Page 82 of Mafia Kingdom

A soft whine draws my attention to the foot of the bed, where Buddy has raised his head, watching me with curious eyes.

"It's okay, boy," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

Instead, he jumps down and comes to my side, pressing against my leg as if sensing my anxiety. I scratch behind his ears absently, grateful for the simple comfort of his presence.

"What are we doing here, Buddy?" I murmur. "How did we end up in the middle of a mafia war?"

He tilts his head, offering no answers but unwavering loyalty. At least some things remain uncomplicated.

Unable to settle, I decide to check on Lily. Moving silently through the darkened hallways, I make my way to her room, easing the door open just enough to see her sleeping form. She looks impossibly small in the massive bed, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly even in sleep. Innocent. Untouched by the darkness surrounding us. Buddy enters Lily’s room and curls up on the end of her bed.

I close the door gently, leaning against the wall as emotion threatens to overwhelm me. What kind of future am I creating for her by aligning myself with Marco? What risks am I exposing her to?

But the alternative—leaving Marco, trying to resume our ordinary lives—seems heart wrenching.

The O'Reillys have already demonstrated their willingness to target Lily to get to me, to get to Marco. There's no going back to the simplicity of before. The only way out is through.

I continue my restless wandering, finding myself drawn to the grand staircase. The house is eerily quiet at this hour, most of Marco's men are either sleeping or stationed outside. I pause at the top of the stairs, suddenly aware of hushed voices coming from below—a conversation in the entrance hall, tense and urgent despite the low volume.

Curiosity pulls me forward. I move silently down the stairs, staying in the shadows, instinctively cautious in a way that would have been foreign to me just weeks ago.

Michael and Gerald stand near the front door, their heads bent close together, voices too low for me to make out specific words. The scene immediately sets off alarm bells—Gerald shouldn't be here, not at this hour, not without Marco's knowledge. Especially not having private conversations with Michael.

I strain to hear, catching fragments: "...not enough time..." "...need to move the schedule forward..." "...Walsh will never..."

Gerald's agitation is evident even from my limited vantage point—his usually composed demeanor replaced by tense gestures and rapidly delivered words. Michael listens impassively, his scarred face betraying nothing of his thoughts.

I edge closer, heart pounding, knowing I need to hear this conversation. If they're discussing what I think they're discussing, Marco needs to know immediately.

"O'Reilly won't wait," Gerald's voice becomes clearer as I reach the bottom of the stairs, keeping to the shadows of the adjoining corridor. "He wants it done tonight, before—"

He breaks off abruptly as Michael raises a hand in warning. They both turn, scanning the darkness, and I freeze, barely daring to breathe. Have they sensed my presence?

After an agonizing moment, they resume their conversation, voices even lower now. I catch only disconnected phrases: "...the girl complicates things..." "...Patrick insists..." "...clean break..."

The reference to "the girl"—presumably me—sends ice through my veins. Whatever they're planning involves me, possibly Lily as well. I need to alert Marco, but moving now risks discovery.

Gerald finally nods, seeming to reach some conclusion with Michael. He turns to leave, pausing at the door for one final exchange I can't quite hear. Then he's gone, the door closing silently behind him.

Michael remains in the entrance hall for several long minutes, his stillness so complete he might be a statue. Is he waiting to see if anyone emerges from hiding? Testing whether their conversation was overheard?

Finally, he moves.

I wait until he's out of sight before racing back upstairs using a service staircase, heart hammering against my ribs. I need to reach Marco before Michael does, need to warn him about whatever is being accelerated.

The door to our bedroom is still closed, everything exactly as I left it. I slip inside, rushing to Marco's side.

"Marco," I whisper urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."

He's instantly alert, the transition from sleep to full consciousness occurring in the space of a heartbeat. His hand moves automatically to the gun he keeps beneath his pillow before he registers that it's me.

"What's wrong?" he asks, voice rough with sleep but mind already clear.

"Gerald was just here, meeting with Michael," I explain rapidly. "They're changing the timetable, moving somethingforward. I heard them mention O'Reilly and 'tonight,' and Michael is heading to your office right now."

Marco processes this information with remarkable speed, already rising and reaching for his clothes. "Did they see you?"

"No, I stayed hidden. But they mentioned 'the girl' complicating things, and something about Patrick insisting on a 'clean break.'"

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