Maid For The Mafia by Alice T. Boone

Chapter Two

If someone asked me four years ago, I would have said life was always changing. At the time, it would have felt right. Every day there were people dying, others being born, and despite the constant shit storm my life had been, the world continued to move on. It was a brutal, raw truth that the universe shared with only me.

But maybe I knew better now.

As I settled back against the brick, my oldest habit sitting between my lips, I relaxed into a new truth. Somehow, nothing really changed. I’d made progress, made transformations for my day to day, organized and reorganized my schedule a hundred times in the past week alone, and yet, the important things always stayed the same. At 26, I was still just a petulant child, hidden behind a building with a cigarette between two fingers.

Wasn’t my life supposed to be figured out by now?

A hum escaped my lips as I let my head relax back. I knew the spot on the far side of the house would be my favourite—- even before watching the sun set over it. The O’Brian house rested in the rolling countryside, an hour north of the city Terrance was rumored to lord over, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a place so gorgeous. The staff of the home were kind enough, the décor homey, but the place was eerily hollow. It was only here, hidden from the security system and nestled beneath my bedroom window, that I found the genuine beauty of the O’Brian estate.

Another drag brought another whisper of peace. After the long journey here, I finally had a second to count my blessings. I’d made it in one piece. The job was straightforward enough, and no one said anything about my choice of footwear. I was fortunate, but the greatest fortune I’d stumbled upon was my newfound freedom. Only in servitude did I find freedom from Jack Rossi, and that was something to be grateful for. Terrance was a dickhead, but he saved my life, didn’t he?

Jackie always left a bitter taste— something a mouthful of smoke wouldn’t be strong enough to choke. His memory darkened the picturesque sunset in front of me, but my hum would drive even that away. In time, at least. Everything took time. Jackie traded me to Terrance at the first opportunity, handing his once-prized maid off as though I were a baseball card. Two days later, I packed my bags and hopped on the next flight to Vancouver. Not that it mattered. I hadn’t made a home in Toronto and I couldn’t imagine building one along the coast either. If anything went wrong here, I didn’t have a fallback. There was no one here to pick up the pieces, no place to hide. A mistake in the O’Brian household would be the end of the line, and the salt in the air brought a whole new meaning to sleeping with the fishes.

The O’Brians left no room for mistakes. Which meant, as it turned out, there was no room for Terrance O’Brian himself. No matter how many times I’d repeated the name today, it was impossible to hide the tightening of my chest, the tinting of my cheeks, the heat in my stomach. All it really did was confuse me. The last time a man made me feel so sick was my first boyfriend— an 11th grader who felt me up in a theater only to ditch me an hour later. Luckily, he’d already made himself clear. Terry wanted me to keep my distance, and I would. I had a reputation to protect, to repair, and I had no intention of fucking that up.

Not again, at least.

“What a joke,” I chuckled, tapping off my ashes with a quick flick. For the fourth time today, I gave the pack in my pocket a careful count. The four cigarettes I had left would have to last me— I promised to quit three years ago. I set aside two for the day I finally clawed my way out of the hole I was in. Another saved for my wedding day. The last one, I figured, was reserved for my deathbed. A smoke to share with a friend, a lover, an enemy, an empty promise. All good options. Horniness for my new boss? Not quite as poetic.

Another hum brought me off the wall, and I straightened out my uniform. With night coming, I’d only have a few good hours before struggling to sleep in a new bed. Val wanted me up at 4 am, ready to eat breakfast with the other staff before Mr. O’Brian woke for his morning jog. Before I pushed myself back towards the front of the house, a single sound tightened my chest. If I’d learned anything in my time with Jackie, it was that those unexpected noises were the most dangerous ones. When I finally located the source of the grunt, all I could really do was furrow my brow.

“What the… hell?”

Pressing my back into the wall gave me a hope of disguise, and that was really all I had any more. To my right, a second-floor window swung open, and it only took me a moment to recognize the leather-clad leg dangling out of it. Jemma O’Brian let out another grunt as she threw her body through the window, closing it carefully behind herself before she skirted along the second floor railing. It wasn’t until the teenager made her way to the standing trellises that I finally realized she planned on coming back down to earth, and by then, it was far too late to run.

Though, the thought was more than tempting.

After the shouting match earlier that afternoon, I figured Terrance’s daughter was a bit of a pill. Not that I could have really expected to see her climbing out of her locked bedroom like she was in a god damn John Hughes movie. Had mafia brats always been this spoiled?

Jemma didn’t notice me until she landed on the ground, freezing when we finally made eye contact. At first, the teenager looked a little frightened, my watchful gaze enough to keep her pinned in place. Truthfully, I think I only recognized the look because I’d given it myself a hundred times. She was waiting to see how I reacted, waiting for a queue on how she was supposed to act. When I finally settled back down, assuring myself that it wasn’t my job to herd the young woman back into her bedroom, Jemma’s brow knitted together.

“Dad would kill you if he caught you smoking out here.”

Apart from laughing, the only thing I could do was nod my head. The surrounding irony could choke a horse, but Jemma hardly seemed bothered.

“What do I tell him when he notices you’re missing?”

Another twitch, another moment to watch me, another second where I wondered if there was any actual difference between Jemma and her father. Despite my best intention, her scoff brought a frown to my face. Stories of Terrance O’Brian stretched across the country, often heralded for his expertise in mixing legitimate business with less savory income. How was a man so skilled at keeping on top of his men unable to realize his daughter’s missing?

Then again, had my dad ever noticed me missing?

“Let me have one.”

The demand snapped me out of another spiral of memories. For the first time, Jemma took a step closer to me— even if it was only to hold out her palm like a child. When I thought about our meeting, I hoped it would be a little more professional than this. Not that professionalism had ever been in my wheelhouse.

My snort drove her further away. “No way, kid.”

“I can just go buy my own,” she scoffed, an empty threat from a hollow girl. “You’re not doing me any favors.”

A gentle voice reminded me that I was in no position to judge. I wasn’t her mother, and I hardly had the authority to tell her what to do. A single review from Jemma was enough to get me thrown out on my ass. But then, I couldn’t image Mr. O’Brian was the type to take kindly to staff funneling his daughter cigarettes either.

When I stomped out my smoke, dusting off my dress and smoothing my hair down, Jemma’s face twisted in disgust. The girl narrowed her eyes, crossed her leather arms over her chest, and managed a low snarl through gritted teeth.

“Fuck you then.”

This time, the irrational anger didn’t frighten me. When the young woman stomped out towards the road, I didn’t let my curiosity get the better of me. She was, I decided, more like her father that I had originally given her credit for. Even if the screaming match I heard wasn’t a regular part of the household, both of the O’Brians seemed far too familiar with it, but it wasn’t the staff’s place to judge. I was here to clean, not play family therapist.

On the plane ride over, I promised myself that this would be a relaxing job. Do my time, make some money, and get the hell out. It was meant to be a change for me, but then, maybe I wasn’t quite ready for change. Avoiding excitement meant avoiding meddling, and Lord only knew how hard that would be.

Just drop it, Selina.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

I could behave, couldn’t I? I could keep my nose down, mind my business. People less than me did it every day; right?