His Mafia Prince
Chapter 261: Second Wind

Chapter 261: Second Wind

(SASHA)

My dreams last night were disconcerting—not violent or fearful, but each time I woke I felt like I should have done something differently in the dream to procure a better outcome.

Morning crept past the curtains, and when I gave up on sleep, I checked the view of St. Peter’s Square, or as much as I could see from the window.

Now that Tyler is wide awake, I can’t stop him from his breakfast mission: out on the terrace garden, which, according to the information pamphlet the clerk gave us, is the reason people come to this hotel. I can see why when we step out onto it. It’s high enough to see over the colonnades of the piazza next door, and the Palace is directly, though distantly, opposite.

We aren’t alone on the terrace, despite the early hour. Indeed, the streets below are already busy, and I can see people already lining up in St. Peter’s Square.

"Come and eat," Tyler calls to me. I’ve stood a long time at the railing, observing the scenes below and to each side. I wore my baseball cap down to breakfast, although Tyler has taken his off, despite my warnings.

He does have a point. And his newly dark hair is still disconcertingly un- Tyler.

I join him for breakfast, which includes very good coffee and seasonal fruits that taste much more flavoursome than at home. Maybe it’s just being in Rome that has perked up my taste buds. Despite the stress and the adrenaline-fuelled flight from the hotel last night, I have to admit that I am enjoying myself.

Perhaps the danger is even part of that enjoyment, I muse, while I watch Tyler stuff his face with pastries.

Life has been both extremely dull and extremely painful since the attack on the warehouse, and once I got over my seething anger and wounded pride that I lay bleeding in the street, I was left with a wistful boredom.

Sponge baths just didn’t thrill me all that much—not that I would ever admit as much to Tyler. There are so many things I’d rather be doing. Like last night, for example. Taking my husband in a dirty alleyway, roughly and ecstatically, has reminded me of the pleasures that life has to offer. I want more of that.

Less of being endangered, betrayed, and shot.

"What’s the plan?" Tyler asks, chomping on a crisp slice of apple from my plate.

"I’m still considering." I move my plate a little further out of his reach. "But we’re close enough that we can leave it to the last minute before we go down to the Square, allowing for security."

Tyler lowers his voice. "You think we have any pesky hangers-on?" I let my gaze travel around the terrace. "No," I say after a minute.

Tyler has cocked his head to one side, watching me scope the room. "You need to teach me to do that."

"Be observant?" I say, with the faintest of smirks.

"Yeah," he says. "I’m serious. I don’t know how you do it, but you have this trick where you—you seem to know what to observe. If I try to do it, I just get hyper-panicky about everyone in the place. Besides," he finishes, grabbing the last honey-drizzled fig from my plate before I can take it, "you’re the one who said I needed to be my own last line of defence. Right?"

It’s not a bad suggestion, and he’s quite right. He does need training, and he does need to get better at it. Fast. "Alright," I allow. "After breakfast, we’ll go back up to the room and observe."

"We can’t stay out here?" He stretches back in his chair, kicking out his legs to find the morning sun.

"I want to have oversight of the square without anyone having oversight of us."

He sighs, but he doesn’t argue with me. He really is taking things more seriously than I’m giving him credit for. I need to remember who he is, this husband of mine.

When we first met, I thought he was just a beautiful boy, a needy one living a life addicted to suffering and solitude. But he had kept himself protected and alive, alone, for many years by that stage.

Tyler is no fool, and when he puts his mind to something, he always accomplishes it.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asks. "What are you thinking about?" "You. And how amazing you are."

He just nods. "Sometimes it strikes me too, and I have to just sit there and bask." His grin takes a while to grow, but it’s infectious enough that I laugh with him.

Back in the bedroom, I pull up two chairs to the window with the best view of the piazza, and we keep watch. I tell Tyler what to look for and answer his questions when he asks why I’m so quick to track one person over another. Some of the questions I have to really think about myself.

"He’s wearing a winter overcoat and a scarf," I say at last in answer to one of Tyler’s queries. "It’s not that cold out." The weather has been changeable; it was overcast when I woke, but the skies have cleared now as if in preparation for the crowd.

Tyler is staring at the man I identified. "That guy is, like, ninety. He’d probably feel a chill in a desert."

"Maybe. But you asked why he caught my eye. That’s why. And the scarf allows him to cover his face if he wants to. And if he were just pretending to be ninety, he could pull all those outer layers off, dump them, and have a whole new outfit underneath."

Tyler takes it in. "So does it make more sense to concentrate on faces?"

"Shoes, actually. It’s harder to change shoes than the rest of the outfit. So keep an eye on the shoes; see if they’re incongruous. Or think about whether you’ve seen them before, following you."

"Shoes," Tyler says thoughtfully, and I have to hide a smile.

As time goes on, though, I give briefer responses, my focus getting more intense as the morning wears on. I see more and more problems, and I like the situation less and less.

I don’t know the lady at all. All I know about her is the information that Gloria gave me about her.

It’s not hard to speculate that, being that Tyler and I would be unwelcome guests in Italy, someone might have alerted the authorities.

We’ve been shadowed while we’ve been here, despite how careful I thought we were.

Our shadow could be any one of a number of enemies, from international law enforcement to one of my rivals keeping an eye on us. But after the attack in Boston and then the hospital, my primary concern is the Irish.

"Sasha."

I turn to Tyler, blinking.

"I asked, what are you thinking so hard about? It’s making you all frowny."

He didn’t like it before when I suggested there might be ulterior motives in this entire mission and that we are actually being followed, but not liking something doesn’t make it go away. "I’m thinking maybe we should abort."