Page 42 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

Good?It sounds like I’m on the other end of the table instead of my usual place. I don’t know how to feel about it, but I can’t protest since I handed her the wheels to call the shots.

“He likes me—in the way you’d like a puppy,” she says, her tone even but laced with a hint of self-deprecation. “I’ve done a good job so far, and he’s willing to keep me around rather than go through the hassle of finding someone else.”

She leans forward slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, but then she pauses, her posture straightening as her gaze sharpens. For the first time, her eyes lock with mine, unflinching and resolute.

“I’ll say this, though,” she continues, her voice steady but firm, “I didn’t know the house belonged to you. And I wasn’t aware you were going to be at the party. “This, however, isn’t my fault.”

There’s no trace of hesitation in her voice—only a quiet confidence that strikes a nerve in me I didn’t realize was exposed.

She’s right.

How often have I said that? How often have I regretted something I’ve done?

Never. Yet Natalie brought out two of my “firsts” in one day.

“Okay,” I nod, rubbing my hands together. I don’t intend to offer an apology—that would be a third first—but I can make things right. “You’re not a spy. I still don’t need you serving my meals. You’re a chef here, not a lower employee.”

I expect her to be pleased, maybe even a little flattered, but instead, her face twists in a mix of confusion and barely concealed annoyance.

Her eyebrows pull together, and her lips curl into something resembling disgust.

“If you think I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she says flatly, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air between us, “then you seriously underestimate the loyalty I have to other service providers.”

“Alright,” I throw my hands in the air, giving up. “That’s all I have.” There’s a beat of silence between us before I gesture to the door, ready to get it over and done with. “You may leave.”

Natalie plants her hands firmly on the arm rests instead. “Can I ask a question?”

I frown.

She presses intently, “You owe me at least one question for the interrogation and accusation. “

What if she goes far?

“Only if I get to ask one in return,” I say as a way of derailing her. I’m sure there are secrets she wants to keep hidden, so she’ll think twice before digging into my family’s history.

She shrugs with an air of nonchalance, but I catch the way her teeth graze her bottom lip as if she’s piecing something together.

Then her eyes widen slightly, and a spark of mischief flickers to life. She raises a finger like she’s just cracked some secret code.

“I’ve got it,” she says, her tone brimming with amusement as she leans in closer, closing the gap between us just enough to make me tense.

“Why,” she drawls, tilting her head, “are you here? I mean, you’ve got that massive house that’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Sowhy spend so much time at Anthony’s place? Almost every day, too. Is he, like, your secretly adopted cousin or something, and you don’t want anyone finding out?”

That’s it? I sigh inwardly, not sure whether I should be disappointed or relieved. However, the more I stare at Natalie, themoreI feel that she wanted to ask a different question.

She must be playing it safe—like I foresaw.

“He’s a wild card,” I answer easily. “Staying here is the only way to keep an eye on him.”

I managed to derail the prosecution’s investigation and effort for a while, but I have to monitor Anthony’s activities until I’m sure we’re in the clear. Everything is still on edge—that’s why I assumed Natalie was in my office on a secret mission.

She makes a sound.Hmmph.“Okay. I guess that one was pretty easy to guess. It’s your turn now.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

She shakes her head firmer. “It’s not fine. We made a deal. You either ask me a question, or I use your turn and askyoua question.”

I tilt my head, studying her. Everything points to Natalie being serious, down to her hands that are now on the desk.

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