His Mafia Prince
Chapter 252: Whatever It Takes to Survive

Chapter 252: Whatever It Takes to Survive

SASHA

I take the time to replace the tile and the table, and then I leave the conservatory, clutching my prizes in one hand, and return to where Tyler and Miles are waiting.

"You say nothing about this," I tell Miles.

"Of course not, Boss."

"Go find a large envelope or something to put these in."

I wait until I hear him go upstairs. Tyler is watching me closely, and I sit next to him, pleased to see his color has returned.

"How are you?"

"I’m fine. What did you find?"

"Useful things. And—this."

I hand him the letter and by the way his eyes widen, I know I was right about the handwriting. "This is—Angelo wrote this," he says, skimming the document inside the envelope, and then staring up at me.

"Yes. I thought so, too."

I’ve seen Tyler pore over Angelo’s journal enough times for his handwriting to be familiar to me.

He reads the note again, eyes lingering on each word. "But what does it mean?"

"Put it away for now," I murmur, hearing Miles’s footsteps returning. "We’ll discuss it at home."

It’s not that I don’t trust Miles. It’s just that I will never trust anyone else in this world like I do my husband.

Tyler puts the note back into its envelope and I slip it into my inside jacket pocket just as Miles arrives back.

"Can you wait for me in the kitchen with Miles?" I ask Tyler once I’ve put all the documents into the envelope.

Miles must have gotten it from the study, I think; the large Adonis crest in the corner shows it came from my Father ’s personal stationery.

"Where are you going?" Tyler asks.

"I just want to check the library." It’s partly the truth.

"You’re still not supposed to go up or down stairs on your own—"

"I’ll take it slow. Promise."

And it is the library I go to first, after I climb the staircase, a million memories crowding my mind as I step up them as slowly as I promised Tyler.

At the top I turn right, walk past several doors, and enter the library room. The scent of leather and old paper fills me with nostalgia again. But as I glance around the shelves, I see many familiar titles, and several that I did not own myself.

Learn from those who taught me, my Father told me when he showed me the books he’d collected for me: everything from ancient philosophers and memoirs, to battle tactics and modern warfare.

I put those books to good use.

I turn to the left bookshelf and trail my hand along worn spines until I find the book I want, and pull it.

The whole bookshelf slides smoothly inward, and I smile as I look through the hidden doorway to my Father ’s study. The only time My Father showed me that trick, I was just a boy. But it made an indelible mark on my memory. It still appeals to the kid in me.

I’ll show Tyler one day soon. Tell him my own memories of My Father , in the hopes that it will bring some comfort.

I step through into the study. On the other side of the bookshelf, the secret door is masked with a full-length mirror, and I pull it to behind me. I wonder how many other secrets My Father ’s house might give up before the renovations are done—Miles probably knows of this one, although based on the open door to the study he came in via the hallway rather than the library.

My Father ’s study is just as I remember, and I stand in the centre for a moment just to breathe it in. The furniture here—his desk, the Italian leather sofa— they can come in handy once the renovations are done.

But I didn’t leave Tyler waiting just so I could consider interior decoration. My Father ’s study and library were the places I wanted to visit to remember him by.

But now there’s one more place in this house that I need to see, although I wish I could avoid it.

I go back to the lower floor as quietly as I can, come around the side of the staircase, and softly open the door that leads to the cellar.

After the crime scene cleaners and the repeatedly-engaged painters, the stark white wall should not surprise me like it does.

But still, in my mind, I see the photographs the cops made me look at after the attack, when all of us were pulled in and questioned. I see the blood and bodies lying there against the wall, almost unrecognizable in death.

Now, in this pristine basement, it takes me a moment to orient myself, to turn and face where I know my father escaped death by a slim chance and then I replay once more his final moments. His final words to me.

"Take care of my famiglia."

I’m doing my best, I think, slightly irritated. If only your goddamn son in law wasn’t so determined to get himself into danger. But watching My Father again now, I realize it’s not only Tyler that My Father meant when it comes to the Adonis Family.

I’ve asked so much of my people since My Father ’s death. Expected so much. Expected their loyalty, their support.

Expected them to die for me. For Tyler.

And it has not been fair of me to expect that. Luigi royally pissed me off several months back when he pointed out my hypocrisy, but I was only so angry because he was right.

I’ve been putting my own goals ahead of the Family, and that is not what My Father wanted from me. Expected from me.

I need to stop using the Adonis Family like a personal army.

Yes, it’s my role to protect Tyler. But he is not, as he himself said, some princess in a tower. He’s my lover, my omega, my husband, my partner.

As for Tyler, when I really think about everything he’s done in his life, all the thick and thin he’s been through to be where he is now— well, he’s more dangerous and more resourceful than most mafia men I’ve ever known. He’s had to be, to survive.

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