Page 22 of Mafia Crown

"I don’t think Charlie needs much baiting," I say softly.

Kieran glances at me, his brows furrowed. “He was loyal to you, Hazel.”

The words sting because he wasn’t loyal to me, but I wasn’t exactly loyal to Charlie either. I would have and will pick myself over my dog; I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person or not.

We keep walking, the tension between us simmering like a pot about to boil over, every crackle of twigs beneath our boots amplified in the stillness. My breath fogs the cool air, but it’s not the chill that makes my chest tight—it’s the way Kieran keeps glancing at me.

Charlie’s bark echoes through the trees, frantic and sharp, cutting through the silence like a gunshot. Kieran doesn’t hesitate. He takes off like a shadow darting between the trees, silent and swift.

"Dammit," I mutter, chasing after him. My boots catch on tangled roots and patches of uneven ground, but I keep going. The forest presses in around me, the scent of damp leaves and bark filling my lungs as I push past low-hanging branches. I catch a glimpse of him ahead—broad shoulders, dark hair, moving as if the woods belong to him.

We break into a clearing, breathless. There, on the edge of a crumbling ledge, Charlie stands, barking at something just out of view below. His tail wags, but it’s frantic, and the loose dirt beneath his paws shifts dangerously close to the drop.

Kieran doesn't seem to notice the crumbling ledge as he takes a step toward Charlie.

"Kieran, wait—" I call out, panic spiking in my chest. I lunge forward and grab his arm, but it’s like trying to stop a storm. He’s already moving, laser-focused on the dog, and completely unaware of the crumbling ledge.

The ground beneath him groans, and my breath catches. A chunk of dirt and rock crumbles beneath his boots, sliding away like it’s been waiting for this moment.

"Shit!" His balance wavers, and for a split second, the confident, untouchable Kieran looks vulnerable.

I don’t think—I react. My hand shoots out, gripping the back of his jacket, fingers twisting in the worn fabric as I plant my feet and pull with everything I have. He stumbles backward, crashing into me, and we fall in a heap to the ground; we spin, and I land on him, but it may as well be the ground.

The impact knocks the air out of my lungs, and for a moment, all I hear is the rapid pounding of my heart and the dog’s anxious whine. Kieran’s body is warm and solid under me, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

"You’re heavy," he mutters, voice rough but tinged with something softer—something like gratitude he’ll never say out loud.

"Don’t be rude," I fire back, gasping for breath. "I just saved your life."

He shifts slightly, and I feel the vibration of his chuckle before I hear it. It’s low and unexpected, like he’s forgotten how to laugh until now. My eyes widen in surprise because this isn’t a sound I’ve heard before. It’s real. Warm. Almost…human.

"You’re lucky I didn’t let you fall," I say, more to break the moment than anything else. My pulse is racing, but I don’t want him to see the effect he’s having on me. I quickly scramble off his frame until I’m sitting on the ground.

He leans up on his elbows, brushing dirt off his pants with lazy movements, as if falling off a cliff was just another inconvenience in his day. "I had it under control," he says, but his gaze flickers, betraying the lie.

"Sure you did," I tease, sitting back on my heels and brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "Your version of control looks a lot like you falling to your death."

For once, he doesn’t argue.

Charlie pads over to us, licking Kieran’s hand before sniffing me as if to check we’re both okay. Kieran strokes Charlie’s head, fingers briefly curling around his collar, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or relief.

The wind rustles through the trees, and for a moment, we sit there, caught in the aftermath of adrenaline and something else neither of us is ready to name.

But I know this much: Today, I saved him. And if there’s one crack in Kieran’s armor, I plan to find the others.

His gaze flickers toward me briefly, as if testing the weight of what just happened. His lips part, but whatever he’s about to say dissolves into the breeze.

“We’d better get back,” I say.

Kieran nods and gets up, but before we return, he looks over the ledge that had nearly taken him to his death. I have no idea what he is looking for, but he seems satisfied after a moment.

“Yeah, we’d best get back.”

On the walk back to the safe house, we don’t talk. We don’t need to. The silence wraps around us like a shared secret, not heavy, not awkward—just...there. Comfortable. Like we both know this moment means something, but neither of us dares to ruin it by saying so.

I glance at him occasionally, watching the way his jaw clenches, then relaxes, as if he’s wrestling with thoughts too dangerous to share. What goes on in that complicated head of his? Is he thinking about how I saved his life? How he is determined to take mine, and maybe, just maybe, he might return the favor. Or is he already burying this, locking it away where I’ll never reach it again? My mind swirls thinking about how if I hadn’t reached for him, he would have fallen to his death, and me and Charlie would be free. The thought makes me shiver. I’m not a killer.

Back at the safe house, Kieran opens the door and disappears into his room without a word, but I don’t miss the way his fingers linger on Charlie’s collar, stroking it softly before letting go. There’s something vulnerable in that small gesture, something that makes my heart ache in a way I’m not proud of.

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