Mistletoe Mafia: Yadili, #7

​​YADILI SERIES

Prince of Hearts

Killer of Kings

Bad Santa

Rough Diamond

Tough Alliance

Trophy Wife

Mistletoe Mafia

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DEDICATION

To the butterflies who love my stories as much as I do and keep coming back for more. I love you all.

​​

BLURB

Recently divorced Nkoli accepts a new job and moves to Italy seeking a fresh start. She is bruised but not broken by her past marriage and cautiously opens her heart again. Enter, Lorenzo a charismatic, enigmatic silver fox man who sweeps her off her feet. Sparks fly and their romance blooms into something beautiful—until Nkoli discovers the shocking truth. She is merely a pawn in a game of chess between ruthless men.

Lorenzo is a powerful mafia don who used her to gain the upper hand against his rivals. Infuriated, she walks away from him, but her life becomes threatened. Soon, she must navigate the dangerous underworld and decide if their love can survive the dark shadows that threaten to engulf them both. Will she succumb to the comforting shelter of his dark embrace and the intoxicating pleasure of his toe-curling kisses beneath the mistletoe?

Mistletoe Mafia, the electrifying seventh instalment in the captivating Yadili series, transports readers from the crisp wintry northern Italy to the sultry tropical harmattan of southern Nigeria. Themes include holiday romance, age gap, forced proximity, and the irresistible allure of a mafia romance. A novella. No cliffhanger. 

PROLOGUE

25 years ago

Ignoring the still -moving vehicle, Lorenzo ripped the door open, the sound of gravel crunching under his feet as he jumped out. In the distance, outlined against the night sky stood the new leather processing factory, his investment with his sister and brother-in-law. The smell of freshly turned earth and sawdust hung heavy in the air. The site had been a flurry of activity since construction began a month ago.

However, his attention was riveted on the immediate scene lit by the headlamps of the car he’d just exited. The acrid smell of smoke stinging his nostrils as he ran towards the still-smoking, black-charred overturned vehicle blocking the dirt road.

The horrific scene landed in his stomach like a violent and sickening punch, stealing his breath. Air rushed from his lungs in a whooshing sound, and his legs buckled beneath him. He fell to his knees, sinking into the cold, sucking mud of the puddle, water seeping into his trousers.

Due to the recent downpour, moisture glistened on the three blackened figures, making them visible against the debris. Despite the rain’s efforts, the fire’s devastation remained—burnt bodies, twisted and horrifically disfigured, lay scattered across the sodden earth, a sickening stench of smoke and ash pervading the air.

Bile rose in his throat because he knew the dead occupants of the vehicle.

A chill had run down his spine when he’d heard the crackling distress call from his sister, abruptly cut short by the terrifying sounds of rapid gunfire. Now he lived in a nightmare, a horrifying realisation of his worst fears, each dreadful image a searing brand on his soul.

Two years ago, losing his wife to cancer had left him heartbroken and numb to the world around him. He still hadn’t recovered. Now, he’d lost his sister and brother-in-law, the assassins’ brutal efficiency echoing in the silence left behind.

The twisted metal and blackened chassis of the wrecked vehicle, still smoking faintly, looked like the aftermath of a horrific car accident. Yet, he suspected something darker at play, a sinister plot unfolding in the quiet corners of his life.

Anguish and rage slammed into him, his knuckles white as his hands curled into fists, digging into the mud. A ringing filled his ears, a dull roar which blocked out the sound of his nephew’s footsteps splashing in the puddles until the boy was next to him.

What is that? Nero asked, bending low, tilting his head for a better view.

"Non guardare." With a jolt, Lorenzo sprang to his feet, his body tense, preventing the teenager from seeing the wreckage of the burned-out vehicle. He’d briefly forgotten his nephew, who had been quietly playing with a Rubik cube in the back seat, had been in the car with him.

Is that Papa’s car? The boy’s voice grew hoarse as he tried to step around him.

But Lorenzo corralled him back towards the vehicle they exited, his protective instincts kicking in.

Don’t look, this time he spoke in a hoarse, heavily accented English, although his nephew understood Italian. You shouldn’t see them like that.

What? My parents are in there? Nero shoved and twisted, slipping past him and ran back to the car. When he reached the site, he doubled over and retched.

With a sigh, Lorenzo returned to the boy, extracting a folded, cotton handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over.

Nero straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tears welling in his eyes. How did this happen?

Lorenzo’s heart ached, a sharp, physical pain, as he saw his nephew’s distressed state.

After Giulia, his wife, passed away, their daughter Gia still had her father and Lorenzo’s mother who offered a loving, dependable presence during their difficult time.

However, the recent and sudden loss of both his mother and father left Nero shattered. He would feel a profound emptiness and the chilling bite of grief in his world.

Now, the closest person he had to a parent was Lorenzo.

A fierce protectiveness, a primal urge to shield his nephew from harm, flooded him as the realisation sunk in.

I don’t know, Lorenzo answered honestly, his voice a low murmur. But we’ll find out.

And when they did, the people responsible would pay in the most excruciating way possible. For now, he needed to get his nephew somewhere safe, far from the immediate danger.

Come, he said, his voice firm and reassuring as he steered the boy back to the waiting car.

This time, his nephew didn’t resist, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders as he let out a silent sigh.

Lorenzo’s lieutenant and best friend, Matteo Belfiore, opened the door of the vehicle for Nero to climb in. Lorenzo joined him the in back seat. Matteo climbed into the driver’s chair and shut the door.

Nero sat stiffly, staring blankly out of the window into the darkness of the rural countryside surrounding them, wearing his grief like a heavy cloak.

Lorenzo wrestled with providing comfort to the teenage boy or providing safety in the aftermath of his parents’ death.

Matteo met Lorenzo’s gaze in the rearview mirror. What do you want to do?

Get us out of here, Lorenzo ordered, decision made.

Matteo nodded and turned the ignition, kicking the engine into life. He reversed, turned and accelerated the car down the dirt road in the direction they’d come.

What? Nero swivelled, eyes widened as if suddenly realising they were departing. We can’t leave them!

There’s nothing we can do for them now, Lorenzo replied, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s back. But I have to get you to safety.

No. Nero yanked at the door handle.

But it seemed Matteo had turned on the child safety feature which locked the door unless he released it.

Let me out! Nero yelled, getting agitated, banging his hand repeatedly against the back of the front passenger seat.

The interior light came on. Nero must have accidentally hit it.

Cessare! Lorenzo commanded in a harsh tone, concerned the boy would hurt himself. Or distract Matteo, who was driving, and cause another accident. They were in an unfamiliar slippery landscape, although they had visited the site of the new factory several times over the past week.

Nero froze as if his uncle had slapped him.

It might as well have been because Lorenzo had never spoken to him in that tone before. It was a tone he reserved for the people who worked for him when they messed up. Not one he used for family members.

Remorse sat like a brick in Lorenzo’s gut, and when he reached forward to embrace Nero, he shrank away.

Lorenzo sighed and leaned back in his seat, switching off the interior light. Losing a person he cared about wasn’t new to him. His father had been killed when he’d been around Nero’s age. He hadn’t handled it so well then.

Regardless, the rebuff cut him like a knife, and he understood it. The boy was grieving. He was seventeen but still a child and inexperienced in the matters of the world. At thirty-three years old, Lorenzo was the adult and responsible for his nephew. He would protect and guide him, and when Nero was finally ready, he would also provide as much comfort as the boy needed.

But for now, his highest priority was to take Nero to safety.

He pulled his BlackBerry out of his pocket and sent a message to the captain of his flight crew.

Preparati per la partenza immediata. Due ore.

The response came a few minutes later. Sì signore.

Are you calling the police? Nero’s scratchy voice made Lorenzo look up. He had a withdrawn expression which twisted the knife in Lorenzo’s heart.

He wished he could shield the boy from this pain. But he also realised he couldn’t shield him from everything, especially the truth of the situation.

He swallowed before speaking. No. Not yet. I messaged the pilot to prepare the private jet for departure in two hours.

Nero blinked once, and then his eyes narrowed. Why?

Because I’m taking you back to Italy with me.

No ... I can’t ... my parents just died and you want me to leave them and go to Italy? Are you crazy? Nero ranted, getting more agitated again.

Nero, calm down, Lorenzo said and turned on the interior light this time.

No. You can’t make that decision for me. They are ... were my parents and I’m an adult now—

Then act like an adult and calm down.

Nero opened his mouth and closed it.

When he said nothing, Lorenzo continued, Listen to me carefully. Your parents’ death wasn’t accidental. They were assassinated.

What? Nero sat up straight and his gaze darted from Lorenzo to Matteo as if he didn’t believe his uncle. Why?

I don’t know yet, but I suspect it’s because of the new factory they were building here. A few people don’t want it to happen. Killing your parents kills two birds with one stone, unfortunately.

Lorenzo had bought the idea to open a leather processing plant in Nigeria when his sister and her husband pitched it to him. Lucia had been passionate about the project as much as her husband John. Lorenzo had put in the finance to get the business up and going when John’s business partner opposed it and decided not to back it.

In the end, John had told his business partner to buy him out of their Ezequer project. This way, he could focus his efforts on the new business venture with his wife, Lucia, with Lorenzo as their third silent partner.

However, it seemed