Page 53 of Mafia Crown

I shift my gaze to the rearview mirror, focusing on Charlie instead, like that will somehow erase the moment. “Again?” I ask, trying to play it off.

Kieran hums. “Yes. You do that when you're thinking. You stare. It's a tell of yours. I'd be careful.”

A tell.

I don’t like that he’s noticed something about me that I didn’t even realize about myself.

Trying to shake off the discomfort, I huff. “I was just thinking you drive like my grandmother.”

One perfect brow lifts. “Your grandmother must be a fierce driver.”

I laugh. I don’t expect to, but the sound bubbles up before I can stop it. It feels foreign—so out of place in this car, with this man—but Kieran’s lips twitch. Then, as if he can’t fight it, the smirk splits into a full smile.

It does something strange to my chest.

“She’s careful,” I correct, trying to push away whatever it is I’m feeling.

“She’s smart. Not drawing attention to herself.” Kieran says and I see the shift in his expression—the way amusement fades, replaced by something more thoughtful. He is careful. He is smart. Every move he makes is calculated. Even this.

It sobers me up.

I turn my head to the window, watching as the scenery shifts. We enter Carrickmacross, and my stomach tightens. I know these streets. I know these buildings. The closer we get, the more that old, familiar ache settles in my bones.

Home.

Only it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

“We’ll stay at the Shirley Arms for tonight,” Kieran says as he pulls into the car park.

I force myself to focus. “And then what?”

He cuts the engine and glances at me. “Then tomorrow, we see Patrick.”

My heart stumbles. I sit up straighter. “You mean you see Patrick.”

Kieran doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “I can’t leave you here, Hazel.”

I shouldn’t care. I should be used to this by now—the way he keeps me close, the way he refuses to trust me even after everything. But the words wound me in a way I don’t fully understand.

I grip the door handle, the metal cold beneath my fingers. “I won’t run. I’ve already told you that.”

Kieran unbuckles his seatbelt and pivots toward me. “I know.”

I frown. “Then why?”

He watches me for a long moment, like he’s debating how much to say. Then, finally, he exhales, his voice lower now, softer—but firm. “Because I can’t leave you unprotected.”

I blink. That… I wasn’t expecting.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all.

But as we step out of the car and head into the hotel, I can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever this is—is something more than just control.

It’s something I don’t have the strength to name.

Yet.

The Shirley Arms isn’t much to look at—an aging, nondescript building with a flickering neon sign and a front awning stained from years of neglect. The lobby is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener struggling to mask something more unpleasant. A threadbare carpet, once a deep burgundy but now a muddied shade of brown, muffles our footsteps as we enter.

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