Page 57 of Mafia Crown

And then, it’s like a switch flips.

Her eyes snap open, her smile vanishing as fast as it appeared. She goes stiff beside me, blinking up at the ceiling like she’s just remembered what we did last night.

I just hope she doesn’t regret it.

I don’t.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice steady, watching for any sign of hesitation. “How did you sleep?”

Her brows furrow, and instead of answering right away, she pulls the blanket tighter around her body, a barrier between us.

“Good,” she says finally. “I honestly didn’t think I would sleep at all.”

I know what she means. Too much happened. Too much changed. But for me, there’s no uncertainty.

“I need you to get dressed.” I pull away from the bed, grabbing the coffee I picked up for her from the cafe downstairs. It’s still warm in my hand when I turn back to face her.

She hasn’t moved.

“Hazel.” My voice is firm now. “We have to do this.”

She swallows hard, the fear flickering in her eyes. It kills me to see it, but there’s no other way.

And she knows it.

Hazel doesn’t move right away. She just stares at me, her fingers gripping the blanket like it’s the only thing holding her together.

I sigh, setting her coffee on the nightstand before turning away. She needs a moment, and I’ll give it to her, but not much longer.

By the time I grab my gun from the dresser and check the clip, I hear her shifting behind me. The bed creaks, the sheets rustling as she pulls herself up. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see her wrap the sheet around her like armor, gathering her scattered clothes from the floor.

She doesn’t look at me when she moves toward the bathroom.

I let her go.

Charlie watches her disappear behind the door before hopping off the bed and trotting toward me, his tail wagging. He has no idea what’s coming.

Hazel doesn’t take long. When she steps out, her red curls are damp, where she must have splashed water on her face. She’s dressed, but I can see the hesitation in her stiff shoulders, the way she hugs herself like she’s trying to keep something in.

I grab the car keys and our belongings from the table where I had left them. “Let’s go.”

She nods once, silent, before following me out. She’s quiet in the elevator, even as we check out. Charlie follows, ever obedient.

The drive to Monalty is quiet also.

Hazel sits beside me, staring out the window, her coffee cradled in her hands. She hasn’t taken a sip.

I keep one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against my thigh. My focus stays on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way she chews on her lip, her fingers twitching slightly against the cup.

She’s thinking about last night.

I want to tell her it won’t change anything. That I’m still here, and she’s still mine. But I don’t. Some things don’t need words.

When we pull onto her street, my stomach tightens; this is where it all began.

I’m not sure what makes me tilt my head as I glance at her home, but I notice the door is slightly ajar. The frame around the lock is splintered where someone forced their way in. The windows are intact, but I already know the inside will be worse. It always is.

Charlie shifts in the backseat.

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