Page 20 of Mafia And Maid
Kori also insisted that she lend me a couple of books in case I have any spare time and want to try and keep my mind off things—as if I’m going to be able to do anything except think about Ethan—but I appreciate her trying to help me. Kori knows how hard it is for me toleave my son, especially after what we’ve just been through, but I know for certain that he’ll be safe with her and taken care of.
Just after 10 a.m., I breathe a huge sigh of relief when Camillo—Mr. Marchiano, I correct myself in my mind—arrives. With each minute that ticked by past the allocated time, a hundred doubts rushed through my mind, worrying that he’d changed his mind.
He frowns when he sees my small bag. “Is that all your stuff?”
“I don’t need much,” I say quickly.
He reaches out a large hand. “I’ll carry it out to the car.”
“Oh no, please don’t trouble yourself. I can manage...”
“Give it to me,” he growls in a low voice, and I immediately hand it over, trying not to let my hand shake.
We get into his sleek black SUV, and I sit huddled in the passenger seat, trying to make myself as small as possible.
He drives through the streets with ease. His phone vibrates with messages in the holder on the dashboard, but otherwise, it’s silent. His right hand wraps around the steering wheel, bulging the veins and drawing my attention to the pattern of lines that lead up his arms under the rolled-up sleeves of his dark shirt.
The open-mouth skull swallows a rose as it fades into the crackly branches of a tree, surrounded by more roses in some seamless blend of dark shadows and highlights like smoke. There’s a story behind them, but I know it’s not one I should be interested in. I swallow hard, turning my attention back to the front and not to the man beside me. Ruthless and bloody to the very core, he’s dangerous—especially with those thick scars along his knuckles.
“Do you have questions?”
“No,” I whisper.
“None?”
“No, sir.”
He exhales before his hand flexes against the steering wheel, straining those inky lines. “Okay. I have a question.”
I nod.
“Why did you agree?”
“Like I said, I need the job.”
“Why?”
I open my mouth and snap it shut again.
“Never mind,” he says when he sees I’m not going to explain further.
I fiddle with my hands in my lap, and I’m thankful when he changes the subject.
“Now, I know we addressed this in the interview, but you need to know a little more about what you’re getting into with my brothers. You’ll be in charge of the cooking, cleaning, maintaining the house, and ensuring that all our domestic needs are met in full. Okay?”
“I understand,” I whisper.
The hand with the open-mouth skull rubs at his jaw, and he mutters another one of those Italian curses I don’t understand. “Nulla…difficile per chi…” I want to ask him what he means, but I know my place. I’m an employee now. Seen and not heard. Spoken to and not with. I’m not here to get to know him or his brothers. I’m here for a job. Not to learn what makes a man like him tick, or why he’d chosen those specific ink designs. Ethan’s counting on me.
“Why have the previous maids not lasted?” I ask carefully, wanting to know exactly what I should avoid doing.
He rubs the back of his neck. “From the maids we’ve had over the last month, I would say that there were four main issues. Maids 1 and 5 couldn’t clean to my brothers’ exacting standards. Maids 2, 3, and 6 couldn’t cook for shit. Maid 7 lied to us by not telling us that her brother was a cop. Maid 8 stole from us and hoped we wouldn’t notice. And Maid 9 just didn’t last.”
I take a deep gulp. Now I know what I have to do to keep this job...
I’ll have to impress with my cooking and cleaning—but as Grayden has always found fault, I know I’ll have to try much, much harder.
I can’t lie to them in any way. Which is okay because I never lie—except when I forgot to tell Camillo that I’m on the run from my husband and that I have a son.