THE MAFIA'S FAVORITE MAID

CHAPTER 12

Friday arrived like a quiet threat.

From the moment I stepped into the kitchen that morning I felt his eyes on me. Dante Moretti did not speak to me. He did not call my name. He simply watched. When I carried the breakfast trays, he was already seated at the head of the table, dark gaze following every step I took. When I polished the silver in the dining room, I looked up once and found him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. When I walked the long hallway with fresh flowers for the east wing, I felt the weight of his attention on the back of my neck like a physical touch.

I kept my head down and worked faster.

By late afternoon the usual Friday restlessness had settled under my skin. I needed to leave the estate. I needed to meet Tyler. The envelope of cash I had carefully saved from my wages sat folded inside the pocket of my uniform, waiting. It was thinner than the ones I used to give him when I worked three jobs, but it was still everything I could spare after the small amount I kept for myself.

Mrs. Lang dismissed the staff at six. I changed quickly into my own clothes—a plain sweater and jeans—and slipped out through the side entrance. The evening air was cool. I walked down the long private road toward the gates, the envelope pressing against my hip with every step.

I did not look back.

But I felt him.

Even without turning I knew he was somewhere behind one of the tall windows, watching me leave.

The meeting place was the same as always: the small parking lot behind the old gas station two miles from the estate. Tyler was already there, leaning against his car, phone in hand. When he saw me he smiled the same easy smile that used to make my chest warm.

“There she is,” he said, pulling me into a quick hug. “Missed you, baby.”

I handed him the envelope without a word.

He opened it, counted the bills with practiced fingers, and nodded. “It’s less than last time.”

“I know. The work is different now. Live-in. They take room and board out of the pay.”

He pocketed the money and kissed my forehead the way he always did. “You’re still saving my life. Just a little longer, okay? The debt’s almost handled.”

I nodded. The lie sat between us like it always had, only now it felt heavier. I thought of Dante’s fingers inside me the night before. I thought of the way he had licked them clean while staring straight into my eyes. I thought of how my body had come apart on his hand while I kept repeating the words “my boyfriend.”

Tyler was still talking—something about debt collector being difficult lately, something about needing a little more next week—but the words barely reached me. I stared at the cracked pavement and felt the ghost of a thick finger curling inside me, the dark voice asking who I had thought about when I touched myself.

“Aria?” Tyler’s hand waved in front of my face. “You okay? You look weird.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just tired.”

He studied me for a second longer, then shrugged. “Go get some rest. Same time next Friday?”

“Same time.”

I turned and walked away before he could kiss me again.

The walk back to the estate felt longer than usual. By the time the tall iron gates came into view, the sky had turned fully dark. The guard let me through with a silent nod. I crossed the wide driveway and slipped in through the side door, hoping to reach my room without being seen.

I almost made it.

At the foot of the main staircase I stopped.

Dante Moretti stood at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the railing, still dressed in the black shirt he had worn at dinner. His eyes locked on mine across the distance. He did not speak. He did not move. He simply looked at me—slow, deliberate, as if he could see the faint scent of Tyler’s cologne still clinging to my sweater, as if he knew exactly where I had been and what I had just given away.

My pulse jumped.

I lowered my gaze, climbed the stairs past him in silence, and continued toward the staff wing. I felt his eyes follow me the entire way until I turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

Only when I was safely inside my room with the door locked did I let out the breath I had been holding.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the empty space in my pocket where the envelope had been, and stared at the wall.

Friday was over.

The money was gone.

And the man who owned this house had watched me leave, watched me return, and said nothing at all—yet somehow his silence felt louder than any of the filthy words he had spoken against my ear the night before.