Mafia Maid

Riccardo Bianchi scrolledthrough his phone at the head of the dining table with an empty glass of whiskey in front of him. After wiping down the kitchen counter, I refilled the glass, my hand trembling from the nerves zipping through me right now.

I had worked for the Bianchi Family for nearly thirty years and had never asked for a night off because I had never quite needed it before now. Riccardo gave me more than enough time during the week to spend my days doing whatever I wanted with his dirty money.

But I wanted to go out Friday night with a man I had met at the grocery store. He had worked there for the past five years, but I had never gotten the courage to talk to him besides some desperate little smiles here and there.

“What’s wrong?” Riccardo asked.

“N-Nothing!” I said too quickly

He grabbed my shaky hand, stopping me from pouring any more. “Ophelia.”

Sucking in a breath, I placed the bottle of alcohol down on the counter and hurried toward the front of the table to distance