His Mafia Prince
Chapter 213: Let’s Go For a Ride

Chapter 213: Let’s Go For a Ride

(TYLER)

I’m seated beside Wesley at the dinner table. Lucia is seated across from us, her hair curled into a loose bun. We just had herb crusted salmon with roasted vegetables, a meal that I very much enjoyed. We have pushed our empty plates aside in favour of teaming cups of chamomile tea.

I notice how Wesley’s hand drifts to his slightly rounded belly for the third time this evening. A little smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I can’t help but be happy for him. The knowing smile on Lucia’s face tells me that she noticed the gesture too. She had watched me go through this journey and was there with me every step of the way, and here is Jericho’s omega again, carrying the next generation of the Adonis family.

"You keep touching your belly like that." She observes warmly, lifting her china teacup to her lips. "I remember when I was pregnant with Sasha and Jericho. I couldn’t keep my hands still either. It’s almost like your body knows that there is something precious in there before your mind fully catches up."

A light shade of pink brushes Wesley’s cheeks. He splats his fingers protectively over his bump. "I catch myself doing it all the time. Jericho sometimes teases me about it, but then when I wake up at night, I find his hands there too."

I notice how his voice softens when he mentions Jericho. His eyes seem to grow with distant affection.

I can’t help responding to the maternal energy in the room, so, I lean forward and say, "at the second trimester I when things switch up, but in a good way. The morning sickness finally lets up, thank God." I shudder dramatically, what earns chuckles from Lucia and Wesley. "I swear I couldn’t even look at coffee during those first three months without constantly running to the bathroom. At some point, Sasha felt so guilty about it that he gave up his morning coffee too."

Wesley laughs. "Jericho does try that with me too, but he doesn’t last six hours before sneaking a coffee cup in the room. But it’s the thought that counts, right?"

Lucia laughs so heartily that it echoes all over the room. "Oh honey, just wait until the cravings hit. One night when I was pregnant with Jericho, I sent his father out there to get me a specific brand of pickles from a store two towns over. Poor man drove for hours only to come back with the wrong kind." She shakes her head at the memory. "I cried for a solid one hour."

"I already have the cravings. I ate a pickle peanut butter sandwich. Weird, right? Jericho made two for me. He forgot and used Jalapeños for the first one. My lips almost fell off." Wesley laughs, stirring his tea. "Now that you said it, I think I’m going to sleep with a jar of olives on my bed stand. I just eat so many weird things without realising it."

"That’s nothing." I say, reaching to pat his hand. "Wait until you start nesting. I drove Sasha crazy. Do you know I rearranged the nursery furniture every day for a week straight? Then I decided the whole colour scheme was wrong. It had to be repainted. Twice."

Wesley’s eyes go wide. "Is that what the feeling is? I’ve been so antsy about getting a spare room already. I spent a whole three hours yesterday looking up paint swatches online."

"Oh, sweetheart," Lucia laughs. "That’s just the beginning. The thing about the nesting instinct is that it grows stronger as the days go by. By the time you reach your seventh month, you will be reorganising everything in sight." She shifts her attention to me. "I remember when Sasha said you colour coded his entire closet one afternoon."

I groan and cover my face. "Don’t remind me. I even arranged the socks by their shade and texture. He didn’t dare to move or touch anything in there for weeks. If I got a single shirt hanging the wrong way, I’d burst into tears."

"Pregnancy hormones are no joke." Wesley acknowledges, as he sips his tea. "You know I’m not one to cry, but yesterday when Jericho brought me a stuffed rabbit for the baby, I cried for twenty minutes, I couldn’t stop. Happy tears." He adds quickly when he notices the concerned look on Lucia’s face. "Strange, because I never cry over anything."

"Speaking of emotions, let me warn you about dreams. They get wild. You know one night I woke Sasha up at midnight convinced that we needed to baby proof the ceiling."

"The ceiling?" Wesley almost chokes on his tea.

"The ceiling." I confirm solemnly. "I had this dream that the baby had somehow developed the ability to crawl upside down like a spider. At that moment, it made perfect sense."

Our laughter is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

"Tyler, somebody is here for you." One of the newer guards appears at the doorway. We have had him around for a while, and he appears unnaturally rigid unlike how he’d be on a normal day. Something flickers behind his eyes that makes me instantly curious.

"Who?" all the three of us ask in unison.

The guard chuckles and shakes his head, gesturing awkwardly. "I don’t know. Some guy who asked for you by name. Says it’s urgent."

"Did they give a name?"

"No, sir." The guard clasps his hands on his back. "He just insisted that it was important. A private matter."

I immediately sense that something is wrong. I can feel it deep down in my bones. But I can’t react or show concern. Not with Wesley sitting right beside me, pregnant and vulnerable. Not that he is an amateur either. I’m sure that he already knows.

"Excuse me." I slowly rise from my chair and squeeze Wesley’s shoulder as I pass. I just want to reassure him that everything will be fine. He already has enough stress from the pregnancy and adding to it won’t exactly help the situation. "Save me some of that tea." I shift my attention to Lucia. "I have a feeling I’m gonna need it after dealing with whatever this is."

The walk to the door feels like treading through molasses. My senses immediately pick on everything that seems off, the too quiet atmosphere, the absence of guards on their usual posts. My heart thumps wildly as I follow after the guard down the hall to the foyer. As soon as I round the corner and spy on the broad shoulders swathed in a tailored navy-blue suit, I feel sick to my stomach.

"Thank you." The man says, turning with a smile for the guard, then his bright blue eyes shift to me, the smile remaining even though it doesn’t reach his eyes. The first thing I notice is a little Irish lilt on his coat, which confirms my fears about who had sent him. Wesley’s family. His eyes hold the calculation of someone that is used to violence.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

He holds up a hand. "Get your shoes. We’re going for a ride."

I fold my arms across my chest. Why are the Irish so fucking bossy? "No way. I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me why you’re here."

He steps a little to close then steeples his fingers in front of me. "It’s not a request."

I don’t see any guards around to protect me. Who knows what he did to them? Maybe they already murdered them all and stacked them up somewhere and left just one to call me out so that we wouldn’t suspect anything. But that’s the least of my concerns now. I’m certain that he can crush me easily if he wants to. Even so, I hold my ground. "I don’t care why you’re here. If you’re looking for Wesley, he already―"

"It’s a beautiful evening indeed, Tyler. Isn’t it?" he says with a thick and menacing accent. "Though I imagine Jericho, Miles and your lovely husband Sasha aren’t enjoying it much."

"You’re making quite the claim." My blood runs cold considering all the things that have already unfolded around me.

"Where is Sasha?"

"We need to talk."

"Great. Then do it right here."

"I’d prefer to talk somewhere, a little more..." he sucks his breath and glances around at the glittering mansion. "Private."

"Where is Sasha?" I demand, enunciating each word.

His eyes tighten. "That is what I’m here to talk about."

A wave of nausea rolls through my gut. "What about him? What happened?"

He strolls forward, one hand in his pocket while the other brushes his nose casually then he stops in front of me, taking up my personal space. "If you want what’s best for them, get in the fucking car. Now. Quietly. No alerts. No signals. No heroics. And my associates are getting impatient. Get in the car now before things become significantly unpleasant for your people."

I swallow down my fear and nod. Without saying a word to anyone, I climb in the car carefully.

"Smart choice. Let’s hope everyone makes equally wise decisions tonight." The man sits beside me at the back and as soon as everyone is situated, he gives the order to leave.

"Where are we going?" I ask, when it is obvious that wherever they are heading isn’t somewhere nice.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

"And is Sasha there?"

The man gives me a look that brings an immediate halt to my questions, something that I saw in Sasha a long time ago when he was pursuing me. I stay silent for the rest of the ride, watching the buildings fly past us to keep track of where I am until we get to a dirt road. When the SUV rolls to a stop and parks, I swallow a lump in my throat.

We are at an abandoned warehouse far in the middle of nowhere. Is Sasha here? Are they all being held here? And how did the Irish manage to get ahead of them?

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