Page 42 of Mafia Kingdom

"There's one more thing," I say, letting my hand drop. "No matter what happens tonight, stay by my side. Don't wander off, don't go anywhere alone, even to the bathroom."

Her smile fades. "You really think someone might try something there? At a charity event?"

"I think someone's already tried to kill you once," I remind her. "And they might not get a better opportunity than tonight."

Fear flickers in her eyes, quickly replaced by determination. "Then I guess I'm sticking to you like glue."

"Good," I say, stepping back to create some distance between us. The scent of her perfume—something floral and subtle—is making it hard to concentrate. "The car will be ready in ten minutes. Wait here."

I leave the room before she can respond, needing space to clear my head. The evening ahead requires complete focus—the senator, the legislation, the weapons shipment. I can't afford distractions, not even ones as captivating as Sasha Gillespie in that emerald dress.

In the hallway, I find Michael waiting, his scarred face solemn. At seventy, he's the oldest of my father's men but still one of the most dangerous. Unlike Gerald, though, Michael's loyalty has always seemed more nuanced—respectful of my father but not blindly obedient.

"A word, Marco?" he asks, his voice gravelly from decades of smoking.

I nod, leading him into a small study across the hall. "What is it?"

"Gerald's not happy about being relegated to the van," he says without preamble. "Says you're undermining his authority."

I scoff. "Gerald's authority extends exactly as far as I allow it to."

Michael's expression remains impassive. "Your father gave him explicit instructions to stay close to the girl tonight."

That confirms what I've suspected—my father is using Gerald to watch Sasha, to assess my attachment to her. "My father doesn't dictate who guards my date."

"No," Michael agrees, "but he does dictate who inherits this family. And right now, he's not pleased with your decisions."

I lean against the desk, studying the older man. "Are you warning me, Michael?"

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Let's call it…friendly advice. Gerald's been making calls, talking to Lucas. I thought you should know."

The implications are clear. Gerald, my father, and Lucas are coordinating, possibly plotting against me. The timing—just before this crucial weapons shipment—can't be a coincidence.

"I appreciate the heads up," I say carefully.

Michael nods, turning to leave, but pauses at the door. "She's beautiful, your Sasha. Worth protecting." His gaze, shrewd and assessing, meets mine. "But ask yourself this: is she worth dying for?"

The question hangs in the air long after he's gone.

I return to find Sasha standing by the window, her silhouette outlined against the fading daylight. She turns when I enter, and something in her expression—a mixture of vulnerability and resolve—makes my chest tighten.

"Ready?" I ask, offering my arm.

She nods, placing her hand lightly on my forearm. "As I'll ever be."

We walk downstairs in silence, the only sound the soft swish of her dress against the marble floors. Outside, the car waits, sleek and black, Tony standing at attention beside it.

"Everything's arranged," he says quietly as we approach. "For both events."

I nod, helping Sasha into the backseat before sliding in beside her. The privacy screen is already raised between the driver and us.

As the car pulls away from the house, Sasha turns to me. "I overheard Gerald earlier," she says abruptly. "He was talking to another man—older, with a scar on his face."

"Michael," I supply, curious where this is going.

"I was waiting for Ana to get my dress, and they were talking outside my door. They said your father wasn't happy with your decisions. That Lucas would never defy him the way you have." She studies my face, searching for something. "Are you in danger, Marco?"

The question catches me off guard. Not the content—I've known my position is precarious—but the genuine concern in her voice.

---