Mafia Darling

22 | Assistant (Ella)

I wake to a knock on my door. A familiar voice says, "Service."

"Come in," I say groggily, rubbing my eyes.

Bella walks in. In one hand she balances a tray of breakfast, and in the other are some professional-looking clothes neatly folded.

"Please don't wait on me," I say, voice strained.

"It's my job," she replies. "I'm a maid."

Bella sets the breakfast on the side table and the clothing on the couch. She smooths down her uniform, straightens the little bow at her waist, and waits attentively. "Do you want help getting dressed?"

I can tell this doesn't bother her, but it makes me feel sick to be treated like a princess when I was just like her less than a week ago. I sit up, gathering the covers in front of me. My dreams are already fading beyond my reach, and I feel like a child when I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember the plot, the scenes. Whatever I dreamed about had to be less complicated than my reality.

"Hey," she says. "What happened?"

"You don't know?"

"Marco has forbidden anyone to talk about your absence."

"He didn't harass you, did he?"

"He asked where you were." She shrugged. "I lied. Guess it didn't matter in the end, since you're back."

I look down at my arms. The flesh is soft from the luxury soap and smells like clean laundry. There's no sign of the blood that coated it for two days straight. 

"I don't want to talk about it," I say finally.

Bella nods, not at all disappointed. "You're expected in Marco's room, Miss Laurent. Just walk in. No need to knock."

My stomach twists. "Just call me Ella," I beg.

She shakes her head. "You're an assistant now, Miss Laurent. I must treat you as such. Please call if you are in need of my services."

She leaves. I hastily get dressed in my new professional clothes and take my new professional tablet with me up to Marco's room. I barge in, but he isn't here.

The bathroom door opens, and out walks Marco. Thank God, he's at least got a towel wrapped around his waist, but the hard planes of his chest, the muscles on his back and the dark, swirling tattoos are on full display. 

My breathing stops, but he pays me no mind and walks over to a changing room divider to put his clothes on.

"We'll be heading to Italy today," he says, "and conducting a meeting on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Please check the weather, the airport delays, and search for a reputable cafe around the Venice region."

These are such simple tasks that Google can accomplish. I know this assistant job is a farce. Someone else, an entire team, likely, is the one booking his flights, chartering yachts, and setting up meetings. I'm here for literally nothing but for him to apparently show me that we're meant to be together.

He walks out, wearing a crisp gray button-down and ironed slacks. It's similar to what he always wears, but knowing what he looks like underneath that...

"Very well, sir," I say.

He stiffens at the sir, but he doesn't correct me. "Very well, Miss Laurent."

So, he's finally learned my last name. My lips twitch. "I'm your assistant, sir. Feel free to be informal and call me Ella."

"Miss Laurent, please only speak when spoken to. I have a lot on my mind."

My face heats up, and my grip tightens on the tablet pen. This is how it's going to be, huh?

Fine. Two can play at that game.