Page 52 of Mafia Crown

If it goes right, Hazel and I get out alive.

If it doesn’t? Well, I’ve never been one to back down from a fight.

Before I start wiping the phones, something nags at me—a need to check. Just to be sure. I grab the phone connected to the account I’d been hounding Mary about and pull up the banking app. My breath catches when the balance flashes on the screen:one million euros.

She actually did it. Mary wired the money. I blink, half-expecting the numbers to disappear, but they don’t. The money’s sitting there, real and untouchable. For a second, I don’t move. I should feel satisfaction, maybe even relief. Instead, all I feel is suspicion crawling under my skin like a warning I can’t shake.

The messages come in next, pinging on the screen one after another. I swipe through them, skimming the desperate tone hidden behind her clipped sentences.Drop Hazel off at Old Man's farm near Monalty.Tomorrow.

I sit down, dragging a hand over my jaw as I read the message again. I know the place she’s talking about—a quiet stretch of countryside with more abandoned barns than people. Plenty of places to stage an ambush. My gut tightens. There’s no way this is clean. Mary wouldn’t have handed over that kind of money without making sure there was a safety net waiting for her.

The drop-off location is a trap. I’m sure of it. The place will be surrounded, and Walsh’s men will be lying in wait for Hazel—and me. They’ll think they’ve won, that I’m desperate enough to take the bait.

But I won’t be there.

They can sit in that field all night for all I care. I’m not handing Hazel over, and I’m sure as hell not walking into a setup that’ll get us both killed. If they want to come after me, they’ll have to try harder.

I set the phone down and lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. This changes everything. The money gives me options—options I didn’t have before. But it also complicates things. Mary’s sudden desperation, her willingness to fork over a million euros, tells me she’s scared. And scared people do reckless things.

“What’s wrong?” Hazel’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach for her hand and pull her closer, needing the warmth of her skin against mine to ground me. Her fingers tighten slightly, as if she can feel the storm building inside me.

“I need you to trust me,” I say, voice low. “No matter what happens next, trust me.”

Her brows knit together, but she nods. “I do.”

The weight of her words hits me harder than I expected, but I can’t afford to dwell on it. I let go of her hand and rise to my feet, the plan already forming in my mind.

I’m taking Hazel somewhere safe. Then I’m going to Patrick, armed with the intel, and the burner phone. If he has any sense, he’ll see the O’Donnells for the threat they are and let us go.

If not…well, there’s a reason I’ve survived this long.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HAZEL

KIERAN PLACES THE last of his belongings in the trunk, his movements smooth and unhurried. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing—just a man who’s made a decision and is following through with it. I glance back at the house, at the dark windows, and I can’t help but picture it in flames. Kieran standing in the front yard, a match carelessly tossed over his shoulder as he watches it all burn.

But that doesn’t happen.

This is still his home. Maybe one day he’ll want to come back to it.

I pull my jacket tighter around myself as Kieran shuts the trunk. He doesn’t look back, just rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. I follow, settling into the passenger side as Charlie climbs into the back.

Then, Kieran starts to drive.

And it’s not at all what I expected.

I’d assumed he’d be reckless—some kind of rally driver who pushes the speed limit just for the thrill of it. But he isn’t. He’s careful. Measured. He stops at red lights, sticks to the exact speed limit, checks his mirrors like he’s preparing for a driving test.

It unsettles me.

I study him—the sharp angle of his jaw, the steady grip on the wheel, the way his gaze flicks from the road to the mirrors, always aware, always calculating. I don’t realize I’m staring until he glances at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You're staring again.”

Heat creeps up my neck. Again?

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