Page 14 of Mafia Crown

KIERAN

IT’S BEEN TWO days. Smooth and uneventful, the kind of rhythm I prefer. She spends her time sneaking around, searching for an exit that doesn’t exist. I let her. Hope keeps people alive longer, and I need her breathing—for now. I leave food for her on the living room table and eat alone in the kitchen. She’s happy to keep her distance, and I’m happy not to listen to her shallow attempts at defiance.

Except today, she’s watching me. She thinks I don’t notice. Sitting cross-legged in the armchair, her gaze flicks to me over the rim of her water glass as I pass through the room. Not fear this time. Curiosity. Like I’m some puzzle she thinks she can solve. It’s almost insulting.

“You’ve been quiet,” I say, my voice breaking the silence like a gunshot. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, the fear resurfaces. Predictable.

She sets the glass down slowly. “What’s there to say?” Her tone is cautious, a tightrope walk. She’s learned I don’t react well to lip.

I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “You’re curious about me. Ask your question.”

She hesitates, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans. “Why am I here?”

An obvious choice. Safe. But her voice shakes just enough to betray her. I smile—a controlled gesture, all teeth and no warmth. “Because I’ve decided you’re useful.”

Her brow furrows, and she tucks a red curl behind her ear; her hair is a mass of red curls, tangled and free. “Useful how?”

I shrug. “You’ll find out when it matters.”

Her lips form a tight line. “How long will that take?” Her anger is seeping through.

Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps. My body goes rigid as I glance at her, and she freezes, understanding that this interruption wasn’t planned.

The cleaners aren’t expected for another three days.

“Go into the kitchen with Charlie. If you make a sound, I’ll kill you and Charlie,” I command, my voice cold and final. It’s not a threat—it’s a promise. Hazel’s wide eyes track my movements, but she knows better than to argue.

I head for the door, unholstering my gun as I go. There’s no peephole—Patrick doesn’t believe in security measures that might give someone else an edge—but I nudge the curtain aside just enough to see the visitor.

It’s Sean. Patrick’s errand boy. Wiry, older, sharp as a blade. He doesn’t knock without reason, which means this isn’t a social call.

Ignoring him isn’t an option. Hazel’s car is parked right out front—damn it—and Sean’s vehicle now blocks hers in the drive. He’ll notice. Patrick will know. Slipping the gun into the waistband of my trousers, I open the door.

Sean’s face is etched with suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he steps inside uninvited. “Kieran,” he says, his tone casual but probing. “I was passing by, saw the car. Didn’t think it’d be you, so I thought I’d check in.”

“Yeah,” I reply smoothly, leaning against the doorframe like I don’t have a care in the world. “I’m on the hunt. Stopped here to grab a few things.”

Sean’s gaze flicks over the empty living room. No sign of Hazel, but the glass of water and empty plate on the table scream that I’m not alone.

“What are you hunting?” he asks, but his tone says he already knows. Patrick sent me after Hazel. Sean knows it’s not my car outside. The question is whether he’s playing dumb or testing me.

“A girl,” I answer, the word clipped.

A soft whine from the kitchen makes his brows lift. His jacket shifts, and I spot the glint of his holstered gun. “You got yourself a pet?” he asks, casual on the surface but loaded with intent.

I tap my thigh, never taking my eyes off him. “Charlie,” I call.

The dog trots out, his tail wagging like nothing’s wrong. Sean chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Nice dog.”

“It’s not mine.”

Sean glances at me, suspicion hardening his features. Patrick sent him to sniff me out. I can almost hear Patrick’s voice, doubting me, questioning my loyalty. Did I leave a trail? Did I slip up?

“I want to show you something,” I say, forcing a grin that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Something Patrick will want to see.”

Sean’s jaw tightens, but he nods. I jerk my chin toward the kitchen and turn my back to him—a calculated risk. Sean’s not the kind of man you trust, but I need him to think I’m careless. That I don’t suspect him.

His footsteps follow me into the kitchen.

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