Page 87 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

I can see it in how they lean into his touch, how they ask for him when they wake.

And maybe what terrifies me most is how easily I let it happen.

We’re moving into routine now.

Their uniforms are laid out for school—navy cardigans with pressed white collars, little shoes polished to a shine. Monday is only a breath away.

I’ve already called the school to finalize their enrollment, confirming every detail with an exactness that would make any administrator proud.

A Salvatore driver will take them.

The school is private, quiet, tucked just past the old quarter of the city.

My life is finally beginning to make sense in a way I'd never dared hope for.

And even then, even now, I worry this is nothing but a house of cards.

They are all here now.

Under one roof.

Safe.

But how long will that last?

16

DANTE

After a long day of work, I make it back to the south wing, at a time when the guards posted at intervals along the estate have relaxed into a silent, nocturnal rhythm, somehow alert even in their somnolence.

My jacket is slung over my shoulder, and my tie hangs loose, the knot tugged down hours ago.

Business today was worse than usual—intel filtering in about a shipment intercepted near the docks, rumors of a local capo growing too bold for his own good, and word from Luca that one of our long-standing allies might be reconsidering their loyalties.

The city is shifting.

I can feel it in my bones.

I’ve never had much patience for politics, but lately, I’ve had no choice but to learn.

And tonight, for the first time in a long time, I felt every ounce of the weight that comes with our name.

I don’t know if I’m ready for all of it, but I’m here now. No more running.

The suite door is half-open when I reach it, and for a second, I pause.

A flicker of golden light spills out from within.

I almost knock, almost say her name, but something tells me not to.

When I step inside, the space smells like lavender and something sweeter, faintly familiar.

Gianna is there, curled up on the couch near the window, still in her evening dress from dinner, but her feet are bare.

She must have heard me come in because she looks up without surprise.

"Late night?" she asks, her voice quiet but clear.