Page 44 of Wicked Mistletoe

And with a roar of pure anguish, I drive my fist into the nearest wall, embracing the pain that vibrates from my wrecked hand.

Again and again, until my knuckles are a bloody mess and my throat is raw from screaming.

EPILOGUE

EMILIA

“You did well, Emily.” Stacey smiles at me from behind her desk. “We didn’t make any arrests, but we were able to put a stop to the child trafficking operation. That’s a great start for you.”

I nod numbly, gaze resting on a point beyond her shoulders. My brain is fuzzy, thoughts moving like molasses. I’m vaguely aware that I should feel something about this—pride, maybe? Relief? But The words ‘great start’ just echo hollowly in my mind. Great start to what? A life of lies and betrayal?

“There’s something you need to see” She continues, turning her laptop to me. “I debated if I should show you or not, but I think it’s for the best you know and?—”

The rest of her words dissolve into meaningless noise as the video starts playing. My entire world narrows to the screen in front of me, and suddenly my heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest.

It’s my dad.

Not the dad in my memories, the one forever preserved in the amber of the past. This is a dad that time didn’t forget—what I imagine he would look like if he had the chance to grow older. His hair, once purely brown, now carries strands of silver. Newlines frame his mouth and eyes, telling stories of years I never got to witness.

My lips part as I lean closer, watching the video greedily, drinking in every pixel, every movement. “H–how?”

She sighs heavily, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. We found Tomassi’s body after his altercation with Alfonso Moretti and nursed him back to life. By then, the news about his death had already spread. I was little more than a rookie back then. He was put into witness protection and, well, you know what that means.”

I do know. God, I know all too well. New identity, new life, complete secrecy—witnesses are hidden from the world, from anyone dangerous.But I’m his daughter, for fuck’s sake. I should have been told.

But then I realize what she’s saying.

He’s alive.My dad is alive.

Sweet hope and happy disbelief soar through me. I’m already imagining our reunion, the questions I’ll ask, the things I’ll tell him—but as I move my gaze from the video to Stacey, ready to demand answers and beg for a reunion, her grim expression stops me cold.

“I was going to let you two meet each other and catch up after you completed your first mission, but…” She pauses, and I can see the weight of her next words. “Rafael Moretti got to him.”

The words drop like stones into the pit of my stomach.

“What?” I gasp. The hope in my chest curdles into something dark and awful. There’s no way. Rafael wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. But my brain conjures the cold fury in his eyes three nights ago when he came home with that jacket tied over his bleeding arm. The way he looked at me like I was a stranger. An enemy…

“I called Tomassi to the city when I saw how sad you were following your first mission. But Rafael got to him as soon as hearrived. Just like he got to you in your apartment the night you came back.” She watches me closely, studying my expression. “He killed your father, Emily.”

I shake my head slowly, my gaze drawn to the video on the screen where my father—my living, breathing father—is frozen in time once again. I can’t breathe. My brain is a tornado of thoughts, memories, emotions. Six years of grieving, of finally accepting his death—all undone in an instant. To find out he was alive all this time, only to lose him again… in the same breath? It’s beyond cruel.

“That family killed your father twice. First Alfonso, then his son. Are you going to let it slide?” Stacey continues, her mouth twitching a little like she enjoys watching my turmoil—but that doesn’t make sense.

I stand abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Then without a word, I turn and leave her office.

Rafael killed your father. Rafael killed your father. Rafael killed your father.

My brain plays those words on a loop, over and over, as I walk out of the federal office building. A gust of cold air slaps me across the face, but I’m already so numb, I barely feel it.

But as I walk and those damning words become louder and louder and louder in my head, my numb fog is finally pierced by an emotion.

Anger.No.Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.

So, what, because I betrayed him, he decided to retaliate by killing my dad?

Hot tears spill down my cheeks, evaporating almost immediately in the frigid air. I sniffle, trying to breathe through the familiar ache in my chest. The ache that's been my constant companion since our fight three nights ago, before I shut it all off.

Killed my father.

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