Page 4 of Mafia And Maid

He should be out there running around, playing like all the other four-year-old boys. Instead, he makes himself small and quiet every chance he gets—even when Grayden isn’t at home.

Once dinner is in the oven, I wipe down the counters and the table, laying a gentle kiss on Ethan’s head. The only good thing to come from this hell has been him. He’s a gentle boy who deserves the world.

“I’ll be back in a bit, honey. I’m going to tackle the hallway and foyer before dinner.”

Ethan nods slowly, holding my gaze.

“I’ll only be just outside the kitchen door.”

Grabbing the rag and duster, I set to work. In no time, sweat trickles down my spine as the cotton shirt plasters to my back. My hair is tiedfrom my face in a ponytail, but I have to push away stray strands that keep falling into my line of vision.

I lift my head to glimpse at the enormous grandfather clock down the hall. And I wince. I have an hour, if that, to finish all this. The banisters are still in need of dusting. The floor has to be polished. The stubborn juice stain on the rug has taken up far too much of my time. The rubber gloves squeak as I grip the bristled brush, doubling down on my efforts. If I can’t get it out… I cringe at the thought, pushing it aside.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My father insisted that at the age of eighteen, I marry a man over twenty years older than me in front of society's upper elite, and the day when I became Mrs. Grayden Devlin should have been a happy new chapter of my life. Some hopeful part of me, long since broken and forgotten, dreamed that marriage would set me free.

But that day, when the words and vows tumbled from my painted lips, my fate was sealed, and I was sold—in the most legal and business way possible—to a cruel man. A man who’s transformed this mansion into a cage where nobody can help me.

Despair rolls through me at the thought of what my life has become. I’ve long since given up any hope that there’s something better out there or that leaving is a possibility. The flame of hope was extinguished years ago. Where could I go where he couldn’t follow me? Where hewouldn’tfollow me?

There’s no help from the man who calls himself my father. And there’s no support from the rest of my family and the people who paraded themselves as my friends.

Sinking back onto my heels, I study the dark spot on the rug. Better, but not good enough. It’s never good enough for Grayden…

I chew my lip, squinting at the minuscule speck of purple still staining the rug. Rising to my feet, I silently send up a prayer to whoever’s listening that my husband won’t notice. But I know it’s a fruitless prayer. He always notices. And I always pay the price for what he calls mysloppy work.

I dump the water down the drain and discard the yellow gloves quickly as the buzzer for the oven sounds. I have to do better than last night's debacle, and my hands tremble as I take out the chicken.

It’s dinnertime, but I know I shouldn’t eat.

Are you really going to eat that?

You’ve already had more than enough, don’t you think?

Put on even more weight huh, sis...?

The words I heard so many times growing up tumble around my head before I can force them back. I see my reflection in the glass of the oven door, and quickly look away, unable to stomach the creature that stares back.

I make up a plate of food for Ethan and put it in front of him.

While he eats, I move into the bathroom. My feet ache, and my hands are blistered along the side from scrubbing so hard.

This is not the lifestyle I’d been accustomed to when I was growing up. In Grayden’s mansion, there’s no help—no butler or maid to tend to the large house and no help beyond the elderly gardener who shows up twice a month to maintain the grounds.

Everything else is my job. It’s my responsibility to tend to the house, to the laundry, to the cooking, and to his needs at the drop of a hat.

I wouldn’t mind the work if he was happy with what I did, but he always manages to find fault with every single thing I do.

The slamming of a door startles me. I fumble to keep the scrubber in my hand.

My heart roars in my chest as I strain to hear which way he’ll go.

There’s a crash and a curse from the kitchen.

I’m on my feet in a second, cleaning supplies forgotten. I’ll regret it later.

“Fucking hell!” Grayden’s voice travels through the empty house like thunder.

My stomach twists. I will my knees to stop shaking. Checking the clock, I realize he’s late.

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