Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Chapter 4
Bridget 
I hear loud moaning voices coming from the bedroom. Adriano De Costa must be handling that housekeeper. I turn away and start wiping the window. I spray the cleaning solution and wipe it slowly. I repeat the motion until there are no handprints left on the glass.
I move the vacuum through the kitchen and along the corridor. When I get closer to the room, the sounds change. I hear the housekeeper begging. My chest tightens.
I rush back to the living room. My heart is pounding hard. Adriano De Costa is such a disgusting man. I fan myself because I suddenly feel hot and uneasy.
Minutes later, the blonde housekeeper walks out of the bedroom. Her hair is no longer tied in a ponytail. She pushes her cart toward the elevator. She ignores my stare and walks like she owns the place. I scoff quietly. Sleeping with the boss will not make you own the place.
“Done cleaning, Ms Rossi.”
Adriano’s sudden voice startles me. I jump and turn around. He is shirtless. A lion’s face is tattooed on his chest. A wolf stretches across his muscular arm. On his forearm, the words The Corrupted Royal Famiglia are written in dark ink. He looks dangerous even when he is standing still.
“Y yeah, I’m done,” I say.
“Good. Did your suitcase arrive?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Take a shower and change if you have to. I will take you to my mansion.”
His voice is calm, too calm.
I rush into the bathroom. I take out white pants and a matching shirt from my suitcase and place them on the counter. My eyes wander around the room. I see one toothbrush. A perfume bottle. Dior Sauvage. A blade. A razor. Silver chains and heavy rings shaped like skulls, lions, and wolves. A shiver runs down my spine and I quickly step into the shower.
After I finish, I get dressed and leave the bathroom with my dirty clothes in my hand. I put them back into my suitcase. I will wash them later.
Adriano is sitting on the couch like a king, scrolling through his phone. He lifts his eyes and looks at me. I am kneeling on the floor beside my suitcase. His stare feels sharp, like I am prey and he is deciding what to do with me.
I close the bag quickly and stand up. “I’m done,” I mutter, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants.
He nods once and stands. He motions for me to follow him.
I take my suitcase and enter the private elevator with him. His phone buzzes.
“I’ll be there in the evening,” he says. “Torture him. Start by cutting off his fingers until he tells the truth.”
His voice is deep and cold, like he is giving normal instructions.
I swallow hard. Where have I gotten myself?
We reach the ground floor. A man approaches Adriano and starts talking about something important while we walk. Adriano moves fast. I struggle to keep up, dragging my suitcase behind me.
He notices.
“Take her luggage to my mansion,” he tells another man dressed in a black suit.
I whisper a thank you.
A black Bugatti waits outside. Adriano takes the driver’s seat. I sit in the passenger seat. In the mirror, I see four G Wagons following us. He drives fast, like a storm, breaking every road rule.
I sit stiffly, praying for my life. The devil beside me does not care about lives.
About twenty five minutes later, the car stops in front of a huge gate. A security man stands there, watching instead of opening it.
Adriano looks at me. “Get down and open the gate.”
“The security man is on vacation?” I ask carefully.
“From now on, this is your job. You open the gate when I arrive.”
I get out of the car. The gate is heavy and cold. I struggle, pushing with all my strength until it opens. Adriano drives inside. I close the gate and walk forward.
The property is massive and luxurious. The mansion is modern, with a large fountain in front. As I walk, I see Greek statues of Aphrodite and Adonis, their bodies partly covered. In the fountain stands Poseidon, holding a trident.
So this devil likes Greek mythology. At least we have something in common.
I shake my head and walk inside.
Adriano opens the main door. I follow him into a huge living room. A butler rushes forward.
“Anything for you, Mr De Costa?” he asks, bowing his head.
“Is lunch ready?” Adriano asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Get the table ready. This is Ms Bridget Rossi. My maid.”
The word sinks into me.
“This is Matt,” Adriano says. “He has served me for many years. He will show you how to work.”
I nod.
We move to the dining area. A glass table with dark grey chairs fills the room. I imagine a Christmas tree in the corner and children running around, but Adriano De Costa does not look like a man who celebrates anything.
Two men arrive, dressed in dark suits like Adriano. One is older, in his late fifties. The other is younger and handsome, looking a bit like Adriano. He says something that makes both men laugh.
“Good afternoon, Ms Rossi,” the older man says politely.
I stand and bow my head. “Good afternoon.”
“I am Cosimo, Adriano’s uncle. His right hand. A member of the Corrupted Royal Famiglia.”
“Okay,” I say with a small smile.
“I am Raffaele De Costa,” the younger man says. “Adriano’s cousin and Cosimo’s son.”
“Hello, Mr De Costa,” I say, bowing my head.
“Call me Raffaele,” he says with a smile.
Adriano joins them while finishing a phone call. A butler serves lunch. Soon, Adriano talks business with his uncle and cousin. I hear words like consignments, powders, soldiers, rivals, hitmen, assassins, and new members. I keep my eyes down and stay silent.
After lunch, Adriano calls me aside.
“I left clothes in your bedroom. Get dressed. Matt will explain the rules.”
“Okay, sir,” I mumble.
My bedroom is bigger than my old apartment. Everything is white. I find black dresses in the closet. I wear one and go downstairs.
Matt waits by the table with a diary in his hand.
“In this mansion, you clean the living room, the garden, Mr De Costa’s bedroom, bathroom, and study. Nothing else. When Mr De Costa hosts private dinners, you serve the table. You do not listen. You do not watch. Nothing private is ever shared.”
He looks at me seriously.
“You will clean the presidential suite D19. You will clean Mr De Costa’s offices in clubs and casinos only when he asks. When he travels, you travel with him. You iron his clothes and prepare food. You get a day off only when sick and one Sunday if he allows it. You must also learn to cook.”
I swallow. “Where will I learn to cook?”
“We have an Italian chef. Stay with him and learn.”
“Okay, Matt.”
And just like that, my new life begins.