Page 86 of Mafia Kingdom

I turn to her, surprised by both the question and the lack of judgment in her tone. "Yes," I admit simply. "I do."

She nods, as if confirming something she's long suspected. "I don't understand it," she says. "How you can love someone whose life revolves around violence and crime. But I can see that you do."

"It's not that simple," I try to explain, though I know how hollow the justification must sound. "Marco is...complicated. There's more to him than what he does."

"There always is," Karen says with surprising gentleness. "No one is just one thing, Sasha. But in the end, we are what we do. And what he does has brought this—" she gestures to our surroundings, to the battle raging beyond our walls, "—into your life. Into Lily's life."

The truth of her observation stings, but I can't deny it. "I know," I acknowledge. "And if I could keep Lily out of this, I would. But it's too late for that now. They targeted her specifically, Karen. Used her to get to me, to get to Marco. There's no going back to before."

"There's always a way out," she argues, though with less conviction than before. "A fresh start somewhere new, far from all this."

I shake my head, the naivety of her suggestion almost painful. "The O'Reillys found us at your house with barely any effort. Do you really think they couldn't find us again, wherever we went? At least with Marco, we have protection."

Karen falls silent, unable to counter this grim reality. After a moment, she asks, "So what happens if he survives this? You stay here, become what? A mob wife?"

The term makes me flinch, its crude simplicity failing to capture the complexity of what exists between Marco and me. "I don't know," I admit. "We haven't had time to figure it out. But I know I want a future with him, whatever that looks like."

"And your catering business? Your dreams?"

"Still there," I insist. "Marco supports them. He's not trying to change me or control me, Karen. He's just trying to keep me safe while we figure out how to make this work."

She looks skeptical but doesn't press further. Instead, she asks the question that's been haunting me since the communication line went dead: "Do you think he's still alive out there?"

I swallow hard, forcing down the fear that threatens to overwhelm me. "Yes," I say with all the conviction I can muster. "Marco is a survivor. He'll find a way through this."

But as another explosion rocks the estate, rattling even the reinforced walls of our sanctuary, doubt creeps in despite my best efforts to keep it at bay.

I turn back to the monitoring station, desperately searching the few remaining functional cameras for any sign of him. Instead, I see only chaos—flames engulfing part of the east wing, figures moving through smoke and shadows, the once-pristine grounds now littered with evidence of violent conflict.

Home. This has become home to me, strange as that seems. And now it's being torn apart, along with any hope for the future I've barely allowed myself to envision.

A sudden noise at the door snaps me to alertness—the sound of the electronic lock being disengaged. Someone is entering the code. Someone is coming in.

I move instinctively to stand between the door and Lily, my body tensing for fight or flight despite having nowhere to run. Karen rises too, her maternal instinct to protect overriding her fear.

The heavy door swings open slowly, revealing a silhouette backlit by the hallway lights. For one terrible moment, I brace for the worst—an O'Reilly gunman, Gerald himself, death personified.

Then recognition hits, relief so powerful it nearly buckles my knees.

"Marco," I breathe, his name a prayer and thanksgiving combined.

He steps into the room, bloodied and battered but gloriously, miraculously alive. His clothes are torn, a fresh cut slices across his cheekbone, and he's favoring his left leg slightly. But his eyes—his eyes are clear and focused, finding mine immediately.

"It's over," he says simply. "We held them off long enough for Damien's reinforcements to arrive. The O'Reillys are retreating."

I cross the space between us in three swift strides, throwing myself into his arms with such force that he staggers slightly. He catches me, arms wrapping around me tightly, his face buried in my hair.

"You're alive," I murmur against his neck, inhaling his scent beneath the smoke and blood. "You came back."

"I promised I would," he reminds me, his voice rough with emotion rarely displayed so openly.

Lily wakes at the commotion, her sleepy confusion giving way to delight when she recognizes our visitor. "Marco!" she exclaims, scrambling off the cot and rushing to join our embrace. Buddy follows, tail wagging furiously at this reunion.

Marco releases me with one arm to include Lily in our circle, his other arm remaining firmly around my waist. "Hello, little one," he says, his tone gentler than I've ever heard it. "You've been very brave tonight."

She beams at the praise, apparently unfazed by his battered appearance or the circumstances of our shelter. "Sasha said you'd keep us safe," she tells him with simple confidence. "And you did."

Something flickers across Marco's face at her words—surprise, perhaps, or a deeper emotion I can't quite name. He glances at me, a question in his eyes.

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