My Neighbour's Wife (A Mafia Romance Novel)

6. Susanna's pov

I haven’t seen Zefiro since that day and it’s been over a week.

Truth? I don’t particularly miss him and his rude, perfect lips. I’m fitting in just fine with the rest of the maids. I have a room here, though, it’s alongside the guards’, but it’s mine. The first real thing I’ve had in a while that is mine. I’m horrible at cooking, but the cook likes me anyway. Says I’m oddly enthusiastic and a fast learner.

Half the maids don’t like me. Could be because they think I’m sleeping with Zefiro to get special treatments. The other half are so accommodating, you’d think we’ve all been best of friends since childhood. I couldn’t be bothered with the sneers I got, since I was working hard to earn my keep. My first real job. My first real anything. The house manager, Adrianna, had told me the monthly pay would be enough to cover for my accommodation at the outhouse and there’d be enough to keep to myself.

I don’t think I’d ever smiled that brightly in my life. If I could save enough, I could leave here. And it’s different, because I know Zefiro isn’t Jaxon. He won’t stop me from leaving if I wanted to. Hell, he wouldn’t even care. He’d probably take a toast to having me out of his hair.

There’s the thing of his grandmother as well. I swear the woman loathes me, and she’s always watching, looking for mistakes. Of course, other than my terrible cooking, there is nothing else she can find fault with. I used to clean Jaxon’s apartment and wash his clothes for fun. I’m an expert at these things.

If I could tell her off, I would. I would tell her she’d best keep her eyes on her granddaughter-in-law who always seemed too finely dressed whenever she thought Zefiro was around. She doesn’t like me either. It could be because I’m not Italian, or it could be because she wants Zefiro—no matter that her husband’s is plugged up to life support—and she thinks I’m a threat.

And that is a ridiculous thought.

“Susan, could you fill in for me today?” Lucia says, clutching the mop close to her torso. “I have to visit the hospital today and—”

“Oh, sure!” I say and she beams, coming over to kiss my cheeks in gratitude, but I flinch instinctively.

She keeps her distance, eyeing me with worry. “Every time we come within two feet of you, you flinch or lash out. I’m not going to assume or intrude, but I do think you should try getting some help.” Her tone isn’t harsh, only laced with concern, but that doesn’t stop the ice from growing around my heart.

“I’m fine,” I tell her and I hate that she flinches from the coldness in my tone. “Seriously,” I add quickly to diffuse the situation.

Lucia nods but the worry doesn’t leave her eyes as she walks over to the end of the hallway and disappears around the corner. Like I could afford therapy right now. I doubt that even if I could, it would help me get better. The fear has become a part of me, it’s clutches in too deeply, it’s become one with my roots.

Unfortunately for me, filling in after Lucia means cleaning the boss’s study and bedroom. I’m usually restricted to the kitchens, guestrooms and a couple of really long hallways that have my back, thighs and arms burning from exhaustion at the day’s end, so I’ve never been upstairs. Or to Zefiro’s room. The thought puts a bad taste in my mouth as I grip the vacuum cleaner in one hand and damp cloth in the other. Maybe I’ll put a rat under his sheets or set them on fire for every time he has been rude and mean to me.

I struggle to climb the steps with my obvious luggage, politely turning down the help of a guard by the corner with a too-nice smile. No man’s ever that nice without wanting to touch my ass or breasts. As I reach the top of the stairs, I see the Grouchy Granny walking by a beautiful, tall blonde pulling off a velvet green suit better than any model could. Her cold green eyes gloss right over me, I could as well be furniture, but Cranky Nana stares right at me, her stare filled with reproach and condemnation.

I move from where I’ve pressed myself against the wall when the men behind them pass by, a few passing slimy glances my way. Must be visitors. I haven’t seen them around before.

Zefiro’s room is painstakingly clean. It smells like man, the crispiness of books and money, and something clean, something spicy. Everything is set in place, it’s almost jarring. Jaxon couldn’t care to take the hair off his comb, or wipe the perspiration off his mirror like this. The sheets are arranged, the pillows an equal distance apart from those set behind them. Everything looks new, untouched, and I would have doubted he even spent the night here, save for the dirty laundry neatly folded in the basket.

Well, if the rude prick isn’t a neat-freak.

Still, I go through the process of cleaning from the start, and when it gets to the bed, I drop to my knees on all four and peek under.

And that’s when the door opens behind me, the hair on the back of my neck rising at the invisible sizzle of electricity that suddenly fills the space around me. Slowly, I back away from under his bed and look back. Zefiro looks…well, annoyed as always. “What are you doing?”

I try for my brightest smile. “Cleaning.”

“Mrs. Hawke—”

“Susanna,” I cut in sharper than I intend to as I straighten, smoothening down my uniform and wiping the sweat off my neck. Zefiro’s eyes seem to track the movement, but I think nothing of it. He’s probably worried I’ll stain his sheets with my filthy sweat or something. “No one knows me as that here. I’d prefer it stayed that way.”

Zefiro walks in, shrugging off his tailored jacket and I stare at his broad back as he rolls up his sleeve, revealing more tattoos running down his arm. He tenses, as if feeling me watching and he turns to meet my gaze. “Could you please leave?”

An angry flush rushes to my cheeks. “Why do you treat me like that? Like I irritate you?”

“Maybe because you do,” he deadpans.

His words sting more than they should and it surprises me when I feel tears sting behind my eyes. I’ve been through worse, dammit. I’ve had a gun to my throat while I was forced to suck a man into my mouth when I was seventeen. I’ve had a man hit me so hard, I passed out, because I was on my period and refused to lay in the bed like a good w***e. I’ve slept in the snow, with rats sniffing my injured foot. And I didn’t cry.

But somehow, Zefiro’s rebuke squeezes these priceless teardrops from their hidden place, bringing them to my eyes. I snatch the things I came with and run out of his room before he can see me cry.