Page 95 of Mafia Kingdom

"Yes," she says simply. "Exactly that. Take Lily far away from here, from Ireland entirely if necessary. Start fresh somewhere no one knows the name Walsh or O'Reilly or any of this madness."

The solution sounds so simple when she phrases it like that—a clean break, a new beginning. But we both know it's an illusion, a fantasy of safety that reality would quickly shatter.

"They would find us," I say, voicing the hard truth neither of us wants to face. "These people have resources, connections, reach that extends far beyond here. There is no 'away' that's truly beyond their grasp if they're determined to find us."

Karen's shoulders slump slightly, the first crack in her rigid disapproval. "So, instead, you stay. You fight. You risk everything—including Lily's future—on the chance that Marco Walsh can defeat his enemies and somehow transform from a violent criminal into a normal partner, a stable presence in your life."

Put like that, my choice does sound naive, perhaps even foolish. But there's more to it than Karen understands, more to Marco than she can see from her limited perspective.

"He's not just a violent criminal," I defend, though even as I say it, I recognize how weak it sounds. "There's more to him, to this situation."

"I'm sure there is," Karen sighs, her anger giving way to a weariness that somehow cuts deeper. "There always is with men like him. They're complicated, misunderstood, capable of change. Until they aren't. Until the next crisis brings back the violence, the criminal connections, the endless cycle of threats and reprisals."

Her words echo fears I've struggled to suppress—that despite Marco's genuine feelings for me, despite his talk of a different future, the life he was born into will always reclaim him in the end. That the violence is too deeply ingrained to ever truly leave behind.

"You don't know him," I say weakly.

"No," she agrees. "But I know men like him. Men who live by different rules, who justify violence as necessary, asprotective. My brother, your father, may not have been a gangster, but a man who solved problems with his fists, who saw threats everywhere, who dragged your mother into a life of constant fear and instability."

The comparison to my father—a chronic gambler, an occasionally violent drunk—feels both unfair and uncomfortably apt. Marco operates on a completely different scale, but the fundamental pattern Karen identifies isn't entirely without basis.

"Marco is nothing like my father," I insist, though doubt creeps unbidden into my mind.

"Maybe not in the specifics," Karen concedes. "But the pattern, Sasha—the cycle of violence, the justifications, the promises that next time will be different—it's painfully familiar." She steps closer, her expression softening into genuine concern. "I watched my sister-in-law suffer through that cycle for years before cancer mercifully took her. I won't watch you travel the same road."

The brutal assessment leaves me momentarily speechless. Is that what I'm doing? Repeating my mother's mistakes, falling for a man whose world will eventually destroy me as surely as my father's addictions destroyed her?

No. The comparison is flawed, oversimplified. My father's violence was senseless, fueled by alcohol and gambling debts. Marco's is calculated, protective—a means to an end rather than an end in itself. And unlike my father, Marco has shown a capacity for change, for growth, for imagining a life beyond the constant cycle of violence.

"You're wrong about him," I say with more certainty than I truly feel. "And you're wrong about me. I'm not blindly following him into destruction, Karen. I'm making a conscious choice, with my eyes wide open to both the risks and the possibilities."

She studies me for a long moment, searching for something in my expression—weakness, perhaps, or the means to sway me from my chosen path. Finding neither, she sighs deeply.

"I hope you're right, Sasha. For your sake, for Lily's sake. I truly do." She turns back to her packing, a clear dismissal. "We'll go to Kerry as planned. We'll wait for you to join us, as you've promised Lily. But I won't pretend to support this decision, this relationship. I can't."

It's not the reconciliation I'd hoped for, but it's as much as I can reasonably expect given the circumstances. "Thank you for taking care of Lily," I say sincerely. "For being there when she needs stability. It means everything to me, Karen. Whatever you think of my choices."

She nods stiffly, not looking up from her methodical packing. "She's my niece. My family. That hasn't changed, regardless of how I feel about your involvement with Marco Walsh."

The conversation is clearly over. I leave Karen to her packing, a heaviness settling in my chest as I walk away.

Her warnings echo in my mind, mixing uneasily with my own suppressed doubts. What if she's right? What if I'm deluding myself about Marco's capacity for change, about our chances for a future that isn't defined by violence and fear?

Is this to be my life now? Living in a fortress, surrounded by armed men, always watching for the next threat? Is this the environment I want for Lily if she eventually returns to live with us?

The questions have no easy answers, no certainties I can cling to. Only the choice I've already made, for better or worse—to stand with Marco, to face whatever comes next by his side rather than fleeing into an illusion of safety that could shatter at any moment.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Marco

DAWN BREAKS, PALE light seeping through the windows as I stand in the driveway watching the convoy prepare to depart. Three vehicles—a lead car for security, the main SUV carrying Lily and Karen, and a follow car with additional protection. Six of my most trusted men, all armed, all hypervigilant after the events of the past forty-eight hours.

Sasha kneels before Lily, adjusting her coat despite the mild morning. It's not about the temperature, I realize, but about prolonging contact, these final moments before separation.

"Remember our pinky promise," Sasha says, her voice steady despite the emotion I can see in her eyes. "I'll call every day. And I'll come to Kerry as soon as everything is settled here."

Lily nods solemnly, clutching her stuffed rabbit in one arm, Buddy's leash in her other hand. "You promised." Her gaze shifts to me, surprisingly direct for a child her age. "You'll keep Sasha safe, right?"

---