The Mafia Boss's Assistant

Chapter Two: Alexandra’s POV

“Buenos dais!”

I jammed the door shut and locked up with more force than intended before craning my neck backwards to wave at my neighbor from three doors down the hallway.

“Camilla, Buenos dais. How are you?”

Camilla didn’t answer. She was scolding her ten-year-old son, Miguel, as he rushed to catch the school bus. “Don't forget your empanadas! Eat your quesadillas! Say goodbye to Lexi!” she rattled off in Spanish.

“Adios, Lexi!”

Miguel flashed me a quirky smile before disappearing down the stairwell— because, thanks to the crappy apartment building management, the elevator had been under maintenance for a few days. It was a good thing that our apartments were closer to the ground floor.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and started heading down the hallway when Camilla called out from behind me. “You look good today.”

I looked over my shoulder at her. “What was that?”

“I said you look good today. Clean blouse, ironed skirt. Only things missing are your briefcase and court heels.” She smirked. “Job interview?”

I chuckled dryly. “What gave it away?”

“The bun. Can’t remember the last time I saw that hair of yours neatly combed and packed up like that. Either way, good luck.”

Camilla chortled before shutting the door behind her and I went down the stairwell quietly.

She was right.

Before today, I couldn’t give a care about hair brushes, mascaras, or any of that stuff. Looking good was the least of my concern, when my parents’ killers were walking around freely.

I spent most days stuck indoors, glued to my laptop for hours, with a bowl of Froot Loops nearby. My activity and to-do lists were pretty straightforward: freelance writing gigs and researching Mario Morano.

But the latter often left me frustrated. More often than not, my searches ended in dead ends and fruitless attempts to uncover useful information.

He was a public figure, but unsurprisingly a very private person, judging by how little the internet knew him and his family. The Moranos were barely in the spotlight except it concerned business-related matters.

My cab pulled up in front of the Morano Group’s sleek glass tower, and the second after I passed the security checkpoint, my confidence turned to jelly.

Almost in sync, my best friend’s message popped up on my screen.

Eden: you’ve got this, girl! ^⁠_⁠^

I smiled, took a deep breath, and kept walking towards the gleaming tower’s entrance.

I’d prepared for this moment, rehearsed my lines, and steeled myself for all the questions they could possibly drill me with. But now, standing face-to-face with one of the most influential holding companies in Sans Francisco, with the reality that this was really happening, my nerves betrayed me.

I stared down at the file clutched tightly in my arms about to go through it briefly, before something—rather, someone— collided with me. A young woman who was storming out of the building.

“Watch where you’re going!” she snapped. She didn’t even glance at me, her gaze fixed on her phone.

I scowled at her, though she couldn’t see.

Dressed in a designer suit, with her Hermès handbag slung over her shoulder, and Louboutins clicking on the pavement, I immediately understood the situation.

Rich-spoiled-entitled daddy’s girl.

“How about you watch where you’re going, princess?”

She stopped. Full-on paused like a drama queen on a runway.

Then, her head spun slowly over her shoulders like a creepy Chucky doll and she glared at me like I was an insignificant speck that she painfully had to interact with.

“The f**k did you just say to me?”

Now, I saw her even clearly and noticed that she didn’t look a lot older than I was.

She stood tall, way above me, at around maybe five-eleven with a slender body. Her facial features were soft, with high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing gray eyes that seemed to bore into me with disdain.

Her tanned skin was flawless and so was her luscious vibrant, dyed sun-kissed blonde hair, that framed her heart-shaped face.

This sassy spawn of Jezebel was annoyingly gorgeous. The drop-dead kind of gorgeous.

I suddenly felt intimidated and remembered the girl I was in high school and college. The girl that could never stand up to the bullies that teased her for wearing glasses, threw lunch at her when she walked too slow, or filled her locker with notes calling her weird.

That girl was timid Alexandra Shaw.

I sucked in another deep breath and held it a second longer this time. It was hard to form bravery when all my insecurities reared their ugly heads at the same time

I wasn’t as pretty as this girl. I wasn’t as rich as her. I didn’t have my father to protect me anymore.

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” I muttered, but she was already turning away, flanked by two imposing bodyguards.

They escorted her to a sleek, black Bentley Continental GT, and the engine purred to life as she slid into the backseat.

I watched the tinted windows reflected the sunlight, as the car pulled away from the curb, leaving me feeling shaken and more nervous than ever.

For a moment, I wondered if I was truly ready for this.

The doubts swirled in my mind, but I pushed them aside. I’d come too far to turn back now.

Steeling myself for what lay ahead, I buckled up with more courage, and marched into the building.