Page 65 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“You should’ve read the employee clause before signing.”

I was seething in anger, and it took every bit of control not to walk up to her and shake her until she lost her calm. I wanted her to cry, to beg, to fall on at my feet and grovel, and not stand in front of me, speaking with a calm voice and saying my name with that stupid breathy voice of hers.

She nodded slowly, “You knew I was here.”

I shrugged in response.

“What did the clause say?”

A proud smile stretched my lips, “In less corporate terms, I own you for the next two years.”

She nodded again, pulling her lips between her teeth. “Is that what you want?”

I hesitated.

This wasn’t what I expected when I decided to confront her. I was expecting her to fight back. I was prepared for the strong-willed woman I knew. In fact, I wanted her to put up a fight so I could enjoy breaking her and snuffing the light out of her. I didn’t expect her to admit defeat so easily and ask me questions like, ‘Is this what you want?’

I opened my mouth to tell her how she was ruining my fun and realized that this could be a part of her scheme and how she escaped situations. So, I smiled and replied, “I’d very much love that.” Whatever game she had in mind, two can play it.

She swallowed thickly, her eyes finally rising to meet mine.

“For two years?” she questioned, and I pinned her with a cold glare.

“I start work at eight a.m., so I expect you to be at the office by seven a.m. Everything about my day should be prepared and laid out before I arrive. Also, I leave between six and seven p.m., which makes your time seven p.m.”

She gave me an incredulous look and, finally, a bit of a fight. “I filled in for the position of finance officer.”

“Yes, but you signed up to be my secretary. See you bright and early, Arielle.”

I intentionally used the name, and that was all I would be calling her. I’ll make sure she never forgets her past.

CHAPTER 29

Arielle

“I said to use the Montserrat font for the entire document. Why is the heading looking different?” Mikhail barked, tossing the file back at me.

This was the fifth time he changed his mind about a font today. The worst is, he refuses to look at them until they’ve been printed, then he just tosses them back at me or into the shredder.

I took a deep breath, infusing my tone with every bit of professionalism I could. “The last time you said using the same font for both header and body made the document appear flat and boring.”

“And what did I say this time?” He shot back, and I felt my blood run a good five degrees above the normal body temperature.

He’s been like this for the whole three weeks I’ve been working with him. If it wasn’t the fonts, it was the style. And if the style was fine, it was the paragraphing. Who needed that much paperwork in an era when you could just send an email?

Then, there was the case of coffee and getting it exactly how he wanted it. The bastard claimed he did not like it when the spoon touched the cup while it was being stirred, but I’ve heard him practically assaulting a mug with a spoon in the past.

Don’t even get me started on the extra work hours and how I have to accompany him to every meeting, both professional and otherwise. Make no mistake, he makes it point that I’m positioned outside the conference room or out of hearing range. I wasn’t his secretary by any means. I was a glorified slave in a black dress. Yes. He made a whole case about my wardrobe. Red was prohibited, and anything colorful gave him a headache. I’ve never been more frustrated in my life.

I tried to calm myself with hourly pep talks in the restroom, reminding myself how exceptionally good the pay is, how it has elevated the living standard for Jason and me, and most importantly, how I deserved far worse than he was treating me. I had expected a paper bag over my head and to be whisked off to some underground facility when I saw him, but he had a very different plan. He probably figured killing me would give me an easy way out and resorted to slowly making my life miserable and making me lose my senses over time. He was winning.

He made sure I had no social life away from work, and he successfully occupied my weekends with business dinners, which consisted of him flirting with half-naked women the whole time and crushing me inside. The daily updates I got about him fromThe New York Timesand theGQhad said nothing about him seeing other women, so I wasn’t prepared for the level of pain I felt watching him shove his tongue down another woman’s throat.

Ah, yes. Did I mention I signed an NDA and was thoroughly searched before I entered or exited the building? What he was doing was illegal, but I couldn’t afford to bring attention to myself with a legal case, and he thrived off it.

The only thing that has kept me sane is Jason, and every day, I took a different route home to make sure I lost anyone who followed me. If I thought Mikhail was being cruel now, I didn’t want to know what would happen if he found out he had a son and I hid him.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his laptop.

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