Page 73 of Mafia Kingdom

The blunt assessment stings all the more for its grain of truth. "I didn't plan this, Karen. Any of it."

"Then walk away," she urges, lowering her voice as Lily returns from helping set the dining room table. "Take Lily and leave. Before it's too late."

"It's already too late," I admit, the truth of it settling heavy in my chest. "I'm in love with him."

Karen stares at me, shocked by the confession. "Sasha..."

"I know it's insane," I continue, needing to finally voice the reality I've been dancing around for days. "I know it makes no sense. But it's true. And I can't just walk away."

"What about Lily? Your plans for culinary school? The life you were building before all this?"

These are fair questions, ones I've asked myself repeatedly. "I'm still figuring that out," I say honestly. "But I don't think it has to be all or nothing. Marco..." I hesitate, unsure how to explain the complexity of the man I've come to love. "He's not just what you see on the surface. There's more to him. And I think... I think he wants more than this life, too, even if he doesn't quite know it yet."

Karen shakes her head, unconvinced. "People don't change, Sasha. Not fundamentally. Whatever fantasies you're spinning about reforming a criminal—"

"That's not what this is," I interrupt firmly. "I'm not naive enough to think I can change who Marco is. But I believe there's a middle ground somewhere—a way for us to build something that honors both our worlds."

Our conversation is cut short by Lily's return, bursting with excitement about the dining room and how "fancy" everything looks.

As evening approaches, I send Lily with one of the staff to change for dinner while I put the finishing touches on the meal. The kitchen is warm and fragrant, a bubble of sensory comfort amid the tension of the estate. I've just removed the last loaf of bread from the oven when Tony appears in the doorway.

"Ms. Gillespie," he says, his formal address at odds with the familiar way we've interacted these past weeks. "Marco asked me to inform you he's on his way back. The meeting went...as expected."

I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "He's alright?"

Tony nods, his expression revealing nothing. "He'll be here within the hour."

"Thank you," I say, genuine gratitude in my voice. Tony has been a steady presence throughout this ordeal, his loyalty to Marco extending to me by proxy.

He hesitates, then adds, "The men appreciate what you're doing. The dinner. It's been a long time since..." He trails off, seeming to reconsider whatever he was about to say.

"Since what?" I prompt gently.

"Since there was anything like a family meal in this house," he finishes simply. "Not since Marco's mother was alive."

The revelation stuns me. I knew Marco's mother had died young—he's mentioned her only in passing, the wound clearly still raw—but I hadn't considered the impact her absence would have had on the daily rhythms of the Walsh household. Had there been no gatherings, no celebrations, no moments of simple domestic joy in all the years since?

"I hope I'm not overstepping," Tony adds, mistaking my silence for offense.

"Not at all," I assure him. "I'm glad you told me."

After he leaves, I return to my preparations with renewed purpose. This dinner isn't just about creating normalcy for Lily and Karen anymore—it's about reclaiming something long lost in this house.

By the time Marco returns, everything is ready. The dining room gleams with polished silver and crystal, fresh flowers adding color and life to the usually austere space. The food waits in the kitchen, keeping warm. Marco's men—those not actively on security duty—gather awkwardly in the foyer, clearly uncertain about their role in this unexpected social event.

I meet Marco at the door, scanning his face anxiously for signs of injury or distress. He looks tired but intact, the tension in his shoulders the only visible indication of what must have been a grueling confrontation.

"Everything's set," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "Your men are waiting. I thought we could all eat together."

Something in his expression shifts—surprise, perhaps, or a deeper emotion I can't quite identify. "All of us?"

"All of us," I confirm. "A proper dinner. Together."

Marco looks past me to where his men stand waiting, their usual stoic demeanor softened by evident bewilderment at being included in what they clearly perceive as a family affair. His gaze then moves to Lily, who has changed into her best dress for the occasion. It’s a simple, plain yellow dress that Marco’s menretrieved from our home, but it was Lily’s Sunday dress, only pulled out for church and special occasions. Karen, with stiff posture, can't quite disguise her curiosity about how this strange scenario will unfold.

For a moment, I fear he'll refuse—retreat into the hard shell of the crime boss, dismiss the entire affair as unnecessary sentimentality. Instead, he nods once, decisively.

"Let me change first," he says. "Five minutes."

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