Page 45 of Mafia Kingdom

Marco introduces me, his tone casual, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. "Sasha, this is Senator Patrick O'Neill."

"A pleasure, my dear," the senator says, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. The gesture feels outdated, performative. "I don't believe I've seen you at one of these events before."

"It's my first time," I admit.

"Well, you couldn't ask for a better escort than Mr. Walsh here," he says, though his tone suggests the opposite. "His family has been…influential in our community for generations."

The way he emphasizes "influential" makes it clear he knows exactly what kind of influence the Walsh family wields. This isn't just political tension—it's personal.

"Senator," Marco cuts in smoothly, "perhaps we could speak privately later? I have a matter I'd like to discuss with you."

Senator O'Neill's smile tightens. "I'm afraid my schedule is quite full tonight, Mr. Walsh. But my office would be happy to arrange a meeting next week."

"I insist," Marco says, his voice pleasant but with an unmistakable edge. "It won't take long."

The senator hesitates, then nods stiffly. "Very well. After the speeches, perhaps. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must greet the other benefactors."

As he walks away, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "So that's him? The one you need to have a 'conversation' with?"

Marco takes a sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving the senator's retreating back. "Yes."

"What did he do to piss you off so much?"

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. "I told you, the less you know—"

"The safer I am. Right." I sigh, setting down my untouched champagne. "But he clearly knows who you are, and he's not thrilled about it."

"The senator and my family have a…complicated history," Marco concedes. "Let's leave it at that."

The evening progresses with all the expected elements of a high-society charity gala—dinner, speeches, a live auction. I eat little, drink less, and try to appear interested in the proceedings while keeping a watchful eye on Marco. He's tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap, though I doubt anyone else would notice. His public face is flawless—smiling at the right moments, applauding graciously, making small talk with the people at our table. But I can feel the barely contained energy beneath the surface.

After the auction, people begin to mingle again. Marco leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. "I need to speak with the senator now. Stay by Tony's side."

I nod, watching as he rises and makes his way through the crowd toward Senator O'Neill, who is deep in conversation with an elegant older woman. Marco touches the senator's elbow, saying something I can't hear. The senator excuses himself from the woman and follows Marco toward a side door.

Tony moves to the seat Marco vacated, his eyes constantly scanning the room. "Alright there, Miss Gillespie?"

"Fine," I say, though my nerves are suddenly on edge. "Where are they going?"

"Just to talk," Tony says, but there's something in his tone that makes me doubt his words.

Minutes tick by, feeling like hours. The conversation around me blurs into background noise as I focus on that side door, waiting for Marco to reappear. When he finally does, fifteen minutes later, his expression gives nothing away. The senator follows moments after, looking considerably paler than before, but otherwise unharmed.

Marco returns to our table, smoothly reclaiming his seat beside me. "Ready to go?" he asks, as if nothing unusual has happened.

I search his face for any clue about what transpired, but it's like trying to read a blank page. "That's it? We're just leaving?"

"We've made our appearance," he says, rising and offering me his hand. "There's no need to stay longer."

As we make our way toward the exit, I notice Senator O'Neill watching us from across the room. The look on his face isn't fear, exactly, but something close to it. Whatever Marco said to him, it made an impact.

Outside, the night air is cool against my skin after the warmth of the ballroom. Marco's driver already has the car waiting.

"That went well," Marco says once we're inside, the privacy screen raised between us and the driver.

I turn to face him, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. "What did you say to him?"

Marco gazes out the window, his profile sharp in the dim light. "I told you—"

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