His Mafia Prince
Chapter 270: Not Taking Any Chances

Chapter 270: Not Taking Any Chances

(SASHA)

Tyler, who did not have the luxury of a few hours of pharmaceutical unconsciousness overnight like I did, has been staring into his coffee with fixed eyes for the last few minutes. But when I put my hand on his, he looks up with a troubled expression.

"You want that asshole from the catacombs to find us?"

"Eventually. I have something bubbling in the back of my mind." Tyler shakes his head, frustrated.

"What is it?" I ask at once, my hand tensing on his.

"It’s Miles," he says. "I mean, it might be Miles." He rubs a fist in his eye like a sleepy child. "Christ, I’m tired. What I mean is, someone has to be tipping off the Irish about where we’re going. Last night, while I was trying to think what to do, I realized I’d only told two people about the Colosseum. Miles was one. Gloria was the other."

I nod and then I sip my espresso, and look around the piazza. It’s touristy; I can’t wait to get out of here and experience the real Venice.

"Sasha?"

"Well, you’re right. I agree there seems to be a mole somewhere, baby. It’s been on my mind."

"And you think I’ve narrowed it down some?" He sounds bitter. Unhappy. "Because it can’t be Vollero. He didn’t know where we were."

"Miles’s the only one who knows where we are right now, so I guess we’ll find out fast if it is him. But do you really believe he’d betray us? The fallout from something like that would destroy him, our relationship, and he would know it, too."

Tyler swallows and rubs a hand across his eyes. "So you’re saying it’s Gloria?"

"I’m saying there are ways to intercept electronic communications, and that becoming suspicious of our closest allies will only lead to paranoia and poor decisions." I drain my espresso and set the cup down. "Trust me," I add with feeling. "I’ve been there."

Tyler laughs at that. It’s only a shadow of his usual loud, carefree laugh, the one I love to hear, but given the night we’ve had, it still fills me with gladness. "Okay," he says. "Good point." He yawns before adding, "And Aidan’s not a priest, and you damn well know it."

I get a confirmation text from Miles, and pat Tyler’s hand. "Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you into bed."

"Mm. You know I’m always up for it."

"Sleep," I tell him, pulling him up from his seat, "not sex. You had a big adventure last night, baby bird. You deserve to rest."

But after we pick up the key and reach our Venetian accommodation, Tyler gets a second wind. "Holy shit," he breathes, after I wave him into the palazzo before me. "Are you serious? I thought we were keeping our heads down."

"We can keep our heads down and enjoy what Venice has to offer. Besides, this is a Adonis property. It has everything we need as far as protection and security, as well as being beautiful."

Palazzo delle Vigne used to belong to an old and wealthy Venetian family. They sold it quietly to my father five decades ago, and it stands unoccupied, though weekly cleaners and a housekeeper have been kept in permanent employ.

Walking through its lavish rooms, I feel as though it has been waiting for us all these years, impatient for our arrival. Now that we’re here, it unfurls its pleasures to us without shame.

The baroque style of the interior design would be overwhelming anywhere, but here in Venice, in a side waterway just off the Grand Canal, it is exquisite. The walls and plasterwork showcase trailing vines and clusters of plump purple grapes, and the original eighteenth-century frescoed ceilings were painted by renowned Venetian artists. The antique furniture is elegant, opulent; the master bedroom is dominated by a sumptuous royal-blue and gold canopied bed that immediately makes me want to see Tyler naked in its sheets.

But both of us are too tired, I decide. I do put Tyler to bed in those silken sheets after his shower, kissing his forehead carefully as he closes his eyes, and then I take a long, indulgent bath, and I consider the last twenty-four hours and the next twenty-four to come. Once the water is growing tepid, I drag myself to bed as well, wrap my arms around my husband, and let myself give in to slumber.

We wake up together late in the afternoon, and, without the need for words, Tyler asks for what he needs. We’re both too lazy for anything gymnastic, and settle for unhurried, dreamy, simultaneous hand-jobs. Mine ends in a throbbing, sweet orgasm that leaves me floating blissfully as it reverberates through me.

"Nice," I sigh as it ebbs away, leaving pure relaxation in its wake.

"Nice?" Tyler snorts, and then yawns. "Normally I would take that as an insult...or a challenge. But yeah. It was nice. I guess sex doesn’t always have to be, you know. Soul-shaking."

"Wow," I snort. "Insult? Or challenge?"

We both start chuckling, and Tyler flops around on the bed, puts his arms around me. He’s sweaty and sticky with cum. I shuffle a little to get my arms around him, too, and we lie there slowly gluing together, too spent to care.

"What next?" Tyler mumbles. "I mean, food, first, obviously. Then what?"

"We’ll dine somewhere close by, then come back here to enjoy each other again. Tomorrow, Miles should send through any intel he has on Magda’s movements for the next few days."

"You think you can convince her to do business with the Triple Triads?"

"I can only try. If she disagrees...well, we have other options open to us." The photographs from my father’s cache of Magda in conversation with a Clemenza Irish Family member, (the one who’s would now taken a personal vendetta against me for killing his buddies) would be of great interest to the Italian anti- Mafia agencies. I’ve taken them, and the negatives, along with us to Italy. But I’d rather not resort to blackmail if it can be avoided.

Tyler asks no more about it that night—and normally, in deference to our sharply demarcated roles, I would make my own plans for contacting her and leave Tyler out of it altogether. But since she’s a woman who occupies a class several rungs above my own, and I’ll need Tyler ’s help with at least part of my plan.

And after the courage and cleverness he showed last night, I find myself willing to give into his demands. He’s a Adonis by marriage, and I can’t stand in the way of that. It would be foolish to try, because Tyler always gets what he wants—one way or the other.

But my plans for Magda and the Irish could mean putting Tyler in danger...and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

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