Maid to the Mafia

CHAPTER ONE: Job Offer

CHAPTER ONE

CASSIE’s POV

“Caleb’s been burning up again. He’s at the hospital right now. Can’t you just check up on him even for a sec?”

“Cass, you know I can’t leave right now. It’s midnight already. My wife will get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what? You going to your son?” I shoved the last loaf into the display case harder than I needed to and stood up with the empty tray. The phone stayed clamped between my ear and shoulder. “Adrian, this is Caleb we’re talking about. You can’t provide for him, so this is the least you can do.”

“The least I can do? And what about you? Why can’t you go and see him?”

“I’m stuck at work, Adrian. At work.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Exactly. Because you can’t pay for any of his medical bills or medicine, I have to work two jobs and three shifts.” I dropped onto the stool behind the counter and pressed my fingers hard against my temples. The headache was already blooming, tight and familiar. “Adrian. Please.”

He sighed on the other end. Soft. Tired. The same sigh he always gave me when he wanted the conversation to end. “Cass. I really can’t—”

I hung up before the rest of the excuse could reach me. The phone went into my bag with a hard shove. My hands were shaking.

That good-for-nothing prick. All he had to do was walk into a hospital room and look at his own kid. One look. One minute. He couldn’t even manage that.

I pulled the phone back out and dialed my brother’s number.

No answer.

I dialed again.

The chimes above the door rang before the second ring finished. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket.

A man walked in.

Six feet tall. Clean-shaven. Dark eyes. A black suit so sharp it looked out of place under the harsh fluorescent lights. He moved through the narrow aisles like he had all the time in the world, scanning the shelves without hurry. Everything about him said money and power. He did not belong in a convenience store tucked into the corner of a dying town at midnight.

He found what he wanted, walked straight to the counter, and set a single bag of chips down in front of me.

I rang it up. “One fifty-nine.”

He took out a slim wallet, then looked at me. Really looked. “You sell cigarettes?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the locked case. “Yes, sir. What would you like?”

He studied the brands through the glass. “What would you recommend?”

“Marlboro Reds are our bestseller.”

“But what would you recommend?”

“Uh… well, I don’t really smoke, so I wouldn’t know.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slid a hundred-dollar bill across the counter. “How long have you been working here?”

I opened the till and started counting change. “A couple months.”

“Does it pay well?”

I almost laughed. “Not really. But it pays the bills, so I can’t complain.”

“I know someone who’s looking to hire. Would you be interested?”

My hands stilled. I looked up properly for the first time.

He was handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. Sharp jaw. Expensive watch. Eyes that stayed steady on mine without blinking too much. The kind of face that belonged in magazines, not under buzzing store lights at midnight.

“What’s the job?” I asked. “I never finished college, so—”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s housekeeping.”

My face almost lit up. “Well, that I’m good at. I’ve done it before.”

“Then great.” He placed a thick black calling card on the counter beside the change. The lettering was raised and sharp. “It pays well. Free room and board during the week. You only go home on the weekends.”

I stared at the card.

Freniere Industries

Sebastian Moretti

Chief Operating Officer

When I looked up again he was already gone. The door chimes rang once. Outside, a black car pulled away from the curb and vanished into the dark.

I picked up the card. The edges cut lightly against my fingertips. My phone buzzed once in my pocket. My brother’s number flashed across the screen again.

Caleb.

I turned the card over once, then slipped it into my pocket next to the phone. The fluorescent lights hummed above me. Somewhere across town my son was burning with fever in a hospital bed, and the only person who was supposed to care had already hung up.

I locked the front door for closing and stared at the name on the card one more time.

Sebastian Moretti.

The offer felt too clean. Too easy. Too perfect for someone as desperate as me.

I should have thrown the card away.

Instead I kept it.

…

“You i***t! I’ve been calling you for an hour. Why the hell didn’t you answer?”

I shoved my bag against my brother’s chest and went straight to the bed. Caleb was fast asleep, arms wrapped tight around his stuffed turtle, a fever patch stuck crooked on his forehead.

His cheeks still looked too pink. His little chest rose and fell too fast.

My brother yawned and stretched in the plastic chair like he had all the time in the world. “I was asleep. Didn’t hear the phone.”

I rolled my eyes and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. The rest of the ward stayed quiet. Only two other patients slept under the same dim lights. The air smelled like antiseptic and cheap soap.

I watched my son breathe.

“By the way,” my brother said, “the nurse told me to give you this.”

He held out a folded slip of paper.

“What’s that?”

“Medicine. You’ll have to buy it somewhere else since they said they ran out of this.”

I took the slip and stared at it. “How does a hospital run out of medicine?”

He shrugged. “Said he’s allergic to what they have left.”

I knew every name on that list by heart. I also knew exactly how much each one cost. Expensive. Always expensive.

I closed my eyes and let out a sharp breath. My last paycheck had hit the account three days ago. Almost nothing was left. Rent. The previous hospital bill. The fever medicine from last week that barely helped.

I can’t keep living like this.

My phone sat heavy in my pocket, the black calling card still tucked beside it. Room and board. Good pay. Weekends only.

I opened my eyes and looked at Caleb again. The fever patch was already starting to curl at the edges. His little hand twitched around the turtle.

I stood up, folded the prescription tight, and slipped it into my bag.

“I’m taking that job,” I said.

My brother blinked. “What job?”

I didn’t answer. I was already walking toward the door, phone in hand, the number on the card burned into my mind.

Whatever that house wanted from me, I would give it.

Caleb needed the medicine.

And I needed the money.