Page 35 of Mafia Crown

I swallow hard, my hand flexing at my side. “It makes a difference,” I say quietly. “More than you think.”

Her eyes meet mine, searching, but I don’t give her more than that. Not yet. She doesn’t need the full picture—just enough to keep her fighting. If Mary doesn’t intervene, I’ll find a way to fix this myself. Hazel isn’t dying, not while I’m breathing.

She watches me for another second, then nods, the movement small, almost reluctant. Without a word, she continues up the stairs, the sound of her footsteps fading along the landing.

I stay rooted in place, my pulse drumming against my ribs.This isn’t just about the kiss. It’s about everything.Hazel wasn’t supposed to matter. She wasn’t supposed to complicate my life, and she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to make me feel like protecting her was my responsibility.

But here I am. And I’m not letting her die.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HAZEL

THE NEXT DAY, I can’t sit still. No matter how hard I try to distract myself, my thoughts circle back to the kiss or to my family. But mostly the kiss.

I scold myself for giving it this much space in my head.It wasn’t that great. Just a stupid kiss.But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. It was good enough to almost undo me, and that’s the problem. My fingers tap against my leg as I pace the bedroom. The air feels suffocating, and if I stay cooped up in this house any longer, I’ll lose my mind.

I throw on a coat and find Kieran in one of the spare rooms. The saw whirs loudly, dust and wood chips scattering across the floor. He doesn’t see me at first, not until I step closer. His gaze lifts, and just like that, the saw stops.

“I would like to take Charlie for a walk,” I say, my voice steady, though I’m bracing for the fight. I expect him to shoot me down, to list every reason why I can’t.

But he doesn’t. He wipes the sweat from his brow and nods once. “All right.”

I blink, caught off guard. “That’s it?”

“You’re surprised I’m not chaining you to a chair?” His mouth twitches, like he’s amused by the idea. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I don’t waste another second. I’m dressed and ready to go before he can change his mind. But just as I turn toward the door, Kieran closes the distance between us. I freeze when he leans in, his gaze dropping to my coat pockets.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to step back.

He doesn’t stop. His hands slide over the fabric, searching my pockets like he owns me. “Making sure you’re not carrying a screwdriver or another weapon.”

I should laugh. Hell, I should say something sarcastic, but my mind blanks as the heat of his hands seeps through my coat. His fingers glide over my waist, then lower, and my breath hitches. My body betrays me, reacting to the feel of him even though I know better.

“There’s nothing,” I whisper, my voice shakier than I want it to be.

He steps back, satisfied. “Good.” He grabs his coat, and without another word, we head outside with Charlie at our heels.

The cold air bites at my skin, but it’s a relief after being trapped indoors. Mountains stretch endlessly around us, their peaks dusted with snow. The dirt path is uneven, dotted with patches of grass and scattered stones. Charlie trots ahead, sniffing everything in sight.

I glance around, but I’m not admiring the view. I’m searching. My eyes skim the ground, scanning for anything that could be useful. A stick. A rock. Anything I could use as a weapon. My fingers curl around a small twig, but I toss it aside. Too light. Too weak.

Kieran watches me from a few feet back, his gaze sharp. He knows I’m up to something, but I don’t care. I pick up a stick, weighing it in my hands. Useless. With a frustrated sigh, I throw it. “Get it, Charlie,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.

Charlie springs after it, tail wagging as he retrieves the stick and trots back to me. I throw it again, my heartbeat speeding up. Kieran still hasn’t said anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.

The third time I throw the stick, I spot something better—a heavier, solid branch half-buried in the dirt. My fingers wrap around it, and I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I swing.

The impact is brutal. The branch connects with the side of Kieran’s head, and the sound is jarring—a mix of bone and wood. He shouts in pain, stumbling back, and for a split second, I freeze. His hand flies to his face, blood already trickling down his temple.

Run.

I take off down the hill, my boots slipping on the uneven ground. The incline is steep, and I nearly fall twice, but adrenaline propels me forward. My legs burn, my breath comes in ragged gasps, but I can’t stop. Not until I’m—

A hand grabs me from behind, yanking me back so hard that my breath catches, and I almost choke. The force is brutal, like a trap snapping shut, cutting off any chance of escape before I even realize what’s happening. My scream dies in my throat as the man’s hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sound.

I thrash, panic spiking like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. My nails dig into his arm, raking down the rough fabric of his jacket, but he doesn’t flinch. The man is silent, his breathing steady, as if dragging struggling women through the woods is just another day for him.

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