Chapter 6

• Mena
• "We have to hurry Nat, or you'll be late for school!" I panted, encouraging her as we ran. We were on a tight schedule and had to sprint straight off the bus.
• A joyful giggle escaped Naty. We had overslept, and I was all but certain I'd be late for work too. Today was the day of the engagement party, and we had received strict instructions to show up early.
• "Come on, Nat—this isn't going to cut it." I picked her up like a baby, walking towards the school gates. Naty who was still having fits of laughter, gripped her fingers into the denim jacket which perfectly hid my uniform.
• "Mena, good morning!" A familiar mother from Naty's class spotted us. "I can take her inside. You look like you're in a hurry—go!" Her eyes were kind, but deep down I knew she pitied me, same as everyone else.
• These women saw me as a confused young girl who didn't know how to raise her fatherless daughter. That's the picture they had already painted before even trying to get to know me.
• At times I wondered if they would still pity me if they knew I worked at the Fanucci mansion.
• "Thank you!" I spoke in between breaths, placing Naty on her two feet.
• "Be good, listen to your teacher, have fun!" I said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you later, okay?"
• "Okay!" Naty nodded energetically, showing me a toothy smile.
• With that, I turned on my heel and ran back to the bus, literally—all while trying not to die due to poor condition.
• ~
• When I finally made it to the mansion, I was completely out of breath, so out of breath, you might even say my lungs were burning. I stood frozen at the gates for a moment, taking in the scene in front of me. Preparations for the party were already in full swing, and everyone was working.
• Also inside the mansion, the halls were filled with workers, scrambling to finish everything in time.
• "Mena!" Liza called out over the chaos, pushing several others aside to get to me. "There you are!"
• "Am I late?"
• "Don't worry, I covered for you with Madam Catherina. But you'll have to get started right away. Here," she shoved a list into my hands. "It's everything you'll need to get done before the party."
• I scanned the endless list, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in my stomach. "I'm on it," I told her, realizing I didn't have time to waste.
• ~
• As some time passed, and I was busy with my third chore, I slowly accepted today was going to be a long day.
• I had been working for hours, my legs felt numb, my fingers felt numb, and the pantry I got assigned to was anything but small. At least I had a bit of privacy.
• I thought, but it wasn't for long.
• Startled, I stepped back as the young Melody Fanucci appeared in the doorway, humming a song. She headed straight to the wooden ladder, leaning against one of the shelves.
• My eyes widened in concern as her small hands wrapped around rungs, trying to climb up. I was conflicted, unsure whether to interfere or not—but as a mother myself, I couldn't watch that child risk her life like that any longer.
• "Uh, Melody," I said, stepping forward, "I'll get it. Just tell me what you want." I blocked her way to the top, carefully removing her hand.
• The girl looked up with her big brown eyes, perhaps trying to figure out why I had the audacity to approach her. My gaze immediately fell upon her expensive dress, matched with a small designer handbag.
• "I want a strawberry cookie," she eventually pointed to the jar on a high shelf.
• "I'll get it for you."
• I went up, grabbing the jar before handing her what she desired.
• Without a simple thanks, Melody took a bite, letting the fresh crumbs fall onto the freshly swept floor. It made my skin itch, but I couldn't open my mouth. She was a Fanucci.
• My hand twitched with the urge to immediately clean it up, but I forced myself to stay still. Maybe if I did something, she would feel offended—and I would lose my job.
• "Are you just going to watch me?" Melody caught me off guard, speaking with her mouth full. "I'm not stealing, Mommy told me I can have a cookie!"
• "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling embarrassed. I couldn't believe that I was apologizing and feeling somehow lesser in front of a six-year-old.
• "My brother's getting married soon," she said.
• I nodded, unsure what to say.
• "His girlfriend doesn't look like us. She is mean, and she looks like a witch," she then added with a serious expression. I tried to hold back the cackle trying to escape my mouth.
• "That's not very nice," I automatically felt the need to defend the woman, even if she was right.
• Melody ignored my words and grabbed the dustpan and brush. Her beautiful dress reached the floor as she knelt to clean up her own crumbs. I watched her with a soft smile. Maybe she wasn't that bad.
• "You didn't have to do that, Melody," I said.
• "I know. But my brother said we should treat the workers kindly."
• "Which brother?" I asked, not believing there could be a Fanucci brother with an actual heart.
• "Him," she pointed behind me.
• I gasped, turning around immediately. Dante Fanucci leaned against the door frame, causally with his arms folded. My eyes met his, and my heartbeat quickened.
• It was not because I liked being around him. It was actually quite the opposite.
• "Thank you for the cookie, pretty maid," Melody said, her voice snapping me out of my trance. She skipped away, leaving me alone with Dante.
• As soon as she left, I tried to focus back on my work, sweeping the almost spotless floor. I had hoped Dante would get the message and make his way out, but instead, he cleared his throat, causing me to turn around.
• "S-Sir?" I lowered my head, wondering what he was after.
• "Please, Dante," he said, smiling proudly. "Don't overwork yourself."
• Overwork?
• Then how the hell was I supposed to make money?
• "Well, it's kind of my job," I mumbled softly, returning to my duty.
• "Well, get another one," he shot back, his tone nonchalant.
• Dante seemed like the type of person who would be better off not talking at all. I bet it would make him look more intelligent. Did he really think I still would've been working for this family if had found something better?
• Even though his thoughtless words bothered me, I chose to hold back my feelings.
• "How old are you?" Dante asked, but I could not understand why that question would matter to him. "I... don't want to catch a case," he added. Fair enough.
• "Twenty-four."
• "I'm one year younger than you," he said, smirking. "But don't worry—I always had a thing for older women."
• I nodded awkwardly, still eager for him to leave. In a desperate attempt to end the conversation, I grabbed my cleaning supplies. "I'm on toilet duty."
• Before I could slip away, Dante stepped in front of me to stop me from leaving. "I'll help you carry your things," he offered.
• "Oh, that won't be necessary—"
• "I insist."
• I gave him a forced nod. "Okay."
• There was no use in arguing with a Fanucci, and it would only cost me more time and probably my job.
• Dante took the bucket from my hands, and we walked toward the restrooms in complete silence. As we walked, I did my best attempts to not meet his gaze, but he wasn't even hiding his glances.
• Once we had reached the restrooms, he put down the bucket and returned to his comfortable space against the door.
• His presence was irritating, adding to my nerves. I had a job to do, and I couldn't do it with him keeping tabs on me.
• "So," Dante said, breaking the silence.
• "Yes, Sir?" I answered respectfully, pausing to look at him. Dante hummed, smirking without saying a word.
• The way he stood there, watching me... was all too familiar, and he reminded me of someone I had been trying to forget.
• "Thank you for your help, Sir," I said, hoping he would take it as a cue to leave.
• "Right, I should let you work," he answered this time, nodding his head. "Then... I'll be on my way." Dante finally left the restroom.
• It was clear as a day he was trying to make a move on me, seeing me as nothing more than an 'easy maid.'
• I wasn't interested, not in the slightest.
• Anson had taught me a painful lesson about men who wore their entitlement like a second skin. Men like that were used to getting what they wanted, and would never think to consider the feelings of others.
• Fortunately, I had no intention of repeating my past mistakes.
• There was no single brain cell of mine fighting for acknowledgment from a privileged, pampered, mobster like Dante Salvador.
• My life was perfect the way it was.