Page 32 of Mafia Crown

When he pulls back, I’m left standing there, breathless and confused. My wrists still trapped in his hands, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it. His gaze is locked on me, but this time, there’s something different behind those icy eyes.

Control. Always control. But also something that makes my skin tingle.

“I warned you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel sliding over silk. His hands loosen on my wrists, but he doesn’t let go completely. Not yet. “I asked you to calm down.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry, my mind racing as I try to figure out what the hell just happened.

And why a part of me—no matter how much I hate it—want him to do it again.

My breath shudders as I try to pull myself together. My body is buzzing, still recovering from the way his lips just shattered everything I thought I knew about myself. Anger. Fear. Lust. It’s all tangled, a storm ripping through my chest. I need to say something, to scream at him, but the words stick in my throat, choking me.

Kieran watches me, his gaze steady, unreadable. It’s like he knows exactly what I’m feeling—how my mind is spiraling and how my legs are shaking just enough that I’m grateful he’s still holding my wrists. If he let go, I’m not sure I’d stay standing.

Finally, he speaks, breaking the silence that’s suffocating me. “You’re not as weak as you think you are,” he says, his voice low, almost soft, but not quite gentle. “But you let your emotions control you. That’s not a good thing.”

I rip my wrists out of his grip, the contact breaking like a snapped thread. “Don’t lecture me,” I spit, even though my voice trembles. I hate that he sees me like this—raw, vulnerable, exposed. I hate that he’s right. “You don’t get to mess with me like that and then act like you’re doing me a favor.”

He tilts his head again, studying me like he’s dissecting a problem, not a person. “I’m not messing with you, Hazel. I’m teaching you something.”

I bark out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m learning plenty.”

He steps back, giving me space, and for a second, I think he’s going to walk away. But then he pauses, his eyes flicking to the screwdriver on the floor. It lies there, forgotten, useless. Just like me, I think bitterly.

“You had your chance,” he says, nodding toward the screwdriver. “You could’ve used it.”

My fingers clench into fists, my nails digging into my palms. “You knew I wouldn’t,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Exactly.” He shrugs as if my inability to hurt him is just another fact of life. “And that’s what’s eating you alive, isn’t it? The fact that you couldn’t do it. The fact that, deep down, you know you don’t have what it takes.”

I lunge forward without thinking, my fist aimed for his face this time, but he’s ready. He catches my arm mid-swing, twisting it just enough to immobilize me but not enough to hurt. His strength feels effortless, like he’s not even trying.

“Stop fighting me, Hazel,” he says, his voice still maddeningly calm. “You’re wasting your energy.”

“Let me go!” I thrash in his grip, but it’s useless. My body is no match for his.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he steps closer, so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him. His breath brushes against my ear, and I freeze, the sudden proximity knocking the air out of my lungs.

“You want to know why I kissed you?” he murmurs.

No. I don’t. I don’t want to know because the truth will destroy me. But I can’t stop myself from nodding, my body betraying me once again.

“Because it’s the only way to shut you up without breaking you.” His words are like a blade sliding between my ribs, slow and deliberate. “You’re strong, Hazel, but you’re fragile, too. If I pushed you any further, you’d fall apart. And we both know I don’t want that.”

A strangled noise escapes my throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. I hate him for saying it. I hate him for knowing me so well, for knowing exactly how to control me, how to keep me trapped in this twisted game where I’m always the one losing.

But even as the anger rises, there’s something else simmering beneath it. Something that terrifies me.

Desire.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “You think you’re so smart,” I whisper. “But you don’t know everything about me.”

He smirks, and it makes me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. “No,” he admits. “But I know enough.”

The weight of his words settles on my chest, heavy and suffocating. I feel like I’m drowning, but there’s no water, no way to swim to the surface. Just him. His presence, his touch, his damn voice that won’t leave my head.

“I’m not going to break,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.

His fingers loosen around my arm, but he doesn’t let go entirely. “Good. Then prove it.”

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