurried footsteps as Romero struts around, definitely not the obedient guest he’s supposed to be.

“Awesome!” Michael’s eyes light up. “One of the cameras is live! Can you adjust it a little, Rome? The view is mostly the ceiling—ah, perfect.”

More images flicker to life on the monitors, and I lean in, studying each one intently. We’re getting an eyeful—not only the kids’ rooms, but the hallways, too, and even the front and back doors.

As Romero fiddles with the stairway camera, a stern voice cuts in from his end: “You were supposed to wait for me downstairs. What are you doing here?”

I tense, but Michael’s calm. “It’s fine. We already got more than enough, Romero.”

We watch Romero crank his charm up to eleven, gliding forward with that killer smile and taking the older woman’s hand, kissing it like he’s auditioning for a movie role. “My apologies, miss. I couldn’t resist being drawn in by the warmthof this place. It’s definitely not what I expected from the exterior. What a great job your matron has done here.”

“Miss?” The woman titters, her fingers brushing the graying strands at her temples as her expression softens. “I’mthematron, Mrs. Churchill.”

“Oh my! Your radiant, youthful glow had me think you must be one of the assistants, Mrs. Churchill. Pardon my manners, I was informed the matron was in her fifties, but you don’t look a day over thirty.”

More giggling. The older woman practically melts under his attention. Christ, Romero could charm the scales off a snake.

“Oh, you young bucks these days have such a way with words. Sarah mentioned you’re a lawyer. What do you need from us?” Her hand settles flirtatiously on his shoulder as she guides him towards the study.

“Romero, that silver-tongued devil,” Maximo chuckles, watching the matron pour him a drink.

Less than thirty minutes later, Romero has explained our presence to the matron who waves a benevolent hand, even suggesting us ‘kind officers’ come in from the cold, but he graciously declines as he leaves the orphanage.

“Remind me never to introduce you to my wife… if I ever get one,” Maximo says, punching Romero’s shoulder playfully as he gets back inside the van.

“As if a rogue like you would ever settle down,” Michael ribs back.

“Have you seen me, Michael? The ladies would be devastated if I’m ever off the market,” Maximo grins, running a hand through his hair dramatically.

I roll my eyes. Idiots, the lot of them. But they’re my idiots, and there’s no one else I’d rather have at my back for this.

The banter fizzles out as we turn our attention to the surveillance cameras, watching the matron bustle through thekids’ rooms, ensuring everyone is tucked in tight before going back to her own wing of the orphanage. Her footsteps are soft, but they only add to the tension simmering in the van.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Romero muses, breaking the silence. “Reminds me of that time Don Moretti sent us to oversee the arrival of his new shipment.”

I feel my muscles stiffen at the mention of that job. The thought had already crossed my mind, but I squashed it down ruthlessly.

“Yeah, that was the first time the four of us worked together. I was so excited!” Michael’s enthusiasm rings out, but it feels hollow, almost taunting against the weight of my thoughts.

“The first and only time we worked for my father,” I snap, and the mood in the van shifts instantly. They know better than to poke the bear. If it hadn’t been for that godforsaken errand my dad sent us on, we would have been at the warehouse as usual and would have seen Emilia when she stormed in angry and ready for revenge. We would’ve stopped those animals from laying a finger on her. Stopped everything that happened next…

I fix my gaze on the camera, hating that the lightheartedness in the van has vanished. But maybe it’s for the best. We need to focus on the reason we’re here and?—

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