Page 13 of Mafia And Maid

The word whispers through my head, and I swallow the bile that burns my throat. Monster. Thug. Beast. That’s what the world sees when it faces me. A creature capable of only bloody and brutish things. A savage. I was more than glad to fill the role they chose for me before I knew what was happening or what it meant. I’m their villain.

My hands squeeze tighter, and I hit the bag harder, feeling my wrapping stretch and snap. I don’t care. I need the sting to keep my mind in here, in the gym, rather than where it has no fucking business going.

Thud, thud, thud.

Even the metallic scent of blood doesn’t make me stop.

Finally, putting my hands on my knees, I gulp air like a drowning man. Each inhalation through my nose feels like torture and heaven all at once. I suck down more oxygen before I stand up. Reaching for my water bottle, I squeeze my eyes shut and let the cold water pour over my hair and neck.

The knot holding the long, thick strands of my hair back from my face unravels, my strands swishing back and forth against my skull as I shake them out like the animal the world thinks I am.

The irony of it isn’t lost on me, but I have better things to fucking deal with than how acceptable my hair is to society.

I scrub my battered hand down my face. Our mansion is a complete mess right now, and dealing with my furious brothers is a pain in the ass. I know I need to fix this fucking mess—but how the hell am I going to do it in only two days?

CHAPTER 3

ROSA

My clothes are the same ones given to me two days ago at the shelter. I have no spare money to buy new ones, and I’m far too big to fit into anything of Kori’s. I look and feel miserable.

My hands shake as I take in my shabby appearance in the window I pass. The hair dye is patchy at best, brown in some places and an orangey color in others. It’s definitely not the solid black it’s meant to be. The jagged ends of my bob aren’t as noticeable if I keep my hair tucked behind my ears, but I still know they’re there.

My stomach protests with hunger, and I feel a little dizzy, but I ball my hand. A little less to eat won’t hurt me. There’s plenty of fat to spare. The words sound distinctly like my mother's as they ring through my head.

All day, I’ve been walking the streets again and trying anywhere and everywhere in the hope of finding a job. I need to find something, anything, to just get back on my feet. To simply provide for my son and prove to the world I’m not as worthless as Grayden or my family think.

Except as I sit on the bench, looking at my trembling hands, I think they’re right. What do I know about working—about anything? Myentire life, I’ve been reaching out for unobtainable goals and failing every time. Tears sting my eyes, and I push out a breath, willing them away.

Ethan’s wide brown eyes and trembling mouth flash into my mind, giving me the energy to push off the bench and march into the sleek casino across the street from me. I smooth a hand down my side, over the curve of my hip, pulling out the wrinkles as best I can.

I keep my eyes downcast as I move into the building, hoping not to draw the wrong kind of attention.

Catching my lip between my teeth, I do a quick scan of the lobby, searching for the front desk.

Around me, women in their skin-tight clothing and designer fashion labels drape themselves over men whose high-end suits and polished shoes scream money. I freeze in the doorway. They might know Grayden or my father. My blood runs cold as I quickly look for an escape.

But the casino might be hiring. I can’t leave, not without even asking if they have any job openings. But if someone sees me, they might tell Grayden.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

A body jostles into me, and I hear the indignant huff of a woman behind me. It’s the push I need to take a step, and then another. The front desk comes into view. I practically fling myself to the side of it, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as I clutch onto the edge.

“Can I help you?”

My gaze lifts to a sharply dressed woman. Her name badge tells me that she’s called Stella. Her lips form a smile that definitely doesn’t reach her eyes—like she knows I don’t belong in a place like this.

I need to say something. I need to open my mouth.

“Hello?” she grits out.

I blink, feeling my nails bite into my palm hard enough to leave little crescents behind. “Yes. I just…wanted to ask if you have any openings? The woman at the pharmacy down the street said that she thought you’re hiring.”

Her brow arches as her gaze drifts lower, taking in my shabby clothing—and probably also my weight.

“We’re not really looking to hire anyone.”

“Please,” I plead, clearing my throat when it cracks around the word. “You have to have something.Anything.”