Mafia Princess

Chapter 11: Mom

Jane’s POV

I showered in Zack’s bathroom. His shampoo smelled like mint and boy. I used it. Sue me.

My clothes showed up at 9am exactly. Marta knocked once, left a pile of folded stuff outside my door, and disappeared. No brand names. No tags. Just soft. Black leggings. Gray shirt. Hoodie — also gray, not black. Sneakers that fit perfectly.

Like someone measured my feet while I slept.

Which was creepy. But also… nice?

I put Peanut on the pillow before I left. He’d earned a break.

At 9:55am, there was a knock. I opened the door.

All three of them were there.

Alexander in a black button-down, sleeves rolled up. Jake in a hoodie that said 'Property of Wilson' across the chest. Zack in black on black, like always, scar catching the hall light.

They looked like a wall.

“Ready?” Alexander asked.

No. “Yes,” I said.

Zack did a sweep of me. Eyes: shoes, leggings, hoodie, face, hands. Checking for injuries, probably. “You good?”

“I’m good,” I said. “Just… nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Jake said, bumping my shoulder. “We’re with you. Rule #8, remember?”

“Made-up rule,” I mumbled.

“Real rule now,” Zack said. “Let’s go.”

They moved. Alexander in front. Me in the middle. Jake to my left. Zack to my right, half a step behind. Like I was a president and they were Secret Service.

It was stupid. It was also the safest I’d felt since Tuesday.

We walked up one floor to 47. The hallway was empty. No staff. No cameras I could see, but I knew they were there.

Sandro’s office door was huge. Wood. No handle. It opened when we got close.

His office was bigger than our whole house in Laguna. Windows on three sides. Manila spread out below us like a map. Desk the size of a car. No pictures. No plants. Just a framed photo facedown on his desk.

Sandro was standing by the window. Hands behind his back. He didn’t turn when we came in.

“Sit,” he said.

There was one chair in front of his desk. The rest of the room was empty.

“I’ll stand,” I said. My voice was small.

“You’ll sit,” Sandro said. Still not turning. “Your brothers can stand.”

Your brothers.

Alexander, Jake, and Zack moved without a word. Alexander to the left of the chair. Jake to the right. Zack directly behind it.

I sat. My feet didn’t touch the floor. Again.

Sandro turned.

He looked worse than yesterday. Or better. I couldn’t tell. There were shadows under his eyes. His suit was perfect. His face wasn’t.

“You met Viktor,” he said. Not a question.

“Yes, po— yes, sir,” I said. Then winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sandro said. “Not to me. Not for that.” He walked to his desk. Sat. The chair didn’t creak. Nothing in this room creaked. “You did well.”

“I threw up in the bathroom after,” I admitted. Then covered my mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Stop apologizing,” Zack said from behind me. Quiet. But firm.

Sandro’s eyes flicked to Zack. Then back to me. “Good. If you didn’t throw up, you didn’t try hard enough.”

“Oh,” I said.

He leaned forward. Elbows on the desk. Hands clasped. “You want answers. I will give them. But once. Then we do not speak of it again unless I say. Understood?”

I nodded. My throat was dry.

“Your mother’s name was Elena Wilson,” Sandro said. “She was 22 when she had you and Jake. She was the only person I ever loved more than power.”

Past tense. "Loved"

“She died,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“She died,” Sandro confirmed. “Three hours after you were born. Complications. The doctor said twins were too much. Her body… gave out.”

My chest hurt. “I killed her.”

“No,” Sandro said. Sharp. Fast. “I did. I put her in that position. I married her knowing what my life was. Knowing what my enemies were. She paid for my sins.”

Jake made a sound. Like he’d been holding his breath. Alexander put a hand on the back of my chair. Zack shifted closer behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I felt him.

“There was a war,” Sandro continued. “My father’s war, then mine. The other families wanted Wilson blood on the walls. They came for Elena first. She was safe. Then she wasn’t. Then she was dead.”