His Mafia Prince
Chapter 288: Home

Chapter 288: Home

{TYLER}

Tonight, everyone except me, Lucia, and the kids will go to Midnight celebrations, and I’ll have a chance to be alone with my newfound fullness of spirit. Maybe I’ll light a candle of my own, remember the people I’ve lost.

And then after mass, all of my favorite people will come back here to open the first presents of Christmas Day. Arlo and Miles will be here, and I’ll get to see Arlo’s face all lit up with the joy of the Christmas miracle, and tease him about it.

Tomorrow, Gloria and Marco will arrive from Boston for Christmas Day, and they’ll stay all week. Gloria said she’s persuaded Conor to come with her as well. I plan to show him a great time, get him drunk and maybe laid while he’s here. Poor bastard deserves it.

And the biggest news story of the holiday season has been about the dismantling of an Irish-based, internationally active terrorist group, believed to be responsible for an attack on a hospital a few months back. A recent intelligence breakthrough has led to a seizure of assets and various law enforcement agencies have promised the beginning of an avalanche of arrests.

All in all, life really couldn’t be more perfect than it is now.

"Sure, you don’t want to come?" Sasha asks as they prepare to leave. He’s pulling on his winter coat, and I make him take a scarf, too, because snow is forecast.

"I’m sure," I tell him, smiling up at his frowny brows. "It’ll give me a chance to chill. Literally, if it snows."

"Okay. Well, the guards will be outside, front and back, like always, and you have your personal alarm—"

"Sasha," I say firmly. "Go and enjoy your boring stuff, and then come back fast so we can open presents. Love you." I press my mouth to his, but have to back off halfway into an intense tongue kiss, because Mother is coming downstairs with a sleepy Nico in her arms.

Once they’ve gone, I go out to offer the house guards some eggnog and the presents I got for each of them. They’re way too excited about them, but it makes me happy. I make sure each of them has a hand-warmer heat pack, and then I go back inside and wander around the mansion on my own.

Sasha doesn’t think of me as a loner, and, indeed, I’m naturally more extroverted than he thinks. But I think he forgets, sometimes, that before him, I spent much of my life alone—in hiding from assassins, kidnappers, even my own father and mother—or the people I called my parents, at least.

Tonight I want to remember my other father, the one I never got to know. So I troop down the stairs, leaving the door at the top open so the Christmas jazz I’ve been playing through the house can pipe down here as well, make it less creepy.

I take a bottle of Martino’s preferred whiskey with me, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

We’re in the process of rearranging things down here. There’s a vast wooden wine rack covering the wall now, only half-stocked, but Sasha is keen to keep collecting.

I picture Martino Adonis, his smiling face from is last moments, his confidence in the face of death. He thought of me in his last moments. Me, and Jericho, Lucia, and Sasha, too. He thought about the legacy he was leaving the world.

I unstop the whiskey and raise the bottle. "Merry Christmas, Tino," I say, and then, I’m not sure why—it just feels right—I pour out a measure of the golden liquid on the still-to-be-sealed cement floor. It puddles and then soaks in, the rich, boozy scent wafting up toward my face.

I wait a few minutes, just in case ghosts are real, and Tino has anything to say, but nothing happens except that my balls start shriveling up in the cool air.

But as I hurry back upstairs to the warmth, I’m smiling. Happy. Everything is going to be okay from now on.

I’m sure of it.

I exit the cellar door but as I come out into the hallway, I hear the front door opening. It’s way too early for anyone to be returning from the celebration already, but no alarms have gone off, no guards have run in to hustle me to one of the safe rooms. Heart beating only a little faster, I make my way through to the foyer, where I find my husband hanging up his coat and scarf and pulling off his gloves.

Sasha grins when he sees me, shaking his head ruefully. "I’m sorry, baby bird, I just couldn’t bear to see Christmas Day without you. I hope that’s okay." He holds open his arms, and I jump into them as the grandfather clock upstairs starts chiming midnight. I wind my arms around his neck, hugging him close. "Merry Christmas," Sasha whispers into my ear.

"Thought about this all night," he growled.

The grandfather clock struck midnight. Somewhere upstairs, somebody called for water.

Sasha’s palm slid under my sweater, warm and rough. "Ignore it."

I twisted his wedding ring around his finger. The platinum band caught the Christmas lights—red, then green, then gold. "You’re terrible."

His laugh shook through me. "But you’re home."

And I was.

There’s no mistletoe over us, but I’ve never needed an excuse to kiss him, which is exactly what I do now, passionately, with my whole heart on fire for him.

***

The refrigerator hummed against my spine as Sasha’s teeth scraped my bonding mark. His kiss tasted like stolen moments and impatience.

"Elena’s calling for you," I murmured against his lips.

His thumb dug into my hipbone. "She’s got legs."

A floorboard creaked overhead. Not Elena’s light footsteps—Lucia’s measured tread heading toward the kids’ room. Of course, she’d intercept them. She’d been intercepting things for Sasha since he was baby Martino’s age.

Sasha took advantage of my distraction to bite my lower lip. The sharpness made me gasp, which made him grin.

Somewhere in the house, a pipe groaned.

"You’re thinking too much," Sasha murmured. His knee pressed between mine, warm even through layers of wool and denim.

A crash came from upstairs—probably Martino’s snow globe collection. Again.

Sasha didn’t flinch. His hands slid under my sweater, calluses catching on ribbed cotton. "They’re fine."

The clock ticked. The refrigerator cycled off. Somewhere outside, Miles’ car engine faded into the winter night.

I twisted Sasha’s wedding ring around his finger—three full rotations before he caught my wrist and pinned it against the fridge.

"Missed this," he said against my throat. Not the sex. The quiet.

Footsteps pattered down the stairs.

Sasha sighed but didn’t pull away.

Elena appeared in the doorway, her dark hair a wild cloud around her face. One sock was missing. She blinked at us.

"Daddy... The snow globe people escaped again."

Sasha’s chest vibrated against mine with silent laughter. "Did they now?"

"Grandma says you have to fix it." She held up the glass globe’s metal base, the tiny winter village now scattered across her palm.

I watched Sasha’s face soften. Saw the exact moment Don Sasha Adonis surrendered to little child’s logic.

"Alright, my love." He pressed one last kiss to my temple before pushing off the fridge. "But only if you help clean up the glitter tsunami this time."

Elena grinned, all cheeky and mischievous.

As they disappeared upstairs, I caught the tail end of their conversation:

"—and Mr. Frosty’s head rolled under Tino’s bed—"

"—Christ, not the decapitation incident again—"

The kitchen settled around me. The cocoa had formed a skin in my abandoned mug. Through the window over the sink, snow continued falling—gentle, relentless.

I traced the condensation left by Sasha’s palm on the refrigerator door.

Home.