Page 66 of Mafia Crown

I nod. “Okay.”

It happens so fast I barely have time to process it. One minute we’re leaving the hotel; the next, we’re picking up Charlie. I enter my home with the spare key that sits under the small pot at the door. But the door is already unlocked. I glance at Mary, who is right behind me.

Pushing open the door, the destruction slaps me in the face.

“Don’t go inside.” Mary grabs my arm.

“Charlie is in there.” I step into the hall and try not to look around my home. Who did this? And when? Kieran had dropped Charlie off—had he seen this and not told me?

My mind races as I enter the living room and ignore the mess. Charlie isn’t here. I go into the kitchen with Mary right on my heels, constantly looking behind her. I hear a bark and race for the back door. The moment I open it, Charlie jumps up on me, and I crouch down, hugging my dog.

Mary exhales a shaky breath. “Let’s go. We can come back and clean it later.”

I don’t argue. I don’t want to be here either. The air feels thick, suffocating, and I don’t know if it’s from the destruction or the knowledge that someone was in my home. My skin prickles with unease.

Gripping Charlie’s collar, I lead him through the wreckage, careful not to step on shattered glass and overturned furniture. Mary is jittery, shifting from foot to foot as she waits by the door. Her hands are clenched into fists, and I can see the tension in her shoulders.

We step out, and she slams the door shut behind us as if locking away whatever horror happened inside. I help Charlie into the back of Mary’s car, my fingers trembling as I secure him. He pants, tail wagging, oblivious to the tension clinging to us like a second skin.

Mary starts the car and speeds off, the short drive to my home passing in a blur. Neither of us speaks, both too rattled by what we just saw. My stomach churns, and I grip my seatbelt, inhaling deep breaths to steady myself. I try to push the image of my wrecked home aside and focus on my parents; I’m going to see them any second.

We pull into my driveway, and the moment the car stops, I reach for the door handle.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks softly, her voice still tight with unease.

“I will be,” I answer, hoping it’s true.

Before I can even step out, the front door bursts open, and they come running. The sight of them nearly knocks the breath from my lungs—my mother, my father, John. A sob wrenches from my mother’s lips, raw and desperate, as she throws her arms around me, clutching me like she’ll never let go. Her body trembles against mine, her fingers digging into my back as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish again if she loosens her grip.

“My baby, my baby,” she chokes out, her tears warm against my cheek. “I thought—I thought we’d never see you again. Your really here.”

I clutch her just as tightly, my throat closing around words that refuse to come. I breathe her in—the faint scent of lavender soap, the warmth of home, the feeling of belonging that I thought had been stolen from me forever.

Then my father, always so composed, always so strong, reaches for me. He doesn't say a word at first, just pulls me in, his grip firm, steady. I feel his chest rise and fall, the way his breath shudders in a way I’ve never heard before. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick. “You’re here,” he whispers, as if he still doesn’t believe it, as if I might slip through his fingers like a dream. “You’re home.”

Then there’s John—loud, dramatic, wonderful John—who barrels into me, wrapping me in a crushing hug, his laughter shaking with something dangerously close to a sob. “Christ, Hazel,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at me. His green eyes, so much like my own, are red-rimmed and glossy. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic, but this? This is next-level.”

A watery laugh slips from my lips, though it barely covers the emotion swelling in my chest. The last time I saw them, I wasn’t sure if I ever would again. But now…now they’re here. And I’m in their arms. And for the first time in so long, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

Charlie rushes around everyone’s legs like he, too, is rejoicing that we are all here together.

“Connor never even rang to say they found you?” my father says; he’s talking about the Gardai, and everything inside me recoils.

“I was in the station when the call came through. I told them I’d take Hazel home,” Mary says with not an ounce of a lie in her words.

“Your home, that’s all that matters,” my mother says, wrapping an arm around me. “Let’s get you inside.” I lean into my mum as she guides me into our family kitchen.

Inside, the questions come fast. Too fast. Where have I been? What happened? Am I okay?

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How do I explain all of this? The darkness I’ve been swallowed by? The girl who left wasn’t the same one standing here now. But beforeI saya word, Mary steps in, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Connor explained everything to me. They thought she was from a wealthy family,” she says easily. “When they realized there wouldn’t be a ransom, they let her go.”

It’s a simple lie, one that paints me as a girl who was merely misplaced, not one who was shattered and put back together with jagged edges. My mother gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth. My father nods, his expression unreadable, though there’s something there—contentment, maybe. Relief.

John, of course, won’t let the mood stay too heavy. He has Charlie on his back rubbing his belly.“Well, at least tell me you took a few of the bastards down before they let you go.”

“John, watch your language.” My mother scowls, and it’s all so normal.

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