Page 18 of Mafia Kingdom

Confusion swirls in my mind. Just a moment ago, I thought he was going to help me. The sudden shift leaves me reeling. Despite the fear that grips me, I refuse to back down. "I already told you it isn’t safe," he says, his closeness making it hard to breathe.

My heart races, but I steel myself, resisting the urge to shrink away. "Why isn’t it safe, Marco? What aren’t you telling me?"

Something in his gaze makes me pause. Was he crying? I frown, studying his face more closely. There's a rawness there, a vulnerability I hadn't expected.

"Go to bed," he says, his voice rough and weary.

I don’t move. "Did something happen?" I ask, my concern genuine. "Did you kill those men?" It's the question I've been dreading, but I have to know.

He sneers, his expression hardening. "I should have," he barks, his anger flaring.

I flinch at the intensity of his words. "Did you hear from the hospital?" My voice is softer now, worried. Maybe my dad is in a worse state than I thought.

Marco runs a hand across his face, the mask of anger slipping just enough for me to see the turmoil underneath. "Your father is fine, Sasha. He’s being taken care of. It’s…." He trails off, his eyes unfocused.

I wait, sensing there's more. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper. "My brother died tonight."

The revelation hits me like a punch to the gut. I want to comfort him, to offer some kind of solace, but the anger that radiates from him makes me hesitant. "I’m sorry," I say quietly, the words feeling inadequate.

He nods, a brief acknowledgment. I wonder which brother it was. Lucas? Danny? Or one of the other two? And what caused it? The men in my house? A crushing sense of responsibility weighs me down, making it hard to move.

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask, my voice small but sincere.

Marco doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he fills another glass of whiskey. "Get some rest," he says, a clear dismissal.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The weight of everything presses down on me, but I know there's nothing more I can say or do tonight. Resigning myself to his order, I turn and head back to my room.

As I walk, my mind churns with unanswered questions and lingering fears. Tomorrow. I tell myself. Tomorrow, I will see my father, and hopefully, this nightmare will be over. But for now, all I can do is try to find some semblance of peace in the chaos.

CHAPTER NINE

Marco

I GRAB THE glass off the table, my hands shaking. The cold, smooth surface feels alien in my grasp. Without thinking, I hurl it against the wall. The shattering sound echoes through the empty room, a brief, violent relief from the turmoil inside me. My brother’s gone, and it feels like a part of me shattered with that glass.

My phone keeps ringing, vibrating insistently on the coffee table. Lucas, probably. Maybe Damien or James. But I can’t talk to anyone right now. What would I even say?

I slump onto the couch, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. My gaze drifts to Sasha's phone lying next to me. I reach for it and open her photo gallery.

Sasha’s photos flood the screen. The first one is of her in a cozy café, an apron wrapped around her waist, a genuine smile lighting up her face. Her green eyes are so vibrant, so full of life. A few strands of her long brown hair have escaped, framing her face perfectly. It’s like a snapshot of a different world, one filled with light and joy.

I swipe through more images. Sasha with friends at the beach, all laughing and carefree. Then I see pictures of a dog, ablack Irish Setter. I never noticed a dog when I was at her home. I close the phone and rub my eyes.

I can’t stay here. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the silence too loud. I grab my keys and head out, needing to do something, anything, to break this feeling. I drive around in circles for awhile, pulling up across from the pub where I know my crew is. But I can’t enter; I know the minute I do, I’d want to leave. I don’t know what has me driving on, and soon, I slow down close to Sasha’s home. It’s a place I’ve only been to a couple of times, but right now, it’s my destination.

When I pull up, the sight hits me like a punch. The place is a dump, far worse than I remembered; even today, I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings. I was too consumed with anger to notice the trash bags piled up by the door; the lawn was overgrown and unkempt. There’s no way she’s coming back here. A sinking feeling settles in my gut as I get out of the car and walk to the front door. I push the door open, no one locked it on the way out. It isn’t like anyone would rob the place as there is nothing to steal.

Inside, the air is stale, a mix of old takeout and neglect. I call out, but there’s no answer. Then I hear a soft whine. Following the sound, I find the black Irish setter from the pictures. He’s lying on a tattered blanket, eyes full of sadness.

“Hey,” I murmur, kneeling down to rub his head. His fur is matted, but he nuzzles into my hand, desperate for comfort. “Let’s get you out of here.” I rise and take a few steps away from him; when I tap my leg, he jumps up and follows at my heels. He follows me quickly out the door to the car, and when I open the passenger door, he hesitates. “I can take you to Sasha,” I say. He still doesn’t move. I tap the seat, and finally, he jumps in.

He settles into the passenger seat without fuss, as if he knows this is where he’s supposed to be. When I start the car, the beams of light cut across the house again, like a reminder tome that Sasha can’t come back here. I drive aimlessly for a while, the city blurring past. The dog sits quietly, occasionally glancing over at me with those soulful eyes.

My phone buzzes again. Baz. Reluctantly, I answer.

“Hey, Baz.”

“How are you holding up?” His voice is gruff, concerned.

---