Page 4 of Mafia Crown

“I put him through the bloody window,” Patrick says, laughing like it’s the best joke he’s ever told. The men around him join in, their laughter filling the room.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s looking at me when he says it. If he notices the flicker of doubt in my eyes.

That name,Kill, it’s more than a story. It’s a warning. A reminder of what happens to anyone who disrespects the family. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder to me of the man I owe everything to—and the man I can’t afford to cross gave me that name and can take it back just as quickly.

Patrick catches my eye, and for a moment, I think he sees it. The hesitation. The conflict at killing a woman.

I’ve already made one mistake in my life; I don’t want to make a second. I don’t think about him often. I can’t. If I did, I’d never stop. But every now and then, he finds me. In the dead of night, when the house is quiet, and the weight of what I’ve done gets heavy enough to crack through the armor I’ve built.

He wasn’t supposed to matter. Just another name on a list. Another job. Another body.

But I can still see his face. Eyes wide, not with fear, but with confusion. Like he didn’t understand why the world was ending at that moment, at my hands.

I told myself it was the right call. He’d been marked as a threat. Orders are orders. Duty is duty. And loyalty? That’s not something you question—not in this life, not if you want to survive it.

But he wasn’t guilty. That much I know now. Hell, I think I knew it then. Just a kid trying to scrape by, caught up in something he didn’t even understand. And I put a bullet in him before he had the chance to plead his case.

The guilt twists in my gut, a familiar ache I can’t shake. It’s buried deep, hidden beneath the layers I’ve built up over the years—loyalty, duty, survival. The things I tell myself matter more than the ghosts that haunt me.

But tonight, I need to bury it for good, or it will pull me down with it.

“Anyway,” Patrick breaks into my thoughts.

Patrick stubs out his cigar, pressing the glowing tip against the ashtray. The image of Hazel lies on the table like a reminder I didn’t ask for. Patrick’s voice cuts through the silence.

“We need this cleaned up quietly,” he says, his tone as sharp as the edge of a knife.

I nod, and he strides out with his men, leaving me alone in the dim light. My mind churns. I could go to Michael—an idea I toy with, though I know it’s useless. A few years ago, I caught Michael drinking while on duty, and I’ve used that as leverage ever since. Michael looks the other way when the Walsh family needs more time to tidy up their messes. But Patrick’s already issued the kill order. It’s out of my hands now.

I pick up Hazel’s photo, studying her face for a moment before shoving it into my pocket. My phone buzzes, and I pull it out. Saoirse’s name flashes on the screen.

Saoirse. My sister. She’s up north, safely tucked away in college, studying to be a midwife. I don’t want her anywhere near this life or the man I’ve become.

“I have news,” she says the second I answer.

“You qualified,” I tease, leaning back against the chair.

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “I’ve only done one year, you know that. No, I got my provisional license.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Congratulations.”

I rise, stepping out of the pub into the cool night air. Hazel’s house isn’t far, and I figure I might as well familiarize myself with the surroundings.

“I’m starting lessons next week,” Saoirse continues, her voice buzzing with excitement. “And I’ve been saving for a car.”

I cut in. “I’ll buy you a car. I told you that already.”

She huffs. “I know, but I want to do this myself.” Always so strong. So stubborn. “I’ll be able to visit home more regularly,” she adds.

That part doesn’t sit right with me. The idea of her showing up unannounced, stepping into my world without warning, makes my stomach twist. I need time to prepare, to make sure my work stays out of sight.

“One step at a time,” I say, keeping my voice light.

She laughs, a sound that tugs at something buried deep in me. “I better go. I have pilates class.”

I can’t help but smile. We’ve come so far from the life we once lived. Two kids left to fend for themselves after our mother disappeared. We never knew our father, and I had to step into the role—keeping us afloat, out of the system where kids like us got lost. I wouldn’t let that happen to Saoirse. Not then. Not ever.

“Okay. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

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