THE MAFIA KING AND HIS LITTLE MAID

Chapter 4

ALLY

It's been a week since I started cleaning Dante's room, and I haven't crossed paths with him once—except for the rare glimpses during meals or when he's lounging with his men and I happen to be passing by.

Not that I'm surprised. The man is always busy.

This morning, I was on my knees near the massive bookshelf in his private quarters, dusting the lower shelves. The scent of old paper and cedar filled the room—a surprisingly comforting combination.

A thick, leather-bound book lay open beside me. I hadn't meant to stop working. Really, I hadn't. But the title had caught my eye, and God knows how much I love books. Especially old ones. Especially forbidden ones. And Dante had a whole damn library in here.

They were always tempting, whispering to me as I worked—Read me. Just one page.

Just one page always turned into more.

My fingers still rest on the page, I was probably too absorbed that I didn't know when Dante entered the room, silent as a shadow.

"That's not on the cleaning checklist." His deep voice rattled me.

I jump, slamming the book shut instinctively. I quickly rose to my feet, brushing dust from my skirt, eyes refusing to meet his. I mean why?

"I wasn't—pause "I got distracted. I'm sorry".

He walks forward slowly, gaze flicking to the book in my hands.

Demian. Hesse.

"It was misfiled. I was... fixing it." I said quietly.

He doesn't smile, doesn't accuse—just keeps watching me.

"You ever read it?" His voice was low when he asks this.

I nod, still not sure if I'm in trouble or not.

"In college. Before I dropped out. It stuck with me."

Dante steps closer, "Why?" He asked.

I look up now, unsure whether to hold my ground or retreat. I mean we are talking now. "Because it didn't try to comfort me. It didn't say the world was good. It said the world was real. And sometimes brutal."

And he had this look on his face. From before. "You liked that?" his voice softens just a hair.

"I understood it." I nodded slowly.

A beat of silence stretches between us. Dante walks past me, takes the book from my hand without touching me. His cologne clinging to the air he passed. He flips it open, thumbing through the pages like they might explain something.

Then he suddenly read aloud, surprising me, "The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must destroy a world."

He looks up at me.

"You want to destroy yours?" He asked.

I stiffened, "I already did. Or maybe it destroyed itself. I'm just trying to survive what's left."

Our eyes lock. There's no fear in mine I'm sure. I was awfully comfortable around the man. And I'm sure he is too.

"You're not what I expected." He says this quietly. Barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to impress you." I let out. Was I getting too comfortable now?

He steps forward, closer now than he should be. The air thickens between us. He was in my personal space, making me inhale sharply .

"You don't." A pause "But you stay in my mind longer than the ones who try." He chipped in.

This silences me. What does that mean?

He closes the book with a soft thud and places it back on the shelf. The tension lingers like smoke.

I clear my throat, looking away. I was suddenly uncomfortable. Not in a bad way.

"I'll finish cleaning." I muttered.

Dante just watched me for a long moment before uttering, "Leave the book on the nightstand when you're done." A beat, "Maybe I'll let you borrow it." He finished.

He leaves without another word. And I watched the door close behind him, heart ticking too loud in my chest.

I think I enjoyed times I didn't have to speak with him. Speaking with him always left me speechless or with a thudding chest. The man was too intimidating for his own good.