Page 34 of Mafia Crown

Good. Let him.

“I’m out here looking for her,” I say, feeding him the bait. “She’s somewhere in the Wicklow Mountains, from what I can tell. Someone’s hiding her.”

There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough for Lee to absorb the information. “Do you think someone went rogue?”

“It’s possible,” I say carefully. I let the thought settle before adding, “Anyone missing on your end?”

Lee doesn’t answer right away. “Sean,” he finally says. “He’s been off the radar for a few days.”

My fingers drum lightly against the counter.Perfect.The seed is planted. Let them think Sean betrayed Patrick.

I lower my voice, making it sound like I’m just thinking out loud. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sean saw an opportunity and took it. The ransom fits his style, doesn’t it?”

Lee doesn’t respond, but I know the damage is done. He’ll report back to Patrick. The suspicion will grow.

“If you find Hazel,” Lee says, “you know what Patrick expects.”

“Of course,” I lie smoothly. “I’ll find her and kill her.”

I end the call and set the phone on the counter, my mind already moving to the next step.

I rub the back of my neck, pushing off the doorway as the last sliver of sunlight vanishes.

I'm not killing her.I’ve known that for a while, but admitting it, even in my head, feels like setting off a fuse. This was supposed to be simple. She’s leverage, a means to an end. A loose end to tie off when everything’s finished. But that plan unraveled the second she saved me from the crumbling ledge, maybe even before that. Maybe the moment she started getting under my skin without trying.

I cross the room, pacing past the workbench, my boots heavy against the wooden floor. I’m not the kind of man who second-guesses his decisions. I make them, execute them, move on. But Hazel? She’s forcing me to rethink everything.

Patrick will expect her gone when the time comes. He’ll expect blood—her blood. That’s what I signed up for, what I agreed to when I took her in. But there’s a loophole, a lifeline I’ve been holding on to.

Mary.

Hazel used to mean something to her. They were friends once. They still are, in whatever twisted way women like them hold on to each other. If Mary wants Hazel back, Patrick will listen. He always listens to his sons, and Mary is married to one of them.

That’s my first move. My safest play. Let Mary be the one to decide Hazel’s fate. If Hazel survives, it won’t be my decision—it’ll be Mary’s. And if Patrick doesn’t bend?

Then I’ll convince him myself.

The thought makes my jaw tighten. I shouldn’t have to interfere. I shouldn’t want to. But I do. The idea of Hazel dying, her body lying cold and forgotten, is like a stone lodged in my chest.

I hear footsteps on the stairs—light, hesitant. It’s Hazel. She’s probably heading to her room to lock herself away for the night. It would be easy to let her go, to let the silence between us stretch until morning, but something about this moment feels heavier than usual.

I step into the hall just as she rounds the corner. She freezes when she sees me, her hand resting against the wall like she’s bracing herself for something. Maybe she is.

We stand there, facing each other. Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but no sound comes out.

I should tell her. Not about everything—not yet. But something. Just enough to keep her from fading further into herself.

“You’ve been quiet,” I say, my voice low. “All day.”

Her eyes flicker, the faintest spark of defiance returning for a second before it dies. “Just tired,” she says.

Liar. I know tired when I see it. This isn’t that. This is something else.

I step closer, closing the distance between us. “Hazel, I don’t need you to like me. I don’t need you to talk to me. But I do need you to stop acting like you’re already dead.”

Her breath hitches, and she turns her head, avoiding my gaze. “And if I am?” she whispers. “If I’m already as good as dead, what difference does it make?”

The words hit harder than I expect, and for a second, I don’t know how to respond. She’s scared. Not of me—but of what’s coming. She thinks this ends with her six feet under, forgotten and discarded, and she’s trying to make peace with it before it happens.

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