Page 43 of Mafia Crown

His gaze darkens slightly, and he exhales like I’m exhausting him just by existing. "I need to leave evidence that Sean was the one who took you. I have a burner phone, and I’m setting up all the messages to point directly to him. When the time is right, we’ll hand them over as proof."

I nod along, pretending I understand. Pretending I’m okay with it.

"When will the time be right?"

He doesn’t answer.

"Kieran," I press, my voice rising. "I just lied to my parents."

"No, Hazel," he says, his tone firm, almost condescending. "You just saved your own life."

I stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. I saved my life. But at what cost? I’ve broken my parents. I’ve handed them pain and fear on a silver platter.

And Kieran doesn’t care.

Because to him, this isn’t about my life. It’s about his plan.

I nod again numbly and turn away from him. My legs feel weak as I sink onto the armchair, my head buried in my hands. The warmth of my mother’s voice still lingers, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like a reminder of everything I’ve lost.

The lie saved my life today.

But what’s left of me tomorrow?

“This will kill them,” I say out loud, angry and frustrated, the words slipping free before I can stop them. I thought Kieran had left me alone to wallow in my misery. But his voice cuts through the air like a whip, startling me.

“They’ll worry, yes. But in the end, they’ll survive—just like you.”

I whirl around and glare at him. His presence is close, too close, suffocating. “You say shit like that just to make me compliant,” I snap, rising from the chair, fists clenching at my sides. “You don’t care who you break, do you?”

He laughs. Not the mocking chuckle I’ve heard before, but something new. It’s darker, rougher, and it stops me cold.

“I’ve worked for the Walsh family since I wasthathigh.” He holds his hand to his waist, like he’s remembering the exact moment his life was set in stone.

A kid. My stomach twists. From the height he’s showing, he couldn’t have been older than thirteen—maybe younger.

“I was just a boy when I had to kill for the first time,” he says, and there’s no regret in his voice. No remorse. Just cold, brutal honesty.

The room feels smaller, as if the walls are closing in. He’s talking about killing someone like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

“I’ve obeyed every kill order they’ve given me,” he continues, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. “Never hesitated. Not once.”

I want to ask him who he killed. How it felt. If it haunts him or if it fuels him. But I can’t find the words. Maybe I don’t want to know the answers.

He studies me for a moment before tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Do you wonder why I do it?” His voice is softer now but no less dangerous.

I can’t answer him. My mouth feels dry like I’ve swallowed sand.

“To keep my sister alive,” he says, his gaze steady and unflinching. “To put food in her mouth.”

The anger inside me ignites like gasoline thrown on a fire. My lip curls in disgust, and before I can stop myself, the words are out. “That’s bullshit.”

Kieran freezes, his eyes widening for a split second before they darken, stormy and dangerous.

“Excuse me?”

I don’t back down. I take a step toward him, my pulse racing. “Your sister isn’t with you now, is she? She doesn’t need food in her mouth. She’s in college.” My voice is venomous. “What would she think if she knew that blood got her there? That her brother—”

“Be very careful, Hazel,” he warns, his voice a low growl.

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