Maid for the Italian Mafia Read online

  Matteo didn’t want privacy so no one would see us. He wanted privacy so he could focus on me and me alone. No distractions as he made love to me for the first time.

  Once I make my way in through the tiny side door of the garage I plop down on my futon that doubles as my bed. My phone is still in my hand, but I realize I don’t actually have Matteo’s number. All my dealings with the Milano Mansion have been through Gabriele…and she’s off today, not to mention I shouldn’t involve, or trouble, her with this. This of course being the trouble I created for myself.

  I get horizontal on my futon and try and figure out what my next move is.

  Matteo probably hates me, or at least thinks I’m mentally unstable now. What I did was crazy and reckless and I just want to take a nap and forget it ever happened, knowing of course I have to deal with this as soon as I wake up, if I can even fall asleep.

  I don’t know what to do, or what I will do, but I do know one thing…tomorrow morning I’ll be back at work. I can’t lose this job, no matter how much humble pie I need to swallow to go back there and show my face.

  Then again, it will be good for my growth as a person, and just like Karen said, “It too shall pass.”

  I just wonder if Matteo wants to take a pass on me now, or if his promises of forever really are forever.

  I guess tomorrow will give me the perfect opportunity to see, if he’s even there. He could easily have plans or more important things to do, but regardless I’ll find things out in due time…including whether or not I even have a job.

  I’ve always considered myself good at observing people and getting down to their truest intentions, except for that one time I didn’t. Tomorrow, or whenever I see Matteo next, will put that hypothesis to the test. Was I just a hidden conquest, some kind of checkbox of sleeping with a virgin that works for him that he wanted to check off, or is this real?

  I’ll find out soon enough…I hope.

  Because I know how I feel now that I’ve had a chance to process everything.

  This is real…very real.

  But after this, will he still feel the same?

  CHAPTER 11

  Matteo

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Do I look like I’m fucking okay?” I snap back. “Come here and hold this bag,” I growl for good measure. “And put your back into it because I’m about to knock the fucker off the chain that's holding it.”

  Anthony, my biggest security guy at six foot nine, one hell of a brute from Sardinia, puts his shoulder into the bag and leans into it…but it’s no use.

  A flurry of punches followed by an absolutely devastating right cross rain down on the bag, the final cross sending Anthony to his ass and the bag falling to the floor.

  “Fuck, boss. That thing was rated for ten years, and we just put it in last month.”

  “Yeah, well something else I had was rated for life and I damn near destroyed that in under a week.”

  “You talking about the maid?” Anthony says as he starts to get to his feet. I rush over to him, standing right over the top of him and looking down at him, making sure he knows there’s no room to get up and just who’s in control right now.

  “She’s not a fucking maid. She was handling domestic duties for a short time and now she’ll never wash a dish, fold a sheet, or dust a damn thing for the rest of her life.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry, boss.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t forget it.”

  I let the moment hang in the air for a second, making sure it sinks in before I give Anthony my hand and jerk him to his feet.

  “Why are you up at this hour anyway?” I ask.

  “I always do rounds along the perimeter at three in the morning,” he says with a raised eyebrow. “Have been for almost a decade…and I know you watch me on those CCTV’s you’ve got.”

  I look sideways at Anthony who is really pressing his luck right now.

  “Sorry, Mr. Milano. I was just trying to lighten the mood. You seem stressed the fuck out, and it’s not like you to be in the gym at this hour. I’ve been working out at this time after my rounds for years, and I’ve never seen you once. It’s good to see you in here, but more importantly it’s good to see you…less angry than usual, which you’re clearly not right now. I’m just trying to help out.

  He’s right. I’m acting like a raging dickhead in spite of his efforts to take my mind off my troubles, or should I say my trouble. Nothing has ever bothered me this much in my entire life, and I need to put an end to it. There’s nothing Anthony, or anyone, can do to help me either. No one except her.

  I run a hand through my hair and catch sight of myself in the side mirror that’s there to make sure you lift with proper form. Well, my “form” right now looks like complete garbage. I haven’t shaved, my five o’clock shadow evidence of that, and my bloodshot eyes telegraph that I’ve yet to sleep…which is the furthest thing from my mind right now…because I’m not sleeping with her, as I should be.

  Tonight was supposed to be perfect, and I went and ruined it, although I’m still not completely sure why or how. Hell, I’m not even sure if Mandy will show up for work in a few hours, but just like in the cutthroat world of the underground business I operate in, I have to “assume the sale,” as they say. Or in this case I have to assume she’ll be here.

  But screw that. I’m not sitting back on my heels waiting for things to happen. I’m going to make things happen. I told her she’s mine and that’s the damn truth, now and forever. And as she’s mine it’s my responsibility to get to the bottom of this, make things right, and win her trust back in the process…showing her exactly why she’s mine.

  “Have the Range Rover ready at six. I’m not going to disturb her while she sleeps, but I’m going to knock on her door the minute she’s likely to wake up.”

  “You got it boss.”

  Anthony probably thinks I’m crazy, but I don’t care. I have to get this fixed before I can think about anything else, mostly because I can’t think about anything else. I can’t focus. I can’t think. I can barely fucking breathe knowing she’s out there hurting…especially because of me.

  *****

  Six o’clock rolls around and we speed down the driveway toward the front gate. I’ve got a cappuccino in hand for her, made from my imported Italian coffee machine. For me it’s the best or nothing, and I’m taking the best coffee to the best woman in the world. My woman.

  On the way there we stop by Sofia’s flower shop. She’s an older woman from Cinque Terre, a string of centuries-old seaside villages on the rugged Italian Riviera coastline, and an area known for beautiful flowers. It’s no wonder she came over here on a boat years ago, and opened up the best flower shop in the city.

  I don’t know much about flowers but I do know about loyalty, and Sofia has been my go to for each and every time I need to send flowers to a business associate to congratulate them or offer my condolences, which is far too often in my life.

  Not anymore.

  When we pull up Sofia’s there, opened just for me, holding a bouquet of white and red roses.

  “Why white?” I ask, after I kiss each of her cheeks and thank her for her special help this morning.

  “Red, for love, as you know. White symbolizes unity, and I could hear in your voice you want to be with this woman…dare I say forever, Matteo?”

  “You know me too well, Sofia.”

  She smiles, hands me the roses, and I hand her an envelope with enough cash to buy a used Ducati. It’s worth it, because my woman is worth it…not that I can put a price on how she makes me feel.

  I wish her a happy eightieth birthday in advance, as it’s next week, and I’m right back in the Range Rover speeding to Mandy’s place. I just hope she put the right address on her application, and that the P.I. I sent to scope out each and every applicant’s place did a thorough job. In my line of work I have to research everyone who might enter my home. It’s a way of life. Some might call it stalking, I call it preventati
ve maintenance.

  And that might just be the difference between getting to my woman before she does something that jeopardizes what we have, like buying a plane ticket and trying to run from me.

  I won’t allow it.

  I wanted to come here last night, but I gave her the time she needed to unwind…at least I hope it was enough.

  My foot hits the pavement before Anthony pulls the car to a stop.

  The sound of my feet running up the sidewalk is almost the same rhythm my fingers were drumming out on the dashboard the whole way here.

  “Mandy! Open up,” I command as I pound on the door.

  I can’t remember the last time I ran in a public setting like that. It’s completely not the way a boss handles himself, and not that I needed a moment to realize it, but if I did this sure is the one.

  I love this woman. My woman. She’s my everything…has been since I laid eyes on her and always will be.

  “Who the…?” the guy answering the door wisely bites his tongue when he sees my size and the look in my eye.

  “Where’s Mandy?”

  “She lives around the side in the garage, I mean the converted studio apartment.”

  “Did you say a fucking garage?” I snarl.

  “Well…see…it’s completely furnished luxury studio now that I’ve—“

  “I’ll deal with your ass later,” I say over my shoulder as I bolt around the side of the house. That’s a promise and a threat.

  I see a light on inside and pound on the door. I hear some voices and it’s only then that my greatest fear is imagined.

  She ran to the arms of another guy.

  I grab the handle ready to rip the fucker clear off and put my shoulder into the flimsy wood door, but before I do it comes swinging open.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I say through gritted teeth. The guy’s jaw hits the ground as he looks me square in the eye. Good, I won’t feel bad about kicking the ass of a man my size. And since when are there so many big guys everywhere I turn? “If you don’t answer me before I set these flowers down you’re gonna be getting your own set of flowers, but not from me, as you lie in a hospital bed.”

  “Calm down, buddy.”

  “I’m not your fucking buddy, buddy,” I say.

  “The name’s Doug. It says so right here on my shirt.”

  Just as the bottom of the vase is about to make contact with the ground I stop. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to put the flowers down anyway. My woman doesn’t deserve a vase that’s been on the floor where people walk.

  “Doug what?”

  “Doug’s Silent Security Systems.”

  “Boss, I got that tiny side window all locked down. You need a hand with the front deadbolt?” a voice says from inside the apartment, before the other man comes into view.

  The other man looks at me but wisely doesn’t open his mouth.

  “The woman you’re looking for,” Doug says, looking at his sheet for a name, “Mandy, is it? She left for work not five minutes ago.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “She called us on Monday to make some security upgrades to her place. We asked her some questions to diagnose what might be the reason why, and she wouldn’t say.”

  Because she took a job with an Italian mafia boss. Fuck! She was scared. Life with me scared her, just like it did yesterday.

  That’s why she freaked out, in addition to the other reason she mentioned as she stormed out of my downtown apartment.

  This is all just too much for her. Too much all at once. That’s the problem.

  I need to slow down and court her properly, but when it comes to her slow doesn’t exist for me.

  I need her now, just like when I first saw her. I can’t control myself and it’s troubling to her. My intensity is too much, but I have no way to get it under control when it comes to her. When I lay eyes on her it’s like the entire world melts away and all I see is her. So what If I can’t keep my hands off her perfect body.

  “Thanks, fellas,” I say, trying to act like nothing happened. I stuff my free hand into my trousers pocket and whip out my wallet, peeling off a crisp new c-note. I know money can’t solve all the problems in the world, and me not being an asshole from the beginning would have avoided this all together, but a hundred bucks will buy these guys enough beer and pizza tonight that they won’t hold a grudge…not that I care that much.

  Really the tip is to make sure they do a good job, because even though Mandy won’t spend another night in this place, I want to make sure the next person that stays here, does. Assuming I don’t beat the shit out of the damn homeowner slash landlord first for being a fucking slumlord.

  “Thanks, mister!” Doug’s assistant says, taking the money like a hungry alley cat being offered raw meat. Perfect, that just gets me out of here faster.

  I pivot on my heel and beat feet back to my ride.

  I need to get these flowers, and the coffee I forgot in the Range Rover, back to my place before Mandy shows up…assuming that when she went to work this morning it’s the same place she went yesterday.

  If she took a new job then I’m gonna have to bust in there and buy out her contract, or whatever needs to be done.

  She’s mine. Now it’s time to go get her and bring her home…to her new home.

  With me.

  CHAPTER 12

  Mandy

  I decide not to take the bus and just walk all the way to Matteo’s mansion. I need the time to think, and to clear my head, and something as simple as walking is the perfect remedy.

  Walking through the city at this hour is sobering. It’s a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle that will consume these streets in a few hours, and right now I’m only consumed with thoughts of him.

  Ninety minute later I see the guard shack in the distance and my tennis shoes pick up the pace, knowing I’m almost there. My backpack, with my proper work shoes, sways from side to side due to my increased speed.

  Why am I moving so quickly these last twenty or so yards now that I’m almost there?

  And the reason is spelled out there for me, as if Matteo can read my mind.

  “Welcome home, Mandy,” a sign on the guardshack reads. Maybe I should think it’s pompous that he just assumed that not only I’d return to work today, but that I’d be in the mood to see a sign like this. Then again, maybe I should stop fighting these feelings and realize that he understands me, we’re both orphans who have been fighting tooth and nail since we were born in this big, unforgiving world.

  We were fighting for things we thought we wanted, but really all along, and what I realize now, is that there was a bigger plan beyond our comprehension. We were clawing our way to each other…only each other.

  I stop, dead in my tracks, as my hand comes to my face, which is now covered in a big ‘ol smile.

  There is also a bouquet of white and red roses, and of course it’s being held by the man I want to see more than anything in the world.

  “I…I can’t believe this,” is all I can say, before I take a step forward, covering the last of the distance to him.

  “Believe it, because this is real. What we have is real, and I’m never going to give up on it.”

  Matteo’s eyes lock in on mine, and it’s clear to see by the bags underneath them and by how bloodshot they are that he hasn’t slept much, if at all.

  That makes two of us.

  He’s normally so put together but I have to admit I like this look on him. I do wish he got more sleep, but there’s something about the tousled look that just makes him look more human. He’s not in his normal machine mode, where he’s just focused on work, or whatever goes on in that handsome head of his.

  I want to reach out and throw my arms around him, but I resist. How I want to run my hands along the stubble of his cheek, go up on my tiptoes and demand a kiss, but I try my hardest to play it cool.

  “Who are these for?” I ask, just to make sure, as I look at the oversized arrangement of flowers he’s h
olding.

  “My woman, who’s come back to me.”

  “Even though I walked out on you yesterday?”

  “It was more like a run,” he teases, and the mood lightens even more. “But none of that matters. Walk, run, hell…swim, it doesn’t matter. You knew I was going to come after you, and I did. This morning I even went to your—“

  I lift my hand. “Just shut up and kiss me, Matteo.”

  In a swift move he shifts the large bouquet to one side of his body, cupping it with one hand as his other hand grabs me and pulls me in tight, literally lifting me off the ground as my lips meet his.