The Maid: Mafia Romance (Series)

Tormented Memories

Shortness of breath. Increased heart rate. Burning fire under his skin. The need to quench his thirst by kissing the living hell out of those chatty, pouty lips.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck was wrong with him?

Giovanni swore to himself all the way to Timbuktu-well, to his private gym actually-where he used that excess energy to beat the living hell out of the punching bag.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

But even with the massive impact of each punch, he still couldn’t alleviate those symptoms or forget those lucid memories in his head. He could recount every detail. The way his naked body wedged above Jay’s, the way her clothing soaked to her skin, outlining her curvy breasts. The way his skin burned with desire and lust evaporated through his pores. His feelings were so intense he could hardly breathe.

What the fuck was wrong with him? She was his maid, for fuck’s sake. Nothing more. So why was he so wrapped up with her?

Giovanni threw a few more punches, breath coming out loud and fast, until he was exhausted, body slumping onto the mat. He chuckled like a crazy fool.

“You are one crazy fucker, Gio.” He panted. “Lusting after your own maid.”

He closed his eyes, remembering her cheeky smile and the way she liked to provoke him.

Giovanni laughed. It was fun having her around. She amused him. In the beginning. But not now. He wanted her like he wanted his next breath.

“Just pretend she’s one of the boys,” he told himself. “Just pretend she’s one of-”

His chant was interrupted when, in his mind’s eyes, he saw his little friend Jennifer, her smiling face dotted with freckles and curious green eyes shining.

Giovanni let his mind drift down memory lane, remembering when he last saw his little friend Jennifer, before his life took a turn for the worse and everything changed forever.

“Hello, Gio, handsome boy. Coffee?”

“Let me guess? Flat white?” He smiled, welcoming his little friend, taking the brew from her hands.

“Yeppy. You got it right. So, as a reward, I’ll read you a book.” She lay on the grass, her head resting on his lap.

It was a usual occurrence now. She would visit him at their place under this beech tree. She would always bring the cup of coffee she’d made for him, and he would sit and wait.

Gio caressed Jennifer’s damp forehead. “It’s hot today. You should wear a hat next time.”

“I know. Ma told me that, too. But I got too excited, so I ran out without the hat.”

“And what’ll you be reading for me today?”

“Cinderella.”

“Why Cinderella?” Giovanni asked.

“Because she’s poor, but in the end, she meets her Prince Charming, like me meeting you.”

“I’m not Prince Charming.”

“Yes, you are. You’re handsome, Gio, handsome boy, like Prince Charming. That’s why you’re my best friend and Prince Charming.”

“You don’t have any friends at school, Jennifer?”

“I talk too much. Pa says girls should keep quiet. Not speak their minds. I don’t know what he means, though. Plus, he said I’m not beautiful.”

“Jennifer-” He scolded.

“It’s okay, Gio. You said I look beautiful. That’s why I don’t care. So, when I grow up, I’ll be your wife.”

He chuckled. “You’re still on it.”

“You did promise me.”

“You don’t ever forget a promise, do you?”

“Nope. I have good memories.”

“Then what happens if we don’t see each other until we’re older.”

“I’ll still remember you. You have black eyes, like the night sky. When I see you, I’ll remember you.”

Gio gripped his necklace, twin dragons entwined, the one his grandmother gave him before she died, before he had to go live with the man he must call father. A plan formulated in his head. He took the necklace from his neck and placed it around Jennifer’s.

“What’s this?” she asked, curious.

“It’s my necklace. Keep it for me. Give it back to me when you turn nineteen. That way you’ll always remember me.”

“Don’t worry, handsome boy. I’ll remember you.” She patted his hand. “But I’ll keep the necklace safe with me. And I’ll give it back to you when I turn nineteen.” Jennifer turned back to her book, resuming reading aloud for him.

Gio soon fell asleep wrapped in the serenity of his little friend’s voice.

“Giovanni,” a woman purred in his ear, interrupting his reminiscence. The next minute, he felt a light body straddling his torso.

Giovanni flicked his eyes opened. His gaze fell on a pale, porcelain face decorated with blond hair, blood-red lips, and cheekbones that could cut apples. Fire burned through him again.

“Melena,” he uttered before swinging his arm to cradle her neck and jerk her face down, kissing the hell out of those lips. He rolled her over, his body looming above hers.

She panted underneath him, her voice rasping out, “Hello, Giovanni. Miss me?”

“Like yesterday.” His lips twisted in a cruel smile, taking those lips again.

She writhed, her long red nails digging into his skin.

“Do you want me?” he rumbled into her ears.

She nodded. The desire was too unbearable; she could no longer speak.

Giovanni ran his fingers along her shoulder blade, caressing her collarbone and up her neck, until-

“Giovanni, what are you…?” Her eyes grew wide as the situation finally dawned on her. Giovanni was going to strangle her.

“Why are you here, Melena?” Giovanni asked coldly, the lust extinguished as quickly as it came, now replaced with fury.

“Because you’re my lover.” She struggled for breath, gripping his fingers to try and loosen them. But it was no use.

Giovanni snarled. His eyes were obsidian, disgust radiating from them. “Really, Melena? You thought all this time I was your lover? We’ve fucked once.”

“Yes,” Melena managed to gasp out, choking on her next words. “Please… Giovanni… don’t-”

“Oh, Melena.” He tsked, shaking his head in disapproval. “What would Leo say if he knew you were this naive? What if I knew all about his plan all along?”

Mentioning the name Leo made Melena’s eyes grow large with fear. “You know?”

Giovanni chuckled, letting her go. Melena made her escape by running to the door, but he decided at that moment to pounce on her like a mouse. He charged into her, backing her against the wall until she had no means of escape.

He gripped her neck again. This time the desire to break her was so strong he almost couldn’t control himself. He told himself she wasn’t the problem. She was simply a toy used in a game between Leo and himself.

“You think I’m a fucking idiot?” he hissed. “I control half of New York City, Melena. Tell Leo if he wants to use you to bring me down, he should rethink his plan. The reason I let you into my life wasn’t because I loved you or wanted you as my lover. I was fucking bored. And you were amusing. To a certain point. But now I’m bored again. So tell that nut job I’m done. With you. And if he wants to really get to me, he should show his bullshit face, not act like a ninny hiding behind a woman’s skirt.”

“Giovanni, you can’t do this to me,” she cried, crumbling to the floor.

“Oh, yes, I can. Now, I’m going to let you go easy. Unless you want to lie in the bottom of the Atlantic. Your choice.”

“You’re too cruel,” she cried in anguish. “You think I approached you because Leo asked me to? It’s because I love you. I want to be with you.”

“I’m not interested in your poetry, Melena.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

Melena picked herself up. “Don’t think this is the last you’ll hear of us. We’ll be back, and you’ll pay for what you’ve done. Leo will get you.”

Giovanni twisted his mouth in a cruel smile. “Then tell him I’m waiting. But get his coffin ready, too, because the next time he sees me, he’ll be buried under a ten-story building.”

And he sauntered out, leaving the crying girl.

Giovanni was absolutely done playing this game of cat-and-mouse with Leo. The fucker had wanted his position since Giovanni had become boss of New York City after the big honcho, Giuseppe Dente, had given him this position.

Not only had he proven he was capable of handling petty matters, but he was also the strongest fighter. The others in the group had respected him and accepted him as their leader.

But not Leo. Leo still thought he was a useless, filthy bastard, picked up by the head honcho at age fifteen.

Yeah, he had been a dismal-looking boy, prowling the streets of Brooklyn. Yeah, his skin was saturated with dirt, filth permeating the air wherever he went. But he was strong. He had the will to live. He didn’t need to live according to someone’s will. Especially when that will belonged to the man he’d called father up until age fifteen.

God, he hated his life back then. He hated to be reminded of who he used to be.

A bastard. That was what that man had always called him. A vermin lower than dirt. Brainless filth.

He could remember it well, those last few moments before he’d decided to run away from home-the best decision he’d ever made.

“Where have you been?” The old man stopped him as soon as he stepped foot inside the house after his outing with Jennifer.

Gio marveled at the grand Bianchi residence. Such a grand house filled with everything one could ask for-maids, servants, food. But why did he always feel so cold here?

“Nowhere,” he mumbled, ignoring the old man.

Gio took one step toward his room when a blow to the head hit him. The impact was so strong he fell, blacking out for a second. When he regained his sight, he saw red.

That was it. Gio leaped up and charged into the old man he called father. After years of physical and mental abuse, he’d had enough.

Another blow hit him. He struck the old man back, his fist contacting with his jaw.

“Gio, my God, what did you do to your father?” His mother intervened, only to be slapped by his father.

“Ma.” He caught her in time. Her face was ashen, her lips bleeding. “You fucking bastard. Don’t touch my ma.” He charged into the older man again, fisting the old man’s collar in his grip.

“Gio, please, let your father go.”

“He’s not my fucking father,” he shouted at his mother, tossing the older man to the side. “No father would talk to his own son like this. No father would constantly hit him and abuse him.”

“You ungrateful bastard. You’re right. You’re not my son. I took you in because your mother was so devoted to me. I’m so sick of seeing your ugly mug. You want to know who you are? You’re a bastard. You got that. Your mother had you before she married me.”

Giovanni staggered backward, turning to his mother. “Ma, is it true?”

“Gio, please,” his mother whimpered. She was unable to meet his eyes.

“Is it true?” he shouted in rage.

“Damned right it’s true, you filthy bastard.” The old man intercepted him. “The Sicilian mafia backdates centuries. You should be honored and grateful I gave you my last name, Giovanni Bianchi.”

“I don’t fucking want your last name,” he lashed back. “I don’t fucking want to be a part of the Bianchi Family.”

“Why you little shit! If I didn’t think your mother loved me so much, I would have tossed you out on the streets by now.”

“So, who told you to bring up a fucker like me, then? Why didn’t you leave me on the streets? Leave me to die instead of letting me live a life filled with torment and agony?”

“Get out. Get out of my house. I’ll not have some vermin like you feeding off my money and generosity.”

“Fine. I don’t bloody want to live here anyway.” Giovanni turned to his mother. “Come live with me, Ma. I’ll work hard. I’ll make sure you have a life of freedom. Not oppressed by that monster.”

“I’m sorry, Gio. I won’t go. I’ve already made the mistake of keeping you. I’m sorry. It was only through Rocco’s generosity that you’ve been able to live.”

Pain and betrayal surged through him. His own mother, his own flesh and blood abandoning him. “Fine. Stay here and let him suck your flesh off until you die. ‘Cause I’m not staying another minute.”

“Good. Get out, you filthy vermin. Go die on the streets,” Rocco said, as his farewell gift. “If I see you back here, I’ll kill you myself.”

Gone. His mother, his life as Giovanni Bianchi. In that split second, he was left with nothing but the clothing on his back. And Ricardo was the last person he saw, the boy he thought was his younger brother.

Now it all made sense. Why Ricardo was so arrogant, so selfish in every game they played in their younger days.

Giovanni spent many days wandering along the streets of Brooklyn. By night, he’d slept under bridges like a homeless orphan. By day, he’d stolen, picked pockets, just to survive. That’s how he’d come to know the head honcho Giuseppe Dente. He’d picked his pocket. Although, back then he didn’t know who he was.

His mind streamed back to little Jennifer. That was also the last time he saw her.

Jennifer had always been at the back of his mind. After getting acquainted with Giuseppe Dente, and his life improving, he always made a habit to go back, just in case she would turn up. But she was never there. He’d also begun investigating her whereabouts. But no one in the area could remember who she was. It was frustrating. He’d lost his only friend in the world.

Where had she gone? He kept coming back to that question. But more importantly, even if she were to appear in front of him again, would he recognize her? She was five, maybe six years old at the most. He was a boy of fourteen. No, he didn’t think they would know each other if they were to meet again. It had been fourteen years since they’d last met. He supposed their ridiculous promise was all for naught.

But still, there was something inside him that wouldn’t let her memory go. Like he knew he’d see her again. Like she was waiting to come to him.

Giovanni drove home, thoughts of the past dissipating as irritation mounted with each passing minute.

Shit! What a day. He needed his coffee-now. And the only way to get that coffee was to wake up his maid. But it was almost midnight. The house was quiet as a rat’s nest. When he remembered the last time he saw her, his heart rate surged and his mouth ran dry. She was in the bathtub, soaking wet, with clouds of lust and maybe confusion misting her eyes.

“What the fuck? She’s one of my boys. I’ll be fine.” Giovanni reminded himself before opening Jenny’s bedroom door and entering.

Is he still mad with me? Lying on my little cot, eyes staring at the ceiling, an arm over my forehead, I asked this question. Ah, who cares?

The clock had already ticked past midnight. I was so tired I should have just closed my eyes and gone to sleep. I had to hand in my economics report early, and if I failed to do so, I would be dead meat.

Except I couldn’t sleep. Not even a wink. All I could think of was his banana.

I moaned, crushing a pillow over my face. Ah, I was so embarrassed just thinking about it. I still couldn’t believe I’d actually touched it. My poor virgin hands!

But come to think of it, that experience wasn’t so bad. It felt hot and slippery and-

What the heck was I thinking? Wasn’t so bad?

Girl, get your head checked. That mafia boss was a devil in disguise. I shouldn’t even be thinking along those lines.

Big capital letters: MUST WORK OUT A WAY TO GET OUT OF THIS DEBT FASTER. Even better, find Pa and strangle him for putting me in this situation.

I turned off the light, mind still pursuing that slippery scene in the bathroom. In the midst of it all, I saw Giovanni’s face hovering above mine, his lips drawing closer. Except this time, we weren’t in the bathtub. I was lying in bed and he was hovering above me, his raven eyes boring into mine with hunger.

I blinked once. He was still there.

“Boss? Is that you?”

His lips didn’t move. But I could sense his body coming closer.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel him. An irresistible force pulled me into him, but I couldn’t move. My body felt all sluggish with a mixture of hot flushes and sensitive skin.

Soft lips landed on mine, caressing the sensitive skin. I closed my eyes and gently fell asleep.

Giovanni. He kissed me?

Must have been my imagination.