Page 19 of Mafia Crown

She’s on her feet before I’ve finished speaking. That quick reaction tells me something—she doesn’t like being alone. Noted.

“Dress warmly,” I add.

“Can I bring Charlie?”

“No.” My voice is firm, final. The kind of tone that ends conversations before they can start. Hazel freezes for a second; her gaze is locked on mine as if she’s trying to gauge if I’ll bend. I won’t. She knows it, and after a beat, she nods.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

She leaves the room, walking past me with hunched shoulders. I follow her out of the room and wait as she enters her own, and I hear the rustle of fabric as she puts on warmer clothes.

The cold night air is like a slap to the face as we step outside and head to the waiting car. Sean’s car, to be specific. Sean, who’s currently wrapped in plastic in the trunk like a discarded holiday present. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I slide into the driver’s seat, my fingers brushing the cold leather as I grip the steering wheel. Sean’s phone rests in my hand, its screen dim but powered on—silent, just like him. I toss it onto the dash and glance over as Hazel settles into the passenger seat. Her hands fidget in her lap, fingers twisting like she’s trying to wring the tension out of them.

The engine hums to life, and we pull away from the cabin. The road stretching endlessly before us. The sound of the tires against the asphalt becomes a steady metronome, a rhythm I can lose myself in.

Hazel leans her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass. The tension in her body slowly unravels until, finally, she’s asleep. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noticing how fragile she looks when she’s not frowning or arguing. Vulnerability suits her in a way she’d hate if she knew I noticed.

I turn up the heat without thinking. It’s a gesture I don’t even mean to make—something buried deep in my subconscious, a leftover habit from being around someone who’s always cold. Maybe it’s for her. Or maybe it’s for me. Hard to tell anymore.

An hour later, the lake finally reveals itself, like a dark sheet of glass reflecting the moonlight. I pull the car to a stop along the dirt path and cut the engine. Silence presses in, broken only by Hazel’s soft, even breathing.

I sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel. My pulse is steady, as it always is. There’s no guilt to fight, no regret gnawing at the edges of my conscience. I know what needs to be done, and I do it. Simple as that.

Hazel stirs beside me, her lashes fluttering briefly, but she doesn’t wake. I grab the phone off the dashboard and place it into my pocket before I slip out of the car, the cold biting through my coat. My boots crunch over frost-covered leaves, and the air smells like damp earth and decay. It fits the mood.

I shift my gaze to the old motorcycle parked a few feet away, camouflaged in the brush exactly where I left it. Good. I’ll need it to get back.

Sean’s car, though—that’s a different story. It’s not something you can stash in the woods and forget. But the lake? The lake can swallow secrets whole.

I open Hazel’s door, and straight away, her eyes snap open. Maybe it’s the cold that floods the warm car that alerts her. “You need to get out.”

She doesn’t ask any questions but climbs out, and I close the door before getting back into the driver’s seat. She folds her arms across her chest, her gaze darting around the space. I wonder if she will try and run. She won’t get far.

I put the car into neutral before getting out and rolling it toward the lake, muscles flexing as I push it forward. The weight is unforgiving, but adrenaline is a useful tool. The car edges toward the water, its tires digging into the soft earth before finally giving way to the slope.

The splash shatters the stillness, the sound ricocheting off the trees like a gunshot. I pause, listening. The water ripples out in perfect circles, widening and fading as the car sinks beneath the surface. Headlights briefly flicker underwater before darkness claims them. Gone. Just like that.

I exhale, watching my breath swirl and disappear. There’s no rush of satisfaction. No thrill. Just another task checked off the list.

I glance at Hazel, who hasn’t moved.

I head for the motorcycle, boots crunching softly over the frost. The lake is already smoothing itself out, wiping away the evidence like it was never there.

And just like that, Sean becomes a ghost I won’t think about again.

Another secret buried. Another night survived.

Hazel watches me silently, her face pale in the moonlight. I hand her the helmet from the motorcycle—there’s only one. “Put this on.”

She hesitates, then obeys, climbing onto the bike behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I’m surprised by how much I like the feel of her hands on me—another warning I ignore.

The bike roars to life beneath me, vibrating like a live wire. Hazel’s arms circle my waist, her grip tight, her face pressed against my back. The warmth of her breath seeps through my jacket, contrasting with the cold night air whipping past us. I’m not sure if it’s the icy wind stinging my face or the sensation of her holding on that keeps me sharp, but I don’t let my mind wander. Not tonight. My eyes stay locked on the narrow road ahead, shadowed by trees that loom like sentinels on either side.

The forest grows denser, darker, until it feels like the night itself is closing in on us. Only the hum of the bike and the rhythmic thrum of Hazel’s heartbeat against my back keep me grounded. The road curves sharply, but I don’t ease up. I can’t. Not until we’re deep enough into the wilderness, far enough away from anything or anyone that could find us—or him.

I stop near a clearing where the underbrush is thick, wild, and untouched—the perfect burial ground for unwanted things. The bike hums beneath me for a moment before I kill the engine, the sudden silence crashing down like a weight. I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out Sean’s phone, and stare at it for a second. The screen’s blank, just like his future. Without ceremony, I power it down and toss it into the bushes, where the forest will claim it.

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