Page 172 of Mafia And Maid

The soft pad of footsteps down the halls isn’t an unusual thing anymore. The security here has always been quiet and unseen, but they’ve beefed it up since everyone returned home. A safety precaution.

It should scare me. These men are every bit of the monsters the world makes them out to be. Ruthless, with blood on their hands, they’ve earned their reputations. But behind closed doors, they’re different. A good different.

But the sound of those footsteps is slightly off. Enough that it tickles my mind and sends the hair on the back of my neck rising.

I shake my head again. It’s just my old habits resurfacing.

As I focus on finishing the den, I hum to myself and let my mind drift to the man who’s helped me rebuild my life. The way he looks at me. The way he looks at Ethan. Like we’ve hung the moon and stars, and he can’t believe we’re his.

I dust my hand on my jeans as I straighten.

Hot breath brushes the back of my neck.

And my blood turns to ice.

“Did you really think I’d let you go?”

My stomach plummets.

“Nothing to say, whore?”

How? Why? When? My heart hammers against my ribs.

And every piece of self-defense Camillo taught me blanks from my mind.

“If I can’t have you, Rosa, I’m sure as fuck not going to let him have you. And when I’m done with you, I’m taking my goddamn son.”

His powerful hand grabs the back of my neck.

I struggle against his hold.

But he only tightens it. And the cold wood floor crashes into me.

Grayden’s face is red. He looms over me. His lips are curled into a sneer. And the acidic smell of alcohol wafts from him.

The bile inches higher up my throat. I scramble back, hitting the back of the couch. “Please—”

“Please?” His hard laugh fills the room. “Pleasewhat? You think I’m going to fall for your fucking waterworks?”

His boot connects with my ribs. And the air pulls from my lungs in a harsh gust.

“You’re a worthless fat bitch.”

Another slam of his leather clad foot connects with my stomach.

I roll to my side. But two powerful hands grab my arms.

I kick and wildly try to create some distance between us.

I just need to get into a room. Somewhere I can lock the door and wait for help.

My heel connects with his jaw. There’s a satisfying crack.

His hands drop. And I crawl across the floor as fast as I can.

But a hard yank on my ankle sends me sprawling back into the hard floor.

“I’m going to send you and that Marchiano fucker a message. He thinks he can beat me? That he can have what’s mine?”