Page 9 of Mafia Crown

She grips her back and jerks her chin to the kitchen. “On the kitchen counter.”

I open one arm, “Lead the way.”

She passes me with stiff shoulders but grabs the keys off the counter. I hold out my hand, and she drops the keys into them. “And the phone.” I keep my hand open, and she hesitates for a moment before giving me her phone, too.

We move down the small hallway, and I glance into the sitting room where a candle is burning.

“Blow out the candle,” I tell her. “No loose ends.”

Her gaze flicks to the flickering flame, then back to me. I can see her hesitation—one last thread of rebellion, one last moment to defy me. But she exhales sharply and enters the room before she snuffs it out with a shaky hand.

When she steps toward the door, her dog, a border collie, lets out a low bark from the corner of the room. Hazel freezes, glancing back at the animal. For a second, I think she might argue—might refuse to leave without it. Before she can speak, I cut her off. “We’re taking it.”

Her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she moves to the dog, scooping it up and holding it close. The relief on her face is fleeting, but it’s there.

“Let’s go,” I say, opening the door to the cold night beyond. The wind bites at my face as I step outside, the dog’s quiet whine cutting through the silence. Hazel follows, clutching the animal like it’s the only thing tethering her to sanity.

As we approach her car, I unlock it with a press of the keys. “You’re driving,” I say, holding the door open for her. She hesitates, her gaze darting from me to the road, but eventually, she nods and places the dog in the back before she slides into the driver’s seat.

I glance at her as I take the passenger side. Her defiance hasn’t disappeared—it’s still there, flickering beneath the surface—but fear has dimmed it. For now, that’s enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

HAZEL

THE ROAD AHEAD blurs, dark trees stretching endlessly in either direction, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. The storm has passed, but I’ve never felt more conflicted in my life. My hands clamp around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. Each twist of the road feels like a choice I didn’t get to make.

My captor’s voice is low and cuts through the suffocating silence. “Left. Here.”

I nearly miss the turn, yanking the wheel to obey. We move down yet another side road, and I bite down on my lip to stop it from trembling. I can feel him watching me. His presence is like a coiled snake beside me—quiet but deadly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the gun resting on his lap; I’m sure he took it out of his pocket as a reminder for me to behave and listen, his fingers idly brushing the barrel, almost stroking it like a pet. Every nerve in my body is screaming. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car. I should have put up a fight.But what choice did I have?

I risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, his icy blue eyes scanning the horizon like he’s expecting danger at any moment. A laugh bubbles in my throat, sharp and hysterical.As if he’s not the danger himself.

“Eyes on the road,” he speaks while still looking ahead, and I flinch, dragging my gaze back to the road.

The wheel jerks slightly as my hands tremble. I try to steady them, but the fear weighs heavier than the car itself.

A soft sound breaks the silence— Charlie is breathing heavily in the back. I glance in the rearview mirror, my stomach twisting at the sight of Charlie looking at me in the mirror, his tongue lolled to the side. I should have left the dog behind, but having him will give me strength.

“It’s gonna be okay, Charlie,” I say, my voice weak. I hate how hollow the words sound, like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

He whines in response, as if he doesn’t believe me. Like I blame him. My gaze keeps diverting to the gun, and all I can think about is Mary’s call.

I tighten my grip on the wheel as the possibilities unravel in my head. If she hadn't called when she did, would I be dead, just like the man I witnessed being executed?

My stomach churns, bile rising at the back of my throat.

My captor shifts beside me, his movement drawing me back to the present. I risk another glance at him, allowing myself to really take in his features. It’s still dark in the car, but now I can make out a jagged scar along his cheek, his face remains impassive, unreadable—the man who now controls my fate.

The tires hum against the road, the rhythm strangely hypnotic. My mind drifts, unbidden, to my family.

Mom would probably be baking as she loves to do at night, humming off-key to a song she half-remembers. Dad would be in his chair, flipping through the farmer’s journal, pretending he was not dozing off. And my brother...what would he be doing?

When will they notice I’m gone?The thought slams into me, sharp and unrelenting.When will they start to worry?

Will Mom call my phone, her voice laced with confusion, and then panic when I don’t answer? Will Dad demand answers, his protective side kicking in too late?

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