“Emily is too common to be an elf,” she had snorted.
“What?” I called back.
“Break time means break room, not existential wandering!” she shouted from the fake candy-cane arch.
I muttered a complaint under my breath and looked back toward the outdoor store.
The man was gone.
I was grateful for the break. I needed a little peace and quiet, although the Christmas Wonderland staff room was less a sanctuary than a bundle of exhausted seasonal workers surviving on burnt coffee, cheap cookies, and despair.
I was looking down at my Kindle, trying and failing to lose myself in a historical murder, when the chair across from me scraped against the floor. The hair at the back of my neck rose before I looked up.
When I did, the man from before was sitting right in front of me.
He was handsome, there was no point denying that, but not in a way that felt remotely reassuring. He looked to be in his fifties, tall and broad, with a mane of dark hair threaded through with silver and a composed stillness that made the whole roomaround him seem slightly less safe. He had the same sort of presence Alessandro Benetti carried.
“This area is for employees only,” I said carefully, keeping my voice level and my hands still on the table.
He lifted one dark brow. “Who says I’m not one of you?”
I looked him over once, deliberately. “No offense, but you don’t strike me as Santa material.”
He rested a hand against his chest with mock injury. “I’m offended, Miss Hart. I’m an excellent gift giver.”
I set my e-reader down carefully. “How do you know my name?”
He ignored the question yet still answered it. “I didn’t realize Petrolino had a Christmas fetish. I have to admit, it makes him more interesting.”
Petrolino.
Right.
Of course this was mafia-adjacent, because my life had given up all pretense of normality weeks ago and was now committed to the bit.
“Well,” I said, keeping my expression as flat as possible, “Petrolinoand I are no longer together, so you may want to update your information.”
His smile deepened rather than faltered. “Feisty too. I approve even more now.”
I stopped talking for a second, partly because he was clearly unhinged and partly because I was trying to decide whether yelling for help would make this worse or simply more public.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked at last.
“Yes. For starters, you can stop looking for exits. If I intended you harm, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in a room full of tired elves.”
It was fair, and I knew instinctively that he meant it.
“My name is Matteo Genovese.”
My breath caught. Pietro had mentioned him. Alessandro had too, and never in the tone people used for harmless men.
His mouth curved slightly. “Ah. I see you know who I am. I’m honored.”
I said nothing.
He leaned back in the chair as if we were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. “Our Pietro was cheeky,” he said. “He really should have introduced us properly. The difficulty, you see, is that there are rules, and since you are apparently no longer with him, I wasn’t entirely sure how committed you might still be to our secrets.”
That, at least, I could answer.
