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A whole bushel of mistletoe.
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Thanks for reading Mistletoe Mobster! I hope you liked it. :)
For Raul and Allegra’s story, check outSilent Knight.The stern doctor broke my heart years ago. Now we’re holed up in a safe house for the holidays.
And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy ofRide or Die.She’s sweet and innocent—and that’s like catnip in this strip club. It’s okay, though. I won’t let the pretty bartender out of my sight.
Happy reading!
xxx
Teaser: Silent Knight
One week ago
I’m hunched over on my sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table, frowning at my half-done pedicure when Santo prowls into my suite. Glancing up from the nail polish brush, I raise an eyebrow at my older brother.
Dark hair like mine, and the sharp De Rossi cheekbones. Hollowed eyes and the signature family exhaustion.
“You never knock. It’s my bedroom, Santo.”
He shrugs, surveying the furniture. “It’s my mansion.”
There’s something off about him tonight. Something cagey. My normally pristine brother looks ruffled, the shadows under his eyes darker than ever, and there’s a crease in his dove gray embroidered waistcoat.
Acrease.
Guess the sky is falling.
The grounds are dark through the balcony doors, and my suite glows with lamplight. These rooms are more familiar to me than any place in the world, and I know every inch. Every piece of antique furniture, restored by master craftsmen and gifted by Santo; every famous painting on the walls. Everyone thinks that the mob boss displays his most impressive finds in the visitor areas in order to intimidate visitors.
I know better. He saves the best for me.
Swallowing hard, I sit back. Whatever has shaken my brother is not good news. Santo is a block of ice, hard and impenetrable, and yet tonight he looks lost in the center of my suite. He keeps gazing around, blinking hard as he drags his focus back to the present. That fearsome brain of his is working overtime, and I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears.
“What is it?” I’m already capping the nail polish with only three toes painted red. “Maybe I can help.”
Santo stares up at the ceiling. “Yes, you can.”
Oh, I don’t like that. “On my terms,” I clarify. “I’ll help on my terms.”
Because I’m not one of Santo’s pawns to be pushed around his mental chessboard. I understand this business better than anyone, present company excluded, and I don’t do grunt work. Life’s too damn short—especially in our world.
“You need me to get info?”
Santo shakes his head, slow and thoughtful. He’s still staring at the ceiling over my shoulder.
You know, when I was growing up with no one in the world except this man, he protected me. Kept me safe from the wolves at our door. And he taught me everything he knew, even when I was a sulky, frightened teenage girl and he was a newly minted mob boss who surely had better things to do.
I owe Santo, no two ways about it. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree to his requests blind. Because Iknowmy brother, know him inside out and back to front, know him in a way that not even his inner circle do. And just because he cares about me, in his own stilted way—that doesn’t mean I’m immune to his machinations.
“Stop scheming and spit it out.”
Santo nods once, then looks me in the eye. “I’m sending you away for a few weeks.”
Um. What? Over the holidays?
