Page 50 of Mafia Crown

My breath catches. “Why?” I ask, a little breathless.

“You sound like you care,” he replies smoothly.

I stare at him, my throat tightening with words I can’t say. I do care. But it’s more complicated than that. I care because he’s the one keeping me alive. I care because when he looks at me, I’m not sure if I’m terrified or comforted—or both.

“Finish my arm,” he murmurs, the smile fading into something softer, something I can’t quite name.

Grateful for the distraction, I focus on cleaning the wound again. The blood is slowing now, and I gently unwrap more supplies from the first aid kit, trying to push my racing thoughts to the back of my mind.

“The apartment we grew up in,” he says after a moment, his voice distant. “There was a lady next door. Old, with two cats. She never let them inside, so she left food for them in bowls in the hallway.”

I glance up briefly, but his gaze isn’t on me. It’s somewhere far away, like he’s reliving a memory he doesn’t share often.

“One day, I was out trying to steal food for me and my sister,” he continues, his voice thickening slightly. “When I got back, I found her—Saoirse—eating from one of the cat bowls.”

My breath hitches, horror tearing through me like a knife. I can’t imagine how hungry someone would have to be to do that.

“I knew then,” Kieran says, his jaw tightening, “that I’d do anything to never see her small frame hunched over a bowl of cat food again.”

I nod, trying to understand the weight of what he’s telling me, but it’s hard. That kind of hunger, that level of desperation—it’s unimaginable, and the thought of it makes my chest ache. I wrap the bandage around his arm carefully, making sure it’s snug but not too tight.

As I secure the final knot, his free hand rests on my thigh. The warmth of his touch startles me at first, but I don’t pull away. I like it. I like the weight of his hand on me, grounding me, making me feel like maybe I’m not as alone as I think.

“You remind me of her,” he says quietly.

I try to brush off the comment, to deflect the strange warmth that blossoms in my chest. “You see me as a sister,” I say, but the words come out flat, deflated. My heart sinks, though I’m not sure why.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I peek up at him, my breath hitching when I see the way he tilts his head, studying me like he’s about to correct me.

“I most certainly don’t see you as my sister,” he says, his voice low and laced with something that makes my cheeks heat instantly. “That would be criminal.”

I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. His gaze lingers on me, and I feel like I’m on the edge of something dangerous. Something I’m not sure I can survive.

“I want to protect you,” he adds, his voice softer now. “Like I’ve always protected her.”

Something inside me locks into place, like a broken part of me has been snapped back together. I don’t know what it is—maybe the way he said it, or the way he looks at me like he means it—but it’s enough to make me feel...safe. Safe, even when I know I shouldn’t be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KIERAN

HAZEL SITS NEXT to me, her body close enough that the scent of her skin lingers in my nose—a mix of vanilla and something else entirely her. My gaze flickers down to her lips, and I can’t help but lean in. I wait, giving her the chance to stop me, to push me away like she probably should. But she doesn’t. Her wide green eyes watch me, so innocent, so open, and for a second, it feels like she’s here just for me. Like she’s mine.

I close the distance, brushing my lips against hers. Warm, soft, and perfect—exactly how I imagined. My hand stays on her thigh, her warmth bleeding through my fingers as if she could set me on fire. My mind drifts for a second, picturing those thighs wrapped around my waist, her body arching into mine. The thought sends a jolt of heat through me, and with my free hand, I cradle her neck and pull her closer, deepening the kiss. Her soft groan vibrates into my mouth, and for a moment, everything else disappears. No enemies. No threats. Just Hazel. Just this.

Then, of course, Charlie’s paws scuff across the floor. I grit my teeth, wishing the dog would leave us alone for once. But he doesn’t. His head nudges against my hand where it rests on Hazel’s thigh, and Hazel’s laugh bubbles into my mouth, breaking the kiss. I lean back, breathing hard, and look down at the traitorous dog. Charlie’s staring up at us, tongue hanging out, looking way too pleased with himself.

At the same time, we both reach down to rub his head, Hazel’s fingers brushing against mine. Her laughter is still in the air, light and contagious, and I swear it almost makes me forget why I need to step away from this moment.

Almost.

I glance at her again, and her gaze is on me—soft, questioning, but trusting. I press a quick kiss to her forehead, needing the contact before reality seeps in again.

“I need to make a call,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

She licks her lips, as if she can still taste me, and nods. “Okay.”

I rise and grab my phone, dialing Lee as I pace toward the window. The room feels too warm, my blood still thrumming with everything I want but can’t have. Lee answers after the third ring.

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