Page 58 of Mafia Crown

Hazel hasn’t noticed yet; she might not.

I park outside and turn to her. “Stay in the car.”

She frowns, blinking at me. “What?”

“Stay here,” I repeat, my voice leaving no room for argument as I call Charlie, and he follows me out of the car.

Hazal hesitates, looking past me toward the house, but I take a step blocking her view before she can see anything.

The second I was inside, I knew I was right.

They tore the place apart. Drawers pulled from their hinges, furniture overturned, her things scattered across the floor like someone went through every inch of her life and discarded it.

They were looking for something.

I don’t waste time trying to figure out what. Instead, I head for the back door, letting Charlie out into the small backyard.

I don’t look around as I leave. There’s nothing to be done about it now.

When I slide back into the car, Hazel is still gripping her coffee, but her knuckles are white now, her jaw tight.

I don’t mention her house.

It will do no good.

I just put the car in drive and head toward the pub.

The streets of Monalty are dead. Not a sinner around. But, I know Patrick is already here.

His car is parked across the lot, black and unassuming, but I know better. He never shows up alone.

Hazel shifts beside me, finally looking at me.

I glance at her, meeting her gaze. “It’s going to be okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway.

I reach for the door handle. “Let’s go.”

She takes a deep breath, straightens her spine, and follows me out of the car and into the pub. “Stay behind me,” I whisper as we enter.

The scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke clings to the air as I step into the dimly lit pub, Hazel pressed against my side. She’s silent, but I feel her trembling. She doesn’t belong here, doesn’t understand what standing in this room means. I tighten my grip on her arm, not to hurt, just to keep her steady.

Patrick sits at the far end of the bar, a pint of Guinness in front of him, untouched. He has only one man at his side, a quiet presence at his right. To anyone else, it might look like an opportunity. Less protection means vulnerability. But Patrick isn’t the type to leave himself exposed. This is a message—he wants me to feel safe.

Which means I’m not.

“Kieran.” His voice is warm, but I know better than to be fooled. “You found her.”

“I did.”

He studies Hazel. She stares back, her pulse a frantic rhythm against my fingers. If she were smart, she’d lower her gaze. Instead, she glares at him, and I brace for the explosion.

I step forward, silent, controlled. The burner phone is warm in my palm from where I’ve been gripping it, turning it over, considering. Now, I hold it out to Patrick. His gaze flicks to it, then back to his drink. He doesn’t take the phone. Not yet.

Instead, he lifts his glass, tipping it just enough to watch the foam slide down the sides. He takes a slow sip, unbothered, like I haven’t just handed him proof of Sean’s betrayal. Only when he sets the glass down does he reach for the phone, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist.

“Sean acted alone,” I say, keeping my voice even. “He took her. Planned to ransom her.”

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