His Mafia Prince

(SASHA)

I'm barely 30. That's an age considered too young for this job. However, know it will not stop me from seeing my duties through. Young as I am, I believe I have the respect of people for the most part. But, I'm sure some of my father's men won't like being ordered around by someone half their age.

"It's very serious." My mother says on the other end, and judging from the way she is speaking, I can tell the situation isn't good.

"I'll be there shortly." I grumble.

"Okay, hurry up." She says, almost relieved. Much as this is hard on me, I know it is harder on her. Watching the life leave the love of her life by the second had to be the toughest moment of her life. As usual, their marriage had been an arrangement between two mafia families to strengthen their alliances, but over time, it grew into a loving, wholesome relationship. That too, was washing away right before her eyes.

As soon as I hang up, Miles is already turning the car as we head for my family estate. The drive seems like an eternity, but soon enough, we reach the gates of the Adonis residence. They open up, and Miles drives to an empty parking lot. much as I have lived here pretty much my whole life, the beauty of my home enthralls me. The perfectly manicured hedges, the earth-toned walls, the architecture–everything about this place warms my heart.

I step out of the car and hurry towards the house, so fast that I can feel my legs stumble over each other.

One thing about my father is that he will never let his condition pin him down. Judging by how much wasted he looks, I can tell that he has lost more than just a few pounds. Yet, he refuses to be bedridden. He is busy in his study scuffing over a bunch of documents, still strong-willed as ever.

He lifts his gaze to meet mine. "Sasha, you're here." He says. "Come on. Sit. He points to the Chesterfield set in front of his desk, which I don't want to sit on. Part of my brain tells me he makes people sit there so they can feel small. Instead, I lean against the seat, crossing my arms over my chest.

He sighs, resting his arms on his desk. That is the only way I can tell he is fatigued, because knowing my father, he would never at any point put a show of weakness-not even now. I swallow hard, a knot forming at the pit of my stomach.

He clears his throat. "I'll just cut to the chase." He says, and I narrow my eyes intently, curious to know what's happening.