THE MAFIA KING AND HIS LITTLE MAID

Chapter 9

ALLY

One week later..

The knock came just after noon.

I was in the kitchen, rinsing out a dishcloth, when Ella called my name from the front hall. "Ally! There's something here for you!"

I dried my hands quickly and walked out, heart already picking up pace. A deliveryman stood by the door, clipboard in hand and a medium-sized box at his feet. It wasn't labeled with any company name—just sealed neatly, professionally, with my name scrawled across the top in familiar handwriting.

I signed, thanked him, and brought the box inside. It wasn't heavy, but it had weight. Presence. Like something thoughtful.

I didn't even make it back to my room before opening it. Too excited to know who sent me something.

Books.

Five, maybe six, all in pristine condition. Some old, some new. All Italian.

The covers varied—some weathered with beautiful embossed titles, others sleek and modern. A folded card sat atop them like a secret.

I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling just a little.

In sharp, neat handwriting:

"Try not to finish them all in one night. —D."

No greeting. No sign-off.

Just that.

I smiled before I realized I was smiling.

The books smelled of Florence—of paper, ink, a place I'd never seen but could almost picture now. And he remembered. He'd actually remembered.

I sat down with them in my lap, and for the first time since he left, the house didn't feel so quiet.

Just full of stories—his, mine, and the ones tucked between pages he thought I'd like.

I hadn't even made it to the stairs when I heard her voice behind me.

"Well, isn't that cute," Jasmine said, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever.

I turned, box of books still in my arms.

She didn't bother to hide the bite in her tone. Does she ever "Special deliveries now? From Italy? What's next? A ticket out of debt and a crown?"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The truth had already ruffled her enough.

Ella appeared before I could even exhale, stepping between us with a practiced calm. "It's books, Jasmine. Not diamonds. Calm down."

Jasmine scoffed. "It's not about what it is. It's about why. We all see the way he looks at her. And now he's sending her gifts from overseas?"

Ella didn't flinch. "Maybe because she reads. Maybe because she talks to him like a human instead of trembling like a leaf. Or maybe," she added, with a small tilt of her head, "he's just not your business."

Jasmine's eyes narrowed, but she backed off with a dramatic toss of her hair. "Fine. Play maid of honor all you want. But don't act surprised when it all turns ugly."

She disappeared around the corner, her footsteps sharp against the marble.

I stood there for a moment, the books clutched tighter in my hands.

Ella turned to me, gentler now. "Don't mind her. She's just bitter because he's never looked at her the way he listens to you."

"I didn't ask for this," I said softly.

"I know," she replied, her voice just as low. "But you're allowed to enjoy something nice when it comes. Even if it's unexpected."

I nodded. I'm allowed to enjoy free books.

Then I carried the box upstairs, to my room, where the books waited to be opened—and the note, still folded, burned quietly in my pocket like something I wasn't ready to let go of yet.

....

It happened two days later.

I came back from the kitchen after helping Ella sort the lunch prep, expecting to find the books exactly where I left them—stacked neatly on my bedside table, the note tucked carefully between pages of The Garden of the Finzi-Continis. But something felt... off.

I frowned.

One book was missing.

My heart skipped. I checked under the bed, behind the cabinet. Nothing.

The door wasn't locked—I never bothered. No one ever came in. Until now.

I turned and went straight to the east corridor.

Jasmine's voice floated out from the laundry room, too loud and too fake. "I don't know how some people find the time to read when there's work to be done."

I stepped in. She was folding towels, the missing book right there beside her elbow. Stolen Spring, a thin, delicate novel I hadn't even touched yet.

I walked over quietly and picked it up.

She didn't flinch.

"Oh?" she said. "Thought it was one of the communal books."

"It was in my room." I deadpanned.

"Hmm." She folded another towel, slow and unbothered. "You left your door open. Seemed like fair game."

I didn't reply. God help me.

Ella came in behind me, eyebrows already lifting. "She's stealing books now?"

Jasmine smiled. "I don't see any name tags."

Ella crossed the room and stood beside me. "Touch anything else, and I'll report it. You know the rules."

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Maybe report how the boss is shipping books to a maid like she's his little... project."

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I just walked out, book in hand, heart beating somewhere between anger and disbelief.

Later that night, I put the books inside a wooden box and slid it beneath the bed. It felt childish, hiding them like treasure—but I didn't want to give her another chance.

And the note?

That stayed with me.

Still folded. Still burning.