Page 62 of Mafia Crown

“I can’t leave my family, Mary.”

Mary’s face twists with frustration. “You should have told me from the start.” There’s hurt in her voice now, layered beneath the anger.

Hazel doesn’t back down. “You should have told me about who you are, too, and why you had to leave.”

Mary’s breath catches. “How could I?”

Hazel scoffs. “How could I tell you I witnessed a murder? It works both ways, Mary.”

Mary looks away, guilt flickering in her expression. “You’re right,” she admits, her voice softer now. “But coming with me will keep you safe.” Her gaze shifts to me, hardening. Like I’m the threat.

Hazel shakes her head. “I won’t leave my family.”

“As nice as this is,” Patrick cuts in, his tone edged with impatience, “us boys have business to discuss.”

The door opens again, and one figure steps inside. Marcus. Patrick’s son. I’ve met him briefly before, but I’ve never had to deal with him directly. Until now.

I keep my stance relaxed, my expression neutral, but my instincts are razor-sharp. This is a test. And if I want to keep my head attached to my body, I need to put on a good fucking show.

Marcus stands rigid, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but ice-cold. His presence alone is enough to drain the oxygen from the room. I’ve dealt with dangerous men, killers without conscience, but Marcus is different. There’s no posturing, no ego—just a quiet, suffocating intensity that makes it clear my bullshit won’t work on him.

He steps toward me, eyes scanning me like I’m something stuck to the bottom of his boot. “So this is Kill?” His voice is smooth but sharp enough to slice through bone.

I don’t react, keeping my posture loose, unthreatening. He knows who I am. Just like I know who he is—Patrick’s enforcer, the son who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t leave loose ends breathing.

A predator.

“When we do this, I’m in charge,” Marcus says. Folding his arms across his chest.

I nod. Refusing to answer him.

“You do exactly as I say.” He continues.

I grit my teeth. “I hear you loud and clear,” I say evenly, my voice a controlled drawl.

Marcus doesn’t blink. “Just making sure you know your place.”

His tone is flat, unbothered. Not a threat—just a fact. Like gravity or death. I hold his stare, searching for even the faintest sign of emotion. Nothing. Just the cold calculation of a man who’s done worse than most and slept just fine after. A mirror, in some ways, if I let myself think about it.

Patrick watches the exchange with amusement, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like this is a show put on for his entertainment. I shift the conversation before he grows bored.

“I want Lee brought in for intel.”

Patrick considers it, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the arm of his chair. The silence stretches, deliberate, forcing patience. Finally, he nods. “Fine. We’ll use his resources.”

I exhale through my nose. “And when it’s done,” I ask, tilting my head slightly, “will I have my freedom?”

Patrick smiles, slow and cruel. The kind of expression that twists in the gut. “No. But you’ll keep your head.”

That’s as good as it gets.

Mary clears her throat, drawing attention back to her. “I’ll keep Hazel with me.”

My eyes cut to Hazel, finding her already watching me. There’s conflict in her gaze—torn between what she wants and what she knows is necessary. She doesn’t want to go. But she will. Because she has no other choice.

I nod. “A moment alone with her.”

Patrick gestures lazily to the corner of the room, that’s as much as I’m going to get. “Make it quick.”

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