Page 11 of Mafia And Maid
This.This right here is why there’s no way in hell I’d ever willingly put myself in such a situation. Terrors, every single one of them, despite how angelic they look. A wife? Kids? It isn’t worth the headache.
That’s for someone else. Someone whose soul isn’t pitch black and dark. Someone who isn’t me…
My attention snaps back to the two kids wailing. Markers are laid all over the floor and papers are balled and crumpled around them. It’s a fucking mess.
“Hey.” I move in to kneel before them. “What’s the problem?”
“Fia won’t share!”
“I wasn’t done with my turn!”
“I wanted a turn!”
“You hog them!”
Back and forth, they continue before I give a sharp whistle. Both cover their ears.
“What the fuck is going on down there?” The voice of my brother, Marco, booms from the top landing.
“Nothing! Everything is fine!” I holler back. “Go finish your shi… stuff.” I turn back toward the little cuddle monsters, eyeing every one of them. “Alright, enough,” I say in the best commanding tone I can muster. “We’re going to clean up the mess. And then, everyone is going to sit down and watch the movie I’m going to put on. Okay?”
There’s a chorus of “Yes, Uncle Millo” and “Yes, Uncle Millie,” Millo and Millie being the nicknames my family have given me. The children’s words are music to my ears. And that’s that. Peace and quiet at last. I sag back onto the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
The youngest, two-year-old Iris, clambers up beside me, taking in the paper with the scribbles done by Vincenzo. “You look so handsome in the picture, Uncle Millo,” she says in her sweet little voice. Then she rests her sleepy head against me, sticking her thumb in her mouth.
And I can’t help but smile down at her as I wrap my arm around her in a hug. It isn’t so bad looking after the rugrats.
Yeah, it isn’t so bad, but it’s stillnot for me...
***
A few weeks have passed since the women and kids left for Italy. Our two younger siblings, Debi and Danio, have also flown out there—Danio is overseeing all the security arrangements while they’re there. It’s not safe for them to be in the States right now—the feds are on our backs and have been picking up Fratellanza wives and family members on spurious charges and trying to get information out of them.
I’ve just walked into the mansion’s office to talk over some business issues with my older brothers when we hear my bedroom door slamming shut, and our latest maid, Savona, thundering down the stairs.
She bursts through the door and marches up to us. “That’s it! I can’t take any more! I’m out!” She jabs a finger in my direction. “What I have to go through inhisroom every day has left me traumatized for life!” And then she storms out.
Alessio looks surprised, I try to look innocent, and Marco looks like he wants to kill me.
As we watch her depart, I try to avoid looking at my brothers. “For fuck’s sake, Camillo,” Marco snarls. “What’s been going on in your bedroom? Did you proposition her?”
My brows shoot up. “Did Iwhat?”
“Did. You. Ask. To. Fuck. Her?”
I exhale a sigh through my clenched teeth. “No, I did not.” I grit out the words as my brother continues to glare at me. “For God’s sake, Marco, she must be at least seventy.”
“So, what the hell did she see in there?” he demands. “It better not have been fucking porn magazines or something like a sex doll.”
“Why do you always think the worst of me?” I exclaim in a slightly injured tone. Marco and Alessio practically brought up me and our youngest two siblings after our parents were killed, and they’ve never entirely got out of the habit of acting like parents to us. It’s fucking annoying at times like this, but I try to remind myself how much responsibility they had to take on after our father murdered our mom—before our father was himself killed. Yeah, our family is pretty fucked up.
“Maybe we should try to persuade her to come back,” Alessio suggests. “We can promise her that Millo will go to confession every day for the next week.”
“I’m telling you, there are no porn mags or sex toys in my room,” I insist.
But neither of my brothers are listening to me. “Nah, a week won’t be enough.” Marco shakes his head. “He’ll have to go to confession daily for at least a month. That might swing it—you know how religious Savona is—”
I slam my hand down on the desk. “I’m not fucking going to fucking confession for the next fucking month!” I growl. “I’m telling you, she didn’t see any porn mags or sex toys.”