Page 8 of Mafia Crown

She flinches, the fire in her gaze sparking again. “What—”

“You will be calm and do everything I say.”

Her mouth opens to speak, but I hold up two fingers. “This isn’t up for debate.”

I tell myself this is strategy. That it’s about gaining an edge over the Walsh family. But deep down, there’s something else clawing at me—an unfamiliar sense of guilt, protectiveness even. I shove it down where it belongs.

Hazel doesn’t cower. She doesn’t beg. But she doesn’t quite meet my eyes either. Instead, she stands there, shoulders stiff, chin raised, though the sharp edge of her defiance wavers just enough to show the cracks beneath. Her breathing is uneven, and her fingers twitch at her sides like she doesn’t know whether to clench them into fists or let them tremble.

It’s maddening, this mix of fear and resolve. My instincts scream to snuff it out—to make her submission total—but there’s a part of me, buried deep, that can’t help but respect her for holding onto even a sliver of that fight, yet not using it even though she’s clearly struggling with the thought.

I turn my back on her, taking a few steps to gather my thoughts, each step deliberate. I’m letting the room breathe, letting Hazel have a moment to attack me. Nothing happens. I face her again, and she’s no longer looking at me but glancing around the space. She might be looking for a weapon. Her gaze lands on the brass candlestick before she looks up at me.

I grin. Knowing exactly what she is thinking of doing. “Do it,” I say.

She ignores the weapon and squares her shoulder. “I saw nothing,” she says through trembling lips.

I take a step toward her. “That’s your first mistake, Hazel. Telling your captor that you witnessed nothing when I never accused you of witnessing anything. But you’re like a child who says they didn’t break something, knowing there is something broken in the house.”

She grits her teeth. “Do you have children?”

“No.” Killing her would be easy. Clean. But keeping her alive might be smarter. She’s a bargaining chip, a thread I can pull to unravel the Walshes if needed. Alive, she’s useful. Dead, she’s just another problem to clean up.

Her glare isn’t quite as sharp as before—it’s more like a shield now, fragile and trembling. She doesn’t speak, but her body language says enough. She’s scared. She just won’t let it show.

“Pack light,” I say, breaking the silence. “We’re leaving.”

Her brow furrows. “What?” she snaps, but her voice cracks at the end. “You’re taking me somewhere now?”

“Yes,” I answer evenly, ignoring the shake in her tone. “And you’re going to make it look like you left on your own. No one will think you were taken. It buys us time.”

She doesn’t move right away. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. I can almost see the battle raging in her mind—fight or flight; once again, she picks the third option.

“I’m not leaving my home. I won’t help you make it look like I left on my own accord.”

I exhale through my nose and slip the gun that I’m still holding into my pocket. “I didn’t peg you as someone who would be lippy.”

“You don’t know me.” She growls.

I fight a grin. Clearly. But, I don’t have time for games.

“Pack light. Now.”

Finally, she swallows hard and turns toward a door. I’m on her heels as she enters a small bedroom. Her movements are slow and jerky. She pulls open a drawer and starts throwing clothes into a bag, but her hands tremble so badly she fumbles with the zipper. Her frustration is palpable, and when she finally gets it closed, her knuckles are white from the effort.

I toss her the phone, and she catches it in surprise. “Call Mary. Tell her everything’s fine. That you’ll be in touch in a few days.”

She clutches the phone to her chest like it’s a lifeline. Her eyes flick to mine, wide and uncertain. “And if I don’t?” Her voice is small, quiet, but there’s a hint of defiance buried beneath the fear.

I step closer, letting the weight of my presence fill the space between us. “You don’t want to find out,” I say, my voice low, deliberate. She holds my gaze, searching for any crack in my resolve, but she won’t find one.

After what feels like an eternity, she nods, her fingers trembling as she dials. “Hi, Mary,” she says, her voice wavering. She clears her throat, trying to steady it. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just the power is still out, so I’m going to stay with friends that seem to still have power...” She glances at me, and I make a circular motion with my finger for her to hurry up.

“I have to go, but I’ll ring you in a few days.” Another pause. “Love you, too.” Hazel closes her eyes as she says it, and tears stream silently down her face.

She hangs up and wipes her eyes.

“Where are your car keys?” I ask.

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