Page 22 of Mafia And Maid
“I can do that,” I squeak.
“But make sure they’re not raw.”
Oh God, he’s convinced that dinner’s going to be a disaster—and after all the feedback I’ve got from Grayden over the last few years, I know that he’s right.
He leads me into a small room a little way from the main reception room. “The previous maid used this as her bedroom.” The room is tiny, almost like a broom closet, and it has a small attached bathroom. “We gave her the choice of our guest rooms, but she insisted she wanted to be on the first floor.” He shrugs. “I think she might have heard Marco having sex. I mean, heispretty loud—”
“This will do me fine for a bedroom,” I say as quickly as I can.
He shows me the rest of the rooms on this level, including an office, plus so many other rooms that I find it hard to keep count of them all.
I climb the stairs slowly after him, holding onto the dusty banister as I follow his broad back up the stairs. A running list starts in my head as soon as I see each room and make a mental note of all the things that need to be cleaned if I’m to do a good enough job.
“This is my brother Alessio’s room.” He pauses, rubbing at his neck. “He’s, um, particular about how things are put away.”
I nod quickly. The heavy door opens, and I peer inside. It’s relatively clean.
The next few rooms aren’t too terribly kept either, but with each new room, the list in my head grows longer and longer. It’ll be a tough job, but doable—I hope. Already, I’m mapping out the path to get it done in the most efficient way possible, plus what products I’ll need and what equipment.
Camillo stops before another door, and he heaves a sigh. “You’ll be starting here.”
“Yes, Mr. Marchiano,” I murmur.
“It’s just… You can just call me Camillo.”
I merely nod. Because calling him that would be far too familiar for someone I’m supposed to be working for. Even Grayden hadn’t wanted me to call him by his first name. I shudder as I remember what he would say: “Keep my name out of your filthy, worthless mouth, you stupid bitch.”
Perhaps Camillo doesn’t mind if I call him by his first name, but his brothers definitely might. I make another mental note not to call them anything other than ‘Mr. Marchiano’ or ‘sir’—else I’ll probably find myself out on the street once more.
“This is my room,” he says as he gestures at the closed door in front of us. “I have to go and deal with some work stuff, so I’ll leave you to sort out what you need. There are supplies down in the hall closet, some under the basin in the bathroom, and more in the cupboard next to the pantry.”
So, spread out and far from each other. I nod, not wanting to cause problems already. Grayden always hated how I’d make sure all my supplies were on hand in a small rolling caddy unless it was specific to a room. He said it made me look like a cheap motel maid and not the wife of a prominent businessman like himself.
The sound of Camillo’s thundering feet on the stairs makes me flinch, and I take a deep inhalation through my mouth, trying to settle myself. My hands shake as I turn the doorknob.
I immediately regret it.
The piles of dishes in the kitchen were bad enough, but this room looks like a bomb’s gone off in it.
The same wood flooring from the hallway is buried beneath the piles—no, make that mountains—of clutter. Discarded clothing is tossed in heaps all over the place—it’s hard to know what’s clean and what isn’t—and a multitude of empty drinks, car magazines, electronics chargers, and other various items lie discarded wherever they were finished with.
Oh God, what did I sign up for?
I take a few steps back into the hallway. Surely, he doesn’t really live like this, does he? This is a test. Ithasto be a test. Right? And if I fail, I’ll be out…
Okay, Rosa. One step at a time.
The mental pep talk does nothing for the way my body quivers. I ball my hands and make a quick beeline downstairs to what is now my bedroom.
There I find a closetful of clothes that the last maid must have left behind. She looks like she might have been a similar size to me. I run my hands over a pretty jade green velvet dress. Why on earth would she leave this all behind? I can only think that she must have left in a hurry.
I pick out a pair of black sweatpants and a simple white T-shirt. They’re freshly laundered and ironed, and I decide that these will do as a makeshift uniform for now. Even though the top is a little too tight around my breasts and middle, at least it’s clean and presentable.
From a simple glance, it’s clear these men are almost as desperate as I am. The thought should make me feel better, should give me some semblance of power, but all it does is make me anxious. Because what it actually means is that there are even more things that they’ll expect me to do perfectly, with every remaining speck of dust or smudge being stacked against me, just like Grayden used to do.
I go to the places Camillo mentioned and gather everything I can find to tackle the problems I’ve seen. The familiar feel of the bright yellowrubber on my hands and forearms is oddly soothing and enough to keep the panic from dragging me under its waves. And with the quick snap of a trash bag, I set to work in Camillo’s room.
I start with the empty drink containers, mostly energy drinks, which look like they haven’t been here for that long, thank goodness. Then, I decide to tackle the endless piles of clothes. On closer inspection, most of the clothes appear to be clean, but I don’t want to risk putting a used item back into the closet, so instead, I bundle them to take down to the laundry room later.