Maid To The Three Mafia Kings

Chapter 10: Ethan's Favorite Brandy

Sunlight poured through the big windows, making fun patterns on the shiny wooden floor. Clara hummed a pop song as she twirled her feather duster around a sparkly chandelier. She wouldn't mind being stuck cleaning this huge mansion forever.

Millie, though, was scrubbing an old clock like it owed her money. She shined the wood until it glowed. The rhythmic ticking filled the room, a gentle reminder to stop daydreaming and get on with it.

Occasionally, they exchanged smiles, finding this task far more enjoyable than cleaning the houses of Bert's usual clients. Then the doorknob rattled, and Sheila swept in. Her uniform was so neat and crisp, it looked like it might snap if she smiled.

"Clara, Millie! Are you two done with the library?" Her voice was surprisingly nice for someone whose uniform was so neat and crisp, it looked like it might snap if she smiled.

"Just a minute, Sheila!" Clara chirped, hopping down with a bounce. "Just gotta reach the top shelf."

Sheila nodded. "Good. When you're done, get outside. The tea table on the porch needs a good cleaning."

Millie groaned inside but then smiled. Being outside meant being hot and sweaty. But at least it was something different.

When they were finally done, they both sighed and looked at each other. Bucket in hand, they followed Sheila through the back door and into the sunshine.

The yard was like something out of a picture book. Perfect green grass, bright flowers everywhere. A fountain bubbled happily, and the shade from big trees looked amazing. The tea table on the porch was straight-up fancy.

"Let's do this," Sheila said, with a chirp of birds almost drowning her out. "We gotta make this place sparkle."

Clara winked at Millie. Maybe outside work was going to be okay. But ten minutes later, as Millie furiously scrubbed at the ornate tea table, her optimism started to fade. The fancy tea table was way more work than it looked. The afternoon sun was trying to melt her into a puddle.

"This place is crazy," Clara chirped, stretching out her back. "Sandra says everyone who works here is like, born into it. Their parents served the Morettis; now they do."

"What, no school?" Millie asked, picturing kids dusting chandeliers instead of going to class.

"Oh, the old man... what's his name? Don Hugo? Yeah, he pays for school for some of the staff. Sandra got to go to college, but then...whoops." Clara mimed a baby bump. "Now she's back here."

"That kinda sucks," Millie said, attacking a stubborn stain with extra elbow grease. "Can't imagine leaving here just to come right back, and I definitely can't imagine spending my whole life working for one wealthy family."

Clara grinned, nudging her, "Well, if the family was this hot, maybe you'd change your mind. Speaking of which, feast your eyes on that." Millie followed her gaze to where a tall, dark-haired man was striding across the immaculately manicured lawn.

"What about him!" Millie whispered back.

"What about him?" Clara echoed, fanning herself dramatically. "Mills, are you blind? The man is a walking romance novel cover. Did you see the way his pants hug those..." she paused, searching for the right words, "...assets?"

Millie snorted, choking back a laugh. "Clara! Keep your voice down."

"Oh, relax," Clara giggled. "Besides, he's way too busy looking armed and dangerous to hear us."

"You are seriously crushing on him," Millie teased.

"I'm just saying," Clara winked, "that, I bet, the rifle he's carrying isn't the only impressive thing about him."