The Mafia Boss's Deadly Maid

Apollo stared at my tear-stained face. He didn't answer my question. He just turned his broad back to me and looked at Cole. "Pack her things."

Two bodyguards stepped forward and began tearing through the meager belongings scattered around the room.

I scrambled off the sofa and lunged for a beat-up canvas duffel bag in the corner. I clutched it to my chest, burying my face in the cheap fabric. "I can do it! Please, don't break my stuff!"

I was shoved roughly toward the door. I stumbled up the concrete stairs, bursting out into the cold night air.

The street was lined with black SUVs. The neighbors were peeking through their blinds, terrified.

The door of the center SUV flew open. Jace scrambled out, his little legs hitting the pavement. He sprinted toward me and slammed into my knees, wrapping his arms around my legs.

I let out a soft gasp, stumbling backward, but I immediately dropped to my knees and hugged him tight. I buried my face in his hair, rocking him gently.

Apollo stood a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes were fixed on where my hands touched Jace's back. He was waiting for the revulsion to hit him. He was waiting for the sickness.

It never came. Watching me hold the boy only deepened the unnatural calm settling into his bones.

Cole stepped between us, holding a thick stack of papers bound in black leather. A gold pen rested on top.

"Non-disclosure agreement," Apollo said, his voice cold again. "You sign this, you belong to The Ninth Circle. You breathe a word of what you see inside my walls, and you stop breathing."

I stared at the dense legal jargon, blinking rapidly. I looked up at Apollo, my eyes wide and clueless. "If... if I sign this, will the men in the suits stop coming for my money?"

Apollo let out a harsh, mocking breath. "You stay inside my fortress, and no one on this earth will ever touch you again."

Jace tugged on my sleeve. "Please stay, mint girl. Please."

I let my lower lip tremble. I reached out with a shaking hand and took the heavy gold pen.

I pressed the nib to the paper. I signed The Nobody in the exact same messy, slanted scrawl I had used at the clinic.

Apollo watched the ink dry. A dark satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He nodded to Cole.

"Put her in the car with the boy," Apollo ordered. He turned and climbed into the lead command vehicle.

I was pushed into the backseat of the SUV. The doors locked with a heavy, metallic thud. I pulled Jace onto my lap. He rested his head against my chest and closed his eyes.

The convoy began to move.

I leaned my head back against the leather seat. I stroked Jace's hair with my right hand. With my left hand, hidden beneath the folds of my oversized shirt, I peeled a micro-tracker the size of a grain of rice off my thumb and pressed it deep into the seam of the leather seat.

In the vehicle ahead, Apollo stared out the window. "Run her again," he told Cole. "Deeper."

"We did, sir," Cole replied. "She's a ghost. A few loan sharks looking for her, but no family, no friends. She's a blank slate."

Apollo closed his eyes. He could still feel the phantom coolness of my skin against his palm.

The convoy left the city, driving deep into the wealthy, isolated stretches of Long Island. The trees grew thicker.

I looked out the tinted window. I noticed the way the branches were pruned-cleared to provide perfect lines of sight for sniper nests.

My heart beat a slow, steady rhythm, but I kept my eyes wide, my mouth slightly open in feigned awe.

Massive black iron gates loomed ahead, a terrifying Wyvern crest welded into the center. The gates groaned open.

The convoy rolled into The Aerie. The most heavily fortified private estate in America.

I clutched my cheap duffel bag tighter. The terrified girl vanished from my mind. The hunter had entered the cage.

The convoy stopped beneath the blinding halogen lights of the glass security pavilion attached to the main house.

"Out," a guard barked, opening my door.

I scrambled out, clutching my duffel bag to my chest, my shoulders hunched so high they touched my ears. I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by men holding assault rifles.

An older man in a pristine tailored suit walked toward me. Arthur Pembroke, the head butler. His eyes swept over my cheap clothes and messy hair with absolute disdain.

"Confiscate her belongings. Full biometric scan," Arthur ordered smoothly.

A guard ripped the bag from my arms. I let out a pathetic whine, reaching for it. "There's nothing in there! Just clothes and... and mints!"

The guard dumped the bag on a metal table. Three ratty t-shirts and a tin of cheap mints spilled out. Arthur sneered and waved his hand.

"Step into the scanner," Cole commanded, pointing to a massive glass tube.

I shuffled forward, my head down. I stepped inside. A harsh blue light swept over my body, checking for weapons, wires, and explosives. The screen flashed green. Clean.

I stepped out, shivering.

"Fingerprints and iris scan," Cole said, tapping a digital pad on the wall.

My stomach tightened. The CIA database held my real biometrics. If my real prints hit his system, alarms would trigger instantly.

I took a step toward the machine, pretending to trip over my own feet. My shoulder slammed into a heavy metal trash can. It crashed to the floor with a deafening clatter, spilling garbage everywhere.

"Watch it, you idiot!" Cole roared, his hand dropping to his holster.

I dropped to my knees, sobbing loudly. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll clean it up!"

I scrambled on the floor, grabbing the trash. As my hands moved frantically, I pressed my right thumb and index finger against the inside of my pocket.

A micro-thin layer of chemical polymer adhered to my skin.

I stood up, wiping my tears, my hands shaking violently. I pressed my fingers onto the glass scanner.

The machine beeped. The screen lit up green. It registered the fake prints Zane had planted in the dark web database.

"Look at the camera," Cole snapped.

I widened my eyes, staring into the red laser. The specialized contact lenses I wore refracted the light, feeding the scanner a dead woman's iris pattern.

Green light.

Cole sighed in annoyance. "She's clear. Get her out of my sight."

Arthur grabbed my arm and dragged me down a labyrinth of hallways. "You will not touch the art. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will clean the east wing starting at six AM."

I nodded rapidly, keeping my eyes on the floor. But my peripheral vision was snapping mental photographs. Camera models. Blind spots. Patrol routes.

Arthur shoved me into a damp, windowless room in the basement. An iron cot and a small metal locker. He slammed the door, the lock clicking heavily.

I collapsed onto the thin mattress. I let out a loud, exhausted groan.

I lay perfectly still for ten minutes. I listened to the silence. No breathing behind the walls. No electronic hum of hidden microphones.

I sat up. The trembling stopped. My spine straightened.

I walked over to my confiscated belongings. I picked up the tin of mints. I popped the false bottom off with my thumbnail and extracted a microchip the size of a fingernail clipping.

I slid the chip into the side of my cheap digital watch. The cracked screen glowed blue.

Inside. Secure. I typed the encrypted message to Zane.

Five floors above me, Apollo sat in his dark study. He was staring at the live feed of my room.

He watched me lying on the bed, my back to the camera.

He unbuttoned his collar. The Wyvern mark on his spine throbbed with a dull, angry heat. He rubbed his chest, his breathing growing shallow.

He wanted to go down there. He wanted to grab my wrist again. He wanted that silence in his head.

He slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, furious at his own lack of control. He hit the intercom. "Cole. Put two men outside the basement door. She doesn't leave that room until morning."