Page 14 of Broken Prince

I turned a questioning look at her. It sounded tentative, uncomfortable…so unlike her.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Lebowitz told me you’re working as a live-in housekeeper for Hartfield Manor.”

I frowned. “I declared that to social services… I’ve been told to get a job; is this job not suitable?”

“No, no, it is!” she rushed out, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not asking that as a social worker but more as a concerned friend.”

Friends?I thought that was a bit of a stretch, but she did so much for us that I could not say anything.

“Okay…” I trailed off, standing up and crossing my arms on my chest.

“It’s just there are a lot of rumors about the place. I’m not sure how much of it is true but…” She shrugged. “I’m worried about you.”

I rolled my eyes. It felt like I was discussing ghouls and ghosts with Mrs. Broussard all over again. “What have you heard?” To be fair I wanted to know because I still wanted to figure out who my recluse employer was.

“Mafia,” she said, her cheeks reddening at the absurdity of her words.

“Mafia?” I repeated. Okay, that was not something I expected.

She winced. “That’s what has always been said and you know the Reststop?”

I nodded. The Reststop was a small panoramic cafe that was on the side of the road when you went to the top of Ridgepoint. It was lovely there. The Reststop was made of glass, giving you a breathtaking view of the mountain and the lake below.

“The owner says he used to see expensive black cars with tinted windows going up there, and a couple of times, men stopped at the café—dressed in designer suits and wearing sunglasses.” She shook her head. “You can’t tell me that’s not weird.”

“No,” I admitted. “But the key words here are ‘used to.’” I sighed. “I’ve only been there a week but there’s nothing to say; the place is boring as hell.” This also made no sense since I woke up on the first day with an NDA on the kitchen table I needed to sign and leave beside his lunch on that day.

“Yeah.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s probably just stupid stories.”

“Yes.”Probably.I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to go back; I need to do some shopping and I have quite a drive.”

She walked me to the door silently. “I’ll call you with Jude this week.”

“Thank you, Amy, really.”

As I stopped at the pizzeria to pick up dinner and at the Sweet Shop using the petty cash there was for me at the house, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Amy told me.

Maybe it was true; maybe my boss was an old Mafia guy. It would explain the security at the house. I just hoped that if it were true, it would not stop me from getting Jude back.

I went back to the empty, quiet house and put the pizzas in the oven to heat up while I ate quite an unhealthy number of sweets.

I was not sure what type of pizza he would like so I set a platter with a few different ones, even giving him two slices of my favorite—ham pineapple. I hoped he wouldn’t be mad about the dinner; technically I was not to provide him any food on Thursdays or Sundays.

I left the food in the room but realized only after I pressed the button to call him for dinner that I’d left the book I was reading on the side table.

I sighed, rushing into the kitchen to have my own dinner. I looked around the kitchen, considering yet again what Amy had told me about this house.

It was true that despite this luminous sunflower-decorated kitchen and my bedroom, every room I'd been in was all darkness and gloom, the gardens painfully bare, and the gazebo in the middle chipping and rotting away. But all of this said neglected old family house, not Mafia.

I rolled my eyes. Here I was, Cassie, the Mafia expert. what was a Mafia house anyway? I’d seenThe Godfatherone too many times.

I finished my second slice of pizza and realized that the kilo of sweets I ate before had been a mistake.

Ah, more for the security, I suppose.

I went back to the sitting room and was surprised to see the light already out. He’d never eaten so fast before.

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