Page 21 of Mafia And Maid
And I can’t steal. Which is fine because I never steal. Although Grayden would definitely disagree with this—because he’d say that I’d just stolen our son.
Oh Jesus, I haven’t got a hope in hell of keeping this job.
“We’re here,” Camillo says as he guides us smoothly through the gates, past scary-looking armed men, and up the drive.
His house—his mansion—is stunning, but the only real detail I can take in is the huge statue of the Virgin Mary which stands on the front lawn.
Then my eyes drop from Mr. Marchiano and hit my lap as finally I place his name and face... He and his brothers are business associates of my father—they’re bloodthirsty made men.Oh God, what have I got myself into?Men like the Marchianos, Grayden, and my father take what they want and snuff the life out of things that stand in their way…
Grayden’s criticism is one thing, but who knows how men like the Marchianos deal with failure and mistakes? I’m their employee now, and every single detail of my work and performance will be put under the microscope by them. The SUV parks up, and I stumble out. But my feet are rooted to the floor of the garage. And I feel panic rise.
My chest tightens.
This is a mistake.
I’ve been so desperate that I haven’t thought it through.
I’ve traded one house of horrors for another.
“Rosa?”
My fists clench at my side. That faint little voice, the one that told me to run from Grayden, whispers it’ll be alright. And I desperately want to listen to it now. Even if it’s just for a week, I’ll earn enough money to buy me some time to try again.
I can hear the breaths coming in and out of my mouth, faster and faster. The world swims, and dots dance across my visions.
“Rosa?” The urgent snap of his voice jerks me back to the present.
Ducking my head, I start walking toward the newest devil in charge of my life. I clench my teeth together and will my mind to quiet—to stop the string of thoughts that bombard me like bullets, each one shattering more of what remaining confidence I have after it’s been battered again and again over the years. And now, there’s nothing but a husk left behind—a husk of a woman I should have been but will never be.
With a feigned confidence and some semblance of dignity I don’t feel or have, I lift my chin and meet Camillo’s arched brow. He stands by the door, his head tilted as he regards me.
This is rock bottom, a pit of hell I’m willingly walking into, and I’m not going to give up. I can’t give up.
My jaw nearly unhinges as I take in the interior of the mansion. From the outside, it seemed massive, but inside it hits me that this is now all my responsibility. Dread wells inside of me, threatening to cement me to the ground as he gives me a brief tour of the first level.
First, he shows me into a sprawling open plan reception room that’s home to a spacious living room, a dining area, and a kitchen that is piled with dirty dishes everywhere.
He opens the refrigerator. “You’ll probably have to stock up on food, but see what you can find for dinner.”
I catch sight of some readymade pizza crusts and tons of various toppings—pepperoni, sausage, ham, mozzarella. They must like pizza—and that’s definitely something that I can’t get too wrong. “Shall I make pizza for tonight? There’s plenty of ingredients—”
“No,” Camillo snaps, making me jump. “Those ingredients are leftovers. I bought too many.”
“What, er, would you like me to cook?”
“I’ll leave that to you to figure out. Just make sure that it’s not pizza.”
I give a quick nod.
“And make sure that it’s cooked through and not left soggy at the bottom,” he blurts out.
My eyes widen as I nod again.
“And it can’t be burned on top…”
I gulp. He’s obviously remembering my feeble answers when he asked about my cooking skills.
“And make sure you include some vegetables.”