Page 24 of Mafia And Maid

The smell fills the kitchen and my mouth waters. I survey the spread. Freshly chopped salad with a homemade dressing and the steak and fries sizzling away as they cook. An angry growl erupts from my stomach. I’ve gone days without eating much, and this meal isn’t for me.

I pull out the dishes and set the table. The last plate and the napkin leave my hands just as the front door opens.

I tug at the white T-shirt that’s rising over the slope of my hips. My hands are clammy and shaking as I move back around the counter to clean up the small stack of dishes.

I hear someone go into the office while someone else goes up the staircase.

Dessert. Oh God, I’ve forgotten about dessert. “Shit,” I mutter, wincing at the way the sound travels around the quiet space. The flannel slips from my hand and splashes into the hot soapy water, flinging the suds onto my T-shirt and chin. Hastily, I mop at them with one hand while the other hand fumbles around in the water to find the sponge.

Terror seizes my legs, and I lock them in place to keep them from wobbling over. The last thing I need to do is faint on my first day. But I know I’ve already messed up.

After a few minutes, I hear a couple of people coming into the kitchen, so I start to dish up. Their voices carry toward me until there’s an abrupt halt in their conversation.

A low snarl sounds.

I whirl around.

“Who the fuck are you?”

And the blood drains from my face.

Two men dressed in black tailored suits and dress shirts glare at me. The slightly older looking one must be Marco. I can’t find my voice as his pitch-dark eyes narrow onto me.

The other man, who must be Alessio, tilts his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “He asked you a question,” he growls.

The walls close in, inch by inch. And Marco’s eyes scan me like a predator about to pounce.

“I-I…” I swallow thickly. My mouth gapes open like a fish.

Marco’s large hand slams against the counter.

Flinching, my back pushes up against the sink.

“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

“Rosa,” I squeak out.

“Rosa who?”

I try to speak again, but only a croak comes out. I grasp the counter with a tight grip to keep myself up. “I’m the…new maid.”

“What’s for dinner?” A familiar voice sounds as I watch Camillo shoulder past his brothers and slide into a chair at the table. “I’m hungry,” he complains. “Can’t you wait to chew her out until after we’ve eaten?”

“The new maid will tell you what’s for dinner,” Marco taunts without taking his eyes off me.

“I told you I hired someone.” Camillo’s voice rumbles in defense.

Marco looks me up and down. “Are you actually qualified to do this sort of job?” he demands in a terse, terrifying voice.

I can’t breathe around the lump in my throat. It’s like he can sense that I’m weak, worthless, and totally wrong for this job. He’s like a shark in the waters scenting blood.

Everything is swaying.

I can hear the thunder of my pulse in my ears drowning out everything around me.

“Mr. Camillo hired…me today. One…month’s trial.”

Marco leans closer and looms over me, looking me up and down, pinning me with his terrifying stare. “I’ve got three rules for new maids,” he says in a low, dangerous voice. “One. If you break it, you pay for it.”