His Mafia Prince
Chapter 278: So who is It?

Chapter 278: So who is It?

{TYLER}

I think Sasha is as surprised as I am that he was actually capable of letting me be part of the plans tonight. But as we ascend the stairs, hand in hand, he leans down to my ear. "Well done, baby."

I squeeze his hand and press my shoulder into him, basking in his praise. "Same," I whisper back at him, and he gives a quiet snort of laughter.

One enemy down. One to go.

We are admitted into Magda’s private room with no trouble, although I have to blink a few times to adjust my eyes to the candlelight within. The room is small and intimate, and Magda is draped across a divan, dressed in an intricate, corseted costume of black satin. As we enter, she is holding up to her face an ornate mask at the end of a silver wand.

Her companion is curled up next to her on the divan, his head cradled in her lap. She strokes his hair as though he’s a favored lapdog allowed to accompany her wherever she goes. Maybe she’ll tuck him away in her handbag later on. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be fast asleep, but when I look closely, I can see those eyes crack open, just a fraction.

Together, the two of them look exquisitely elegant. Magda’s dark eyes appraise Sasha, looking him head to toe, and she says nothing.

Sasha bows his head and gives a polite and formal greeting in Italian. I keep my mouth shut.

She drops the mask from her face, letting it dangle at the end of the holding stick.

"Do you think I don’t know who you are, Don Adonis?" she asks in a rich contralto, and it doesn’t escape my notice that her reply is in English rather than Italian. "You think I didn’t know you at once at the opera last night? A face like yours is memorable—as is that of the little bird who flutters around you." Her eyes flick to me, and I feel compelled to remove my own mask. She gives a pleased little hm and smiles.

I smile back.

Her black satin dress shines in the light as she shifts to set the mask down on a tiny side table, the diamonds at her throat and wrist all the brighter for the dark background.

"So, Don Adonis," she says, returning her attention to Sasha as her voice hardens. "Why are you here?"

The young man in her lap rearranges his position slightly, his eyes slitting open to look up at Sasha, at me, intrusions into the sunbeam of his lover’s attention.

"To offer my services," Sasha tells her.

"Services?" She yawns delicately, one hand covering her mouth and the other floating out, reaching for something in mid-air, though there’s nothing there. But all at once, there is: a waiter appears with a tray, on which is a half-full glass of champagne. Magda takes a sip, places the glass back on the tray, and the waiter and drink both disappear again behind a heavy fold of the velvet curtains behind her.

"May we sit down?" Sasha tries.

"You may not."

He grins at that. "Alright. Then I’ll be brief. I came because I heard rumors that there was a contract on your life. I wanted to warn you at the opera, but I was not afforded the chance."

Magda strokes her necklace as she contemplates Sasha’s face. "How fortunate for me that you were here tonight, to save me from this... assassin."

He bows his head.

"I would appear to be in your debt," she continues in what would pass for a drawl if it weren’t for the Italian accent. Her hand drops to comb through the black ringlets spreading across her lap.

"Not at all," Sasha murmurs gallantly.

Magda’s red lips curl up at one corner. "Let us speak plainly, Don Adonis. What is it that you really want from me?"

Sasha tilts his head to one side. "I want you to cut off your business with the Clemenza Family."

"Or—what?" she asks, her dark eyes flashing like her diamonds.

"Or nothing," Sasha says with a shrug. "I didn’t come here to threaten you. I came to ask a favor. I would be greatly indebted to you if you agree, because it would suit me in my business pursuits."

She studies him, her bejeweled fingers stroking and stroking the hair of her pet, the sapphires and rubies of her rings flashing and dazzling even in the low light of the room. "Why should I agree?"

"Because I would like us to be friends. Friends are always more useful than enemies."

"I have many friends already. Some of them very much dislike you, Don Adonis."

"I can imagine."

It must be the sardonic way he says it that makes her laugh. "Then you’ll know your request is not so simple as it sounds. You know," she says, smiling down at her pet, "Andreas here has something of a crush on you, Don Adonis. Perhaps a few days and nights with him would be an appropriate thank you for saving my life instead?"

I step forward, my hands on my hips. "I beg your fucking pardon?"

Sasha’s hand shoots out to grab my bicep. "What my husband meant to say, Magda, is that I am a happily married and very monogamous man—"

"Hell, yes," I put in. "And extremely sexually satisfied." Sasha’s fingers tighten on my arm. "—so I’ll have to decline."

In Magda’s lap, Andreas turns over like a sulking child and hides his face in her skirts. Magda regards us both, and I don’t like the amusement in her eyes.

"I see," she says at last. "Well, that’s a shame. When Andreas is unhappy, so am I."

"Perhaps this will cheer you up," Sasha says, and from inside his coat, he produces an envelope and hands it to her. "Thank you for your time, Magda." He gives a nod, takes my hand firmly in his, and leads me out of the room.

"Can you believe the nerve of that slinky little bitch boy?" I demand as we walk along the balcony. Outside, the party has continued, and there’s no trace of the Irish assassin at all. Magda’s men have done their work discreetly and well.

"She’s the one who put him up to it," Sasha tells me. "He’s been checking me out all night, giving out those fuck-me vibes while going up and down the stairs. But he would never do it without her say-so."

"You think it was a test?" I ask slowly, as we head downstairs. "What was she trying to do?"

With a scornful huff of laughter, Sasha says, "I think she wanted the measure of me. So whether I accepted or whether I turned her down, she still learned something. Still, it was a crude method. The contents of that envelope will tell her more about me than any ill-advised honeytrap ever could."

The contents of that envelope are the remaining photographs of Magda meeting with a Clemenza Family member, plus the negatives. I was opposed to the idea of Sasha just handing them over, but he insisted it would be the wiser move. I decided to trust him on that.

He pulls me close as we reach the bottom of the stairs. "Anyway, as if I could ever want another man with someone like you beside me, uccellino. Or rather, Arlecchino. Suits you." He ruffles my newly-pink hair. He’s barely been able to keep his hands out of it since this afternoon.

My hairstylist back at home is going to be pissed when he sees what I’ve done—bleached it myself and then stained it hot pink in the bathroom of our palazzo.

But Sasha was so damn happy when I came out of the bathroom looking like the love child of a punk and a clown that I don’t even care.

I grin as we hit the ballroom floor, looking up at Sasha. "That Irish guy pushed right past me after I took off the plague doctor outfit—did you see?"

"I did."

I look down at my boots again. Sasha was right; shoes are the hardest thing to change on the go. "You’re sure it was the right move to give Magda those photos back?"

"I am."

"You could have kept the negatives, at least," I sigh, as we make our way out to the back pier of the palazzo and take one of the water taxis bobbing there against the poles.

Sasha leans in to speak in my ear as the motor starts. "I want people to understand that my power does not rely on blackmail or underhanded dealings. I want them to know I’m a man of my word. It is more profitable to be my friend than my enemy. That they can trust me."

It’s a bold thing to say, the idea that trust could ever exist in Sasha’s world. But it’s my world, too. And I trust Sasha. I let him pull me into his arms, and we watch Venice go by as we dart down the Grand Canal, back to our home base.

I just wish I could know who else was worthy of my trust. Because my mind keeps going back to the mole. Al Vollero is the obvious pick, but he just doesn’t have access to the level of information that this mole seemingly does. So who is it?

The idea that either Miles or Gloria has been hiding a deep hatred of me, of Sasha, could be working with our enemies—it spins my head around. But someone is spilling information.

"Stop thinking so loud," Sasha says, smiling down at me. "We had a good night, didn’t we?"

I’m not sure how to answer that, so I just ask, "What next?"

"Next? Next, I shake your soul again, all night. And tomorrow, we travel to Florence."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.