Page 61 of Mafia Kingdom

"Lucas betrayed us," he says finally. "He sold out Danny, worked with our enemies, put the entire Walsh organization at risk."

"When I confronted him at the docks," Marco continues, his voice distant as if recounting someone else's memories, "he was planning another hit. I knew he was going to kill me.'"

"So you killed him first," I finish quietly.

Marco's expression darkens. "I gave him a chance, Sasha. I would have let him walk away if he'd just stopped. Left the country, disappeared. But he chose to fight." His knuckles go white around the empty glass. "He came at me with a knife."

My throat tightens at the pain evident in his voice. Before I can stop myself, I move to his side, kneeling beside his chair and taking the glass from his hand. I set it aside and replace it with my own hand, threading our fingers together.

"It was self-defense," I say gently.

Marco laughs bitterly. "Is that what you need to believe?"

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

He looks down at our joined hands, thumb brushing over my knuckles in an absent caress. "The truth is, I knew I was going to kill him the moment I saw the evidence against him. The knife was just…convenient. An excuse."

The frank admission should frighten me. Instead, I find myself squeezing his hand tighter. "He murdered Danny. He would have killed you, too."

"And that justifies it? Makes it right?" Marco's voice is harsh. "Lucas was my brother, Sasha. We grew up together. Fought together. Before all this, he was the one person I always trusted to have my back."

"People change," I say softly. "Sometimes the person we trust most becomes the one who hurts us the worst."

Marco's eyes search mine, looking for judgment or fear. Finding neither, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness.

"You should hate me," he murmurs. "Be terrified of me. Instead, you're here, comforting a killer."

"Is that all you are?" I challenge. "Just a killer?"

Something vulnerable flashes across his face before he can mask it. "What else would you call me?"

I consider the question seriously, studying the man before me—the hardness in his jaw, the calluses on his hands, the shadows in his eyes that speak of burdens I can't fully comprehend.

"Complicated," I say finally. "Dangerous, yes. Capable of terrible violence, certainly. But also protective. Loyal to those who deserve it. And underneath it all, more haunted by your actions than you want anyone to know."

Marco stares at me for a long moment, something like wonder in his expression. "You see too much, Sasha Gillespie."

"Or maybe just enough," I counter, rising to my feet. I tug gently at his hand. "Come on. You need sleep, not more whiskey."

To my surprise, he follows without resistance, allowing me to lead him from the study and up the stairs to his bedroom. I expect him to dismiss me at the door, to retreat into his solitude as he has every other night. Instead, he keeps hold of my hand, drawing me into the room with him.

"Stay," he says, the word somewhere between a command and a plea.

I hesitate, knowing we're at a crossroads. If I stay tonight, after everything he's confessed, everything I know, there's nogoing back. No more pretending this is just temporary, just a means to an end.

"Marco..."

"Just to sleep," he clarifies, misinterpreting my hesitation. "I just…don't want to be alone with the ghosts tonight."

The vulnerability in his admission decides for me. I nod, letting him pull me toward the bed. We lie down fully clothed, Marco on his back staring at the ceiling, me curled on my side facing him. Tentatively, I rest my hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

"Sleep," I whisper.

He covers my hand with his own, his eyes already drifting closed. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, exhaustion finally claiming him. I watch him sleep, marveling at how young he looks with the hard lines of his face relaxed in slumber. Without the mask of the ruthless crime boss, I can see traces of the boy he must have been before this life claimed him.

I don't remember falling asleep, but morning finds us still together, my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around me. For a moment, I allow myself to pretend this is normal—that we're just a man and woman waking up together, without blood and violence and criminal empires complicating everything.

Marco stirs, his eyes opening to find mine. For once, there's no guard in his expression, no calculated mask. Just Marco, looking at me with something that makes my heart beat faster.

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