Page 31 of Mafia Crown

I reach out and grab her wrist. It’s the first time I’ve touched her, and the heat of her skin catches me off guard. She’s warm. Human. Too human. But I don’t let go. I pull her wrist toward me, dragging the tip of the screwdriver closer to my neck.

Her eyes widen in panic, and she fights against my grip, twisting and pulling. “Stop it!” she shouts, her voice shrill, frantic.

“Why?” I ask, leaning in so close she can probably feel my breath against her cheek. “This is what you want, isn’t it? To hurt me. To escape. Prove to me you’re not just words, Hazel.”

“Stop!” she yells again, her free hand pressing against my chest as if she can push me away. The screwdriver shakes between us, her fingers trembling with effort.

I let her wrist go, and she stumbles back, nearly dropping the screwdriver in the process. Her breath comes in ragged gulps, her hair falling messily across her face as she tries to compose herself.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice soft but sharp enough to cut through her panic. “You’re not like me.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HAZEL

I HATE HOW he knows I won’t hurt him. The way he stands there, calm, unmoving, completely in control—it makes me feel small. Weak. And I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. His gaze is cold, emotionless, like a stone giant carved out of marble, and I can’t stand how unaffected he is. How untouchable he feels.

My fingers tighten around the screwdriver, the edges of the handle digging into my palm. I could stab him. I could. But no matter how much I try to convince myself, the truth hangs over me like a noose—I won’t do it.

Charlie’s bark slices through my spiraling thoughts, and I glance toward him, the loyal dog who’s always by my side.

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Kieran says, his voice steady, soothing even.

The sound of his reassurance burns through me like acid. It strikes a nerve I didn’t even know was exposed, raw and bleeding. My jaw tightens, and the words spill out before I can stop them.

“Is it? Is it okay? What happens when I’m dead, Kieran? Are you going to kill my dog, or maybe keep him as a trophy?” My voice is bitter, each word sharpened by the anger bubbling beneath my skin.

Kieran raises a single finger, a silent warning. His ice-blue eyes narrow slightly, their message as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud:Watch yourself.

“You’re emotional,” he states, like it’s an illness, like it’s something broken in me that he’s diagnosing. “Emotions aren’t good. You need to calm down.”

Calm down.The words trigger something violent in me, something uncontrollable. My chest heaves, and before I can think, I’m screaming.

“I am sick of being calm!” The room vibrates with the force of my voice. “I want out!” I roar, the desperation tearing through me like a storm.

He tilts his head, observing me like I’m an animal on the verge of losing control. And then, slowly, he takes a step forward. Deliberate. Measured. His eyes never leave mine.

“Last time, Hazel,” he says, each word drenched in authority. “Calm down.”

Charlie barks again, his ears pulled back, tail stiff as he shifts on his paws. And it’s too much. It’s as if even my own dog is agreeing with Kieran, siding with the man who’s keeping me trapped here. I snap.

The screwdriver clatters to the floor as I charge him, my fists swinging out of instinct, not strategy. My knuckles slam into his chest, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even stumble. The solid wall of muscle absorbs the blow like it’s nothing, and that only fuels my frustration.

“Let me go!” I scream, but the words are lost in the fury of my actions.

I pull back and swing again, but this time, he catches my wrist. His fingers are iron shackles around me, unyielding. I twist, trying to break free, but his grip only tightens. My free hand comes up, and I slap him hard across the face, the sound echoing in the room like a gunshot.

Before I can pull away, he grabs that wrist, too. Now I’m pinned, breathing hard, my chest rising and falling as I fight against him like a caged animal. I want to scream in his face, to tear him apart, to dosomethingthat will hurt him as much as he’s hurting me. But he just stands there, calm and collected, watching me with that same infuriating look.

His head lowers, and I brace myself for the threat. For the words that will break me, because I know they’re coming. I know he’s going to remind me of how powerless I am. How trapped I’ve become.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his mouth brushes against mine, soft but deliberate. The warmth of his lips catches me off guard, and for a second, I freeze. My mind blanks, short-circuits, unable to process what’s happening.

The kiss isn’t harsh or punishing like I’d expect. It’s something else entirely. Slow. Controlled. And it terrifies me more than any threat ever could.

I hate him. I hate that he’s doing this. But my body betrays me, my lips parting slightly as his breath mingles with mine. The heat between us shifts from anger to something darker, something I don’t want to acknowledge but can’t ignore.

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