Maid for the Mafia

**ROMANY**

*Matthew's new girlfriend?*

As far as I know, Matthew only ever dated one woman during his tenure at the university, and that was when he first got hired. Coincidentally, she was also the Dean at that time. Marjorie Albrook. She was replaced the year *prior* to my attendance and unsurprisingly for most, she left the job as single as she began it. The entire fiasco had all the makings of a scandal, but Matthew never caught any fire for it the way he should have. Even when Marjorie made routine visits to the campus to humiliate Matthew, accusing him of doctoring his college transcripts and claiming she caught him flirting with students online, the presses remained cold.

Other than Dean Albrook, I couldn't think of one single consort, besides Charlotte Scottsdale and I *would not* be dragging her into this.

*Unless... it's me he's talking about!*

Scowling at him with sudden apprehension, I snap my teeth at his fingers on the seat, hiding my annoyance when he eludes me yet again, and places his hand flat on the other side. "I *was not* his girlfriend at that time," I practically growl, my chin jerking up and out from behind his butter soft jacket as I pull it in closer and shrug my terry cloth sleeves through the arms.

*There! Now if he decides to leave as abruptly as he did before, he can go without his perfectly tailored coat!*

The left side of Mickey's mouth quirks up, hiking into a half smile as he gazes sadly at some point past my shoulders. "But *you were* kissing him," he rasps out, his voice thick with some buried emotion from the past as his eyes drag back toward my own. The muscles of his jaw pulse avidly, his eyebrows drawing together and forming a strained line between them. "I felt like I'd been punched in the chest when I saw it. Nothing had ever hit that way," Mickey admits with a low, guttural growl. "That's when I finally let myself see how ridiculous I was being. Chasing shadows and wandering after a girl that didn't even know what she had just done to me." The line between his brows deepens for a second and he rips his gaze downward when he says, "But this time... you knew. And fuck if it didn't hurt in just the same way."

I gasp, my arms throbbing with the urge to reach for him. But I already know he won't let me. He'll just knock my hands away and press himself farther back into the door, so I scoot a good five inches forward instead and although he notices, he doesn't remark on it.

I shake my head at him, the back of my throat tingling as blood rushes up from my neck so quickly it's painful. "I didn't know you were there! Alex said you were all gone! And just because I said what I said to him, that doesn't mean-" "Don't!" Mickey snaps, his muscles coiling, and his leg bouncing again. "Do not even attempt to feel sorry for me! I am not a charity case."

"Feel *sorry for you*?" I retort, recoiling from him with a snap of my neck. *Is he serious? Are all of these fucking mafia dudes as equally self-centered as Alex DeMarco and his cousin Mickey? Does this fool honestly believe that it is him that I should be feeling sorry for? And why? Because he purposefully walked into the room, knowing that Alex and I were fucking and ended up hearing something that he only imagined for himself?*

A weird, manic sort of frustration begins to bubble up inside of me and before I know it, I'm giggling into my hands like a drunken Sunday School Teacher who woke up in a bar instead of the church and Mickey is gaping at me as if stunned that I would have the audacity to laugh.

"So you're *not* sorry, then..." he surmises, his chest rising and falling with the heave of new anger. "Fucking classic, doll."

I snort, then hiccup, working to gather control of myself while he stares at me like he's contemplating murder. Swallowing down the last of my amusement, I flip the bitch switch at the forefront of my brain to max power and throw every thread of talent that I may or may not possess into this next act. "You think I should feel sorry *for you?! You?"* I cackle haughtily. "*Yoooouuuu*... fucken jerk!"

The transformation of my face from sweet little doll to mad minx must truly be something to behold because every trace of cold bleeds from Mickey's eyes and what is left is a cross between panic and self righteous suffering. He doesn't *like* being called a jerk, and it appears he *really* never expected to hear *me* accuse him of being one. "Well... I..." he begins, only falling into silence when I begin slowly shaking my head.

"Fuck... Mickey..." I complain on the end of a whine. "I hate you so much right now that I'm finding it hard to even breathe."

"You hate me?" he slips out, traces of his poker face surfacing as he begins trying to close off his emotions. He nearly succeeds for a moment, but then it is as if he is reevaluating everything that we just talked about, and like it or not, the subject of his stalking me seems to be the one thing that bothers him enough to seize his focus. "Because I stalked you..." he admonishes, deflating.

"That too," I confirm, although my reason why truly has not a damn thing to do with his obsessing over me and has *everything* to do with what we lost because of it.

"Too?" he quips, his gaze darkening. "I see."

"Leave it to me to attract the *only* Gentleman Stalker in the entire world," I snark, catching his ever changing gaze and then allowing all that I'm feeling to wander into my eyes. "You don't have to tell me, but I'm going to assume that after you saw Matthew and I *kissing-"* I wince, hoping that my sudden shiver of disgust is visible "-that you left in a hurry." I pause for a moment, studying him as he grants me a quick nod. "Why?" I moan out, sadness trickling from every pore in my body as the night in question filters into my mind. There are only a handful of times that Matthew has ever kissed me in public, and only one of them has ever been on his front porch. So, now I know exactly what day Mickey was referring to. And *that* day was one of the worst in recollection.

"What do you mean, why?" Mickey asks, his voice growing thick with regret. "I just told you why."

"I thought you said you were obsessed with me," I snap angrily. "So why* didn't you *do* something?"

"Do something?" Mickey mimics. "Do something like what, doll?"

"Like *stop him!*" I snap. "Or introduce *yourself* to me on any other day! We could have been friends, Mickey. You of all people should know... I didn't have *any.*"

His hard gaze softens, his hand sliding down a little closer along the seat. "I wasn't gonna risk your life, just to be friends with you. Any contact with you at all would have been-"

"Well then, we could've been *more!"* I yell, still frustrated.

"More..." he breathes out, shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you *really* think you would have wanted that? Come *on*, doll. I was practically humping your leg that first day I met you here. You had *zero* interest. You weren't even very *nice* to me until I saved you from that meathead Gerald."

My head jerks up, my eyes narrowing. "And you think for some reason, that I acted that way because I didn't *like* you?"

"Of course," he replies softly. "Why else would *any* girl turn down an offer to have anything she wanted?"

Shaking my head at him and his disgustingly misguided logic, I chuckle. "I don't recall turning you down. I just hadn't decided on what I wanted yet." Mickey loses his Chesire grin, his eyes shuttering and burning with heat as he watches me. "You should have tried to talk to me that day at school, Mickey. *Before* I became a potential problem in the eyes of your bosses. Who knows where we might be now, if you had." With a bite of my lip, I drag my gaze over the bare skin of his forearms then settle them on the powerful curve of his biceps. The desire to be held by him growing more urgent by the second.

"You would have gotten tired of me," Mickey remarks somewhat insecurely. "I would have wanted you with me every single little second of every single day and roared like a caveman whenever anyone else commanded your attention." My eyes draw upward to meet his stare and I do my best to show him how unbothered that would have made me. For a moment, I can almost feel him giving in, but then a door sounds from somewhere inside the mansion and his jaw tightens again. "And then you would have met Alex, and left me and I would have burned the fucken city to the ground and the bosses with it."

"What?" I jerk back, knowing in my heart that he is wrong. If he had worshipped me as fiercely as he described, Matthew would never have had an opportunity to corrupt my heart and I would never have been ruined. "Mickey you have no idea-"

"They said you were forbidden to me. The Dons... the district bosses... they are the *only* ones that are ever allowed obsessions. In order to become one of them, a space must open up either by death, retirement, or... marriage." He sighs, turning away to face out the window.

"What? No! You said that if I wanted to be with you, you wouldn't give a fuck about any contract. You said-"

His head snaps my way angrily. ""I was ordered to leave you alone and I didn't. And now... Paul Romano needs to be replaced."

His poker face is back again, but his eyes show me how tormented he is.

*He doesn't want me anymore. His obsession with me probably died that day at his place. When I gave in to everything he wanted.*

I float him a joyless smile. "But you *did* leave me alone, Mickey. Because that night... I *was* more alone and more scared than I had ever been." Tears glistene as I battle them back a step, sucking in a deep breath when Mickey lifts his chin with worry, his eyes going absolutely feral. "And I *needed* you," I whisper sadly. "I *needed* you."