Page 63 of Mafia Crown

I take Hazel’s hand, her fingers already trembling as I guide her to the far corner of the room. Away from prying eyes. The second we stop, her grip tightens as if she doesn’t want to let go, like holding onto me might somehow change the inevitable. And then, the dam breaks.

A choked breath. A single tear. Then another.

“Hey,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping them away as fast as they fall. “It’s okay.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

Her voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts deep, deeper than I expect. I swallow down the sharp edge of whatever the fuck that feeling is and keep my expression calm.

“Mary has security,” I remind her. “She’ll keep you safe.”

Hazel sniffles, her breath hitching as she stares up at me with desperation that guts me. “I’m not worried about me,” she whispers. “I’m worried about you.”

Something clenches in my chest, something tight and unwelcome. I can’t afford hesitation, can’t afford softness, but she looks at me like I matter, like I’m something more than just the guy that kidnapped her.

I cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer until our foreheads touch. “I’ll be fine, Hazel.”

“You don’t know that.”

I force a smirk, trying to lighten the weight pressing down on her. “I’m too stubborn to die.”

She huffs a weak laugh, but it’s broken, shattered around the edges. “Promise me.”

I hesitate. I shouldn’t. Promises mean nothing in this life. But with her looking at me like this, raw and open, I find myself nodding.

“I promise.”

I smile, small but real. “I can take care of myself. And when this is done, I’ll come find you.”

She throws herself into my arms, holding on so tightly it feels like she’s trying to fuse herself to me. I let myself sink into the moment, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips—brief, but enough to make my chest ache.

Mary clears her throat pointedly, shooting me a look of suspicion. Hazel hesitates, then steps back.

“Go,” I say, nodding at her. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hazel doesn’t look convinced, but she follows Mary, glancing back at me one last time before disappearing through the door.

Then, it’s down to business.

The planning starts immediately. No hesitation, no wasted time. Marcus takes over, which is no surprise to anyone in the room. He thrives on control, on order, and when it comes to orchestrating death, there’s no one better. He’s methodical—ruthless in the way he dissects the situation, breaking it down into clean, precise segments. No emotion, no hesitation. Just cold, calculated strategy.

“This isn’t just about making a statement,” he says, voice sharp, steady. “We eliminate every last one of them. No loose ends. No survivors.”

He spreads the blueprints of the O’Donnell compound across the table, tapping a finger against key points. Escape routes. Choke points. Vulnerabilities. His mind works like a machine, anticipating every possibility, every counterstrike. It’s what makes him so damn good at this.

I stay quiet, absorbing the details, the way everything locks into place like a perfectly designed death trap. There’s nothing to debate. This is a kill mission, and Marcus is the best at what he does. Even if I wanted to challenge him, I wouldn’t. The plan is airtight.

“Two teams,” he continues, glancing up. His dark eyes scan the room, meeting mine for the briefest moment before moving on. “One at the front to draw them out, another sweeping in from the side. I want controlled chaos. Make them panic. Make them scatter. We pick them off before they even understand what’s happening.”

Patrick leans forward, arms crossed. “And if they hole up?”

Marcus smirks, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his expression. “Then we burn them out.”

A beat of silence. No one questions it. No one flinches. It’s just business.

I glance at the map, tracing the planned movements in my mind. There’s something oddly satisfying about the plan.

“When?” I ask finally.

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