Page 26 of Mafia Kingdom

Physically, I am unharmed. But that’s not the real issue, is it? My mind is a tangled mess, emotions I don’t want to acknowledge swirling just beneath the surface. Fear, anger, confusion—they press in on me, tightening around my ribs like a vice. When she finally leaves, I exhale, thinking I’ll find relief in solitude. Instead, the silence of Marco’s house settles around me like a heavy shroud. It’s too quiet, too still, and yet the weight of his presence lingers, an invisible cage I can’t escape.

Marco enters the room again, his expression unreadable. “You can’t leave,” he says, his voice cold and final.

“Am I a prisoner?” I ask, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger.

“Yes, you are,” he replies without hesitation. “You will not put your foot outside this door unless I say so.” He strides toward me and pats me down, removing my phone from my pocket.

My fear and anger intensify. Without thinking, I strike him, my hand connecting with his face. He barely flinches, his eyes darkening.

“I can’t just drop my entire life. You can’t do this,” I protest, my voice breaking.

Marco’s expression hardens. “Your father did this. Not me. So, if you want to blame someone, blame him.”

“What about my sister? Is she in danger?” I ask, desperation creeping into my voice.

Marco runs his hands across his face. “Your sister?”

“Yes, my sister. I left her with my aunt,” I reply, my heart pounding.

“Well then, she’s safe.” He just nods and leaves the room. I hear the door lock behind him, and I rush to it, banging my fists against the wood. “You can’t do this!” I scream, but there’s no response.

I slide down to the floor, unable to cry despite the overwhelming pain and trauma. The weight of everything crashes down on me, and I’m left alone in the silence, wondering how I’ll ever find a way out of this nightmare.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Marco

BAZ IS BARELY clinging to life. One bullet to the chest, and now he’s hooked up to machines that might be the only thing keeping him breathing. The doctors give me a lot of words that mean nothing—"uncertain," "critical," "wait and see"—but I don’t wait. I don’t fucking sit and hope.

I make moves.

I stare at the report in my hands, but my focus isn’t on the words. It’s on the reality behind them. Someone did this. Someone planned this. It wasn’t just about taking Baz out; it was a message to me—a warning.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly as I let the rage settle under my skin like a slow-burning fire. They wanted me to know they could get close. That they could reach into my world and take what’s mine.

Yesterday, they took my brother.

A single sniper shot. Clean, precise. The kind of hit you don’t walk away from. And now, today, Baz is barely hanging on. Two of them were targeted in less than twenty-four hours. That’s not a coincidence. That’s war.

My father thinks it’s Lucas. Says he’s taking us out one by one, clearing the way for himself to take control of the family.And if I didn’t know better, I might believe it too. Lucas has always been the coldest of us, the one who plays the long game, who watches and waits for his moment.

But this? This doesn’t fit.

I saw him. I was in his pub when I got the call—my security telling me Baz had taken Sasha to the hospital to see her father. I’d been fucking furious. Furious that Baz let her manipulate him, furious that she disobeyed me. I left, fully intending to drag her ass back myself.

Then I passed the scene.

Blood on the pavement. The chaos of my men locking down the area. The sirens screaming in the distance.

For a second—one brutal second—I thought she was dead.

That feeling. That sick, twisting, ice-cold grip in my chest. I don’t fucking like it.

And when I found her in that hospital, sitting on the bed without a scratch on her, I wanted to kiss her. Out of relief. Out of frustration. Just to remind myself that she was still breathing, still fighting me at every turn.

But I didn’t. I just stared at her, letting the anger swallow everything else.

She shouldn’t have been there.

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