Page 49 of Mafia Crown

I step closer, gently touching his arm to get his attention. “Let’s clean you up first, Kieran,” I say, pulling a small towel from the counter and handing it to him.

For a moment, he just stares at me, his gaze unreadable, as if he’s searching for something on my face. I’m not sure what he finds, but eventually, he nods and takes the towel, running it across his face and neck.

The rain had already washed away most of the blood, leaving pale streaks over his skin, but his arm was still a mess. The gash isn’t long—shorter than I originally thought—but the steady stream of blood is alarming. How much has he lost?

“Can I take a look at your arm?” I ask softly.

He drops the towel onto the counter, and for a second, I think he’s going to refuse. Instead, his shoulders drop slightly, like he’s letting the tension leak out. “What I said about Charlie,” he starts, his voice low and rough, “I shouldn’t have—”

My stomach twists. I don’t want to hear where this is going. Not yet. “You can talk while I do your arm.”

I hate watching the blood drip, leaving dark crimson pools on the floor and table. I need to stop it before any more life drains out of him.

He exhales, and for once, it sounds less like frustration and more like defeat. Without another word, he sinks into one of the kitchen chairs. His muscles stay tense, like he’s ready to spring up again at the slightest sound.

I pull a chair beside him, so close that I can smell the storm clinging to his skin—the sharp, earthy scent of rain mixed with dirt and coppery blood. The air feels heavy, intimate.

I bring the first aid kit closer, opening it with shaky fingers, and glance up, only to find him watching me intently. His gaze is dark, piercing, as if I’m the only thing anchoring him right now.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start thinking you’re worried about me,” I say, attempting a smile to lighten the tension.

He doesn’t laugh. His lips twitch slightly, but the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. “I was,” he murmurs, the admission slipping from him so quietly I almost miss it.

My hands pause over the kit, fingers trembling just enough to betray how much that confession hits me.

“Kieran,” I breathe, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “Just fix my arm.”

I swallow hard, biting back the emotions that try to surface. Right now, I can’t afford to think about what he just said or what it means. I grab the antiseptic wipes and press one gently to the wound.

He hisses but doesn’t pull away. His gaze stays locked on me, and I wonder if he’s using the pain as a distraction from everything else swirling inside him. I know I am.

“You scared me,” I whisper, not looking up.

He shifts slightly, and I feel the weight of his eyes soften. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” I say, dabbing at the wound with as much care as possible. “When you came through that door, I thought—”

“I’d hurt you,” he finishes for me, his voice thick.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The truth is, I had thought exactly that. For a split second, I saw him as the monster he so often pretends to be. But now, sitting here with him, watching him bleed and breathe regret, I see the man underneath—the one who doesn’t want to be a monster.

“I wouldn’t,” he says firmly, breaking the silence. “Not you.”

The weight of his words settle over me, and for the first time tonight, I let myself believe him.

Even sitting here with him, I’m struck by how much bigger he is—his frame dwarfing mine, his presence filling the space between us like gravity.

I press the gauze gently against his arm, trying to keep the pressure steady. “Did someone cut you?” I ask softly.

“No,” he replies, his voice low and rough. “That was a bullet.”

I freeze. My fingers stop moving, and I blink at him, unsure if I heard correctly. “You were shot?” My voice rises with panic. “Kieran, do you need a hospital? We can go—I promise I won’t say anything. I can pretend I’m just your friend or something.”

The words tumble out faster than I can stop them, and before I realize it, he’s smiling. A real, genuine smile that stretches across his face and does funny things to my stomach.

“Now you’re scaring me,” he says, the amusement lingering in his eyes.

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