Page 70 of Mafia Kingdom

I WAKE BEFORE dawn, the unfamiliar weight of Marco's arm around my waist is a reminder of how much has changed. His breathing is deep and even, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never is during waking hours. I study him in the dim light—the sharp line of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the small scar above his right eyebrow that I've learned came from a childhood fight with Lucas.

So much violence in his history, written across his body in scars and tattoos. Yet here, asleep beside me, he looks almost peaceful. Almost ordinary.

But Marco Walsh is anything but ordinary, and the illusion of normalcy shatters as soon as I slip from the bed and glimpse the gun on his nightstand, the bulletproof vest hanging over a nearby chair. Today, he meets with the O'Reillys—a confrontation that could end in bloodshed. The thought makes my stomach clench with fear.

I dress quietly, not wanting to wake him. He needs the rest, especially considering what lies ahead. Down the hall, I pause at the door to Lily's room, easing it open just enough to confirm she's sleeping soundly, Buddy curled protectively at her feet. The sight brings both relief and a fresh wave of anxiety. Mysister looks so small in the massive four-poster bed, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly even in sleep.

What have I brought her into? She wants to see Dad; she has no idea he was attacked. I lied, saying he had gotten a bad bug and is in the hospital recovering. I’m afraid of letting her see him and all the marks on his face. One step at a time, I remind myself.

I make my way downstairs, the grand hallways of the Walsh estate silent but for the occasional guard making their rounds. They nod respectfully as I pass—Marco's orders, no doubt. The staff has been instructed to treat me not as a guest or captive but as the woman of the house. A surreal elevation that still doesn't feel quite real.

Karen made her disapproval clear last night, her hushed, angry words still ringing in my ears:"Have you lost your mind, Sasha? This man is dangerous. His entire world is dangerous. How could you bring Lily into this?"

I had no satisfactory answer then. I have none now.

The kitchen is empty when I arrive, the industrial-grade appliances gleaming in the pre-dawn gloom. This space, at least, feels familiar. Kitchens have always been my sanctuary—first at home with Mom before her illness, then at culinary school, and during my internships. No matter how chaotic life became, cooking centered me, gave me purpose and control.

I need that now more than ever.

The refrigerator and pantry are well-stocked but clearly underutilized. Marco's staff keeps the basics on hand, but there's an institutional feel to the provisions—functional rather than inspired. I begin pulling out ingredients, my mind already mapping out recipes, a menu forming instinctively.

By the time the sun has fully risen, I've settled into a rhythm, kneading dough for fresh bread, chopping vegetables for soup, marinating meat for tonight's dinner. The familiarmotions soothe my frayed nerves, giving my hands something constructive to do while my mind processes everything that's happened.

Lily finds me there around eight o'clock, rubbing sleep from her eyes, Buddy trailing at her heels.

"You're making cinnamon rolls!" she exclaims, her face lighting up as she recognizes the familiar scent. "Like Mom used to."

I smile, wiping flour from my hands. "I thought you might like something special for breakfast. Want to help with the icing?"

She nods eagerly, climbing onto a stool at the counter. I guide her through measuring confectioner's sugar and vanilla, watching as her initial nervousness about our strange surroundings fades in the familiar comfort of our shared task.

"This place is huge," Lily says as she stirs the icing. "Like a castle from my books. Do you and Marco live here all the time?"

The innocent question catches me off guard. "It's Marco's house," I explain carefully. "I've been staying here while we...figure things out."

"Are you his girlfriend?" she asks bluntly, with the directness only children can get away with.

Heat rises to my cheeks. "It's complicated, Lil."

"That's what adults always say when they don't want to explain something." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "I'm not a baby, you know. I understand things."

I sigh, recognizing the determined set of her jaw. "Marco and I care about each other," I say finally. "But we come from very different worlds. That makes things...difficult sometimes."

"Because he's a gangster?"

I nearly drop the tray of rolls I'm sliding into the oven. "Where did you hear that?"

Lily shrugs, licking icing from her finger. "Aunt Karen was on the phone last night. She said we're stuck in a gangster's house and that you've lost your mind." She looks up at me, eyes suddenly serious. "Are we in danger, Sasha?"

The direct question deserves an honest answer, but I struggle to find the right balance between truth and reassurance. "Some bad people might want to hurt us," I admit carefully. "But Marco is protecting us. That's why we're here, where it's safe."

"Like a fortress." Lily nods, seeming to accept this logic. "With knights and everything."

I smile despite the gravity of our conversation. "Something like that."

"Is that why there are men with guns everywhere?" she asks, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw them when I was looking out my window."

My heart sinks. I'd hoped to shield her from the more obvious signs of Marco's world, but of course, Lily notices everything. Always has.

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