The Maid: Mafia Romance (Series)

Half an hour later, I’d finished cooking. Giovanni, though, still hadn’t made his appearance. I, on the other hand, had fully recovered from my abnormal bodily reaction. I bet he was still nursing his poor banana I’d accidently injured. And just when I was about to serve the breakfast, Bobby came sauntering in.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Howdy, Bobby,” I greeted him.

“Howdy, Jenny.” Bobby returned my sentiment, slumping into a seat. As soon as he saw my face, he asked, “Did you do something to the boss again? Why’s your face all red?”

“Who, me? Red?” I chuckled nervously. I thought I’d already recovered. So, why was I still red? I touched my cheek. And it was hot. “You should ask what he did to me.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He…”

“Bobby. Scram.” A deep voice came from behind my shoulder.

I shuddered.

Yikes! When did Giovanni get here?

“Boss, you’re here.” I grinned nervously. Please don’t kill me.

“Howdy, boss. Food?” Bobby suggested. Food always made angry people happy. “Don’t know what Jenny was making, but it looks-”

“Bobby! Scram!”

“Yes, boss.” And Bobby did scram with his tail between his legs, a wounded look on his face.

Save me some food, he mouthed to me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll save you some. See you tonight.” I waved Bobby off as he exited the door.

Giovanni grunted to grab my attention. I took a deep breath. I’d survived all kinds of situations. I wouldn’t die today. So I greeted him with my best kept secret. My seductive smile.

“Boss. Please sit down. I have good food for you.”

Giovanni stood with arms folded across his chest, face as sour as grape juice. My attempt to please him didn’t work.

At least I should give it another shot. I guided him to his chair. “Boss, don’t be mad about before. I want to apologize. I didn’t-”

“Don’t get overly friendly with Bobby. He might cling to you.”

“At least he didn’t cling to me like someone did a while ago. Just because I accidently zipped into something precious of his…”

He snapped, “If you didn’t pull the zipper into my dick, I wouldn’t have clung to you. And don’t worry. I don’t find you desirable. So you can take your god damned virginity and hide it in a cave somewhere.”

Such crude words. Someone should shove a sock in that mouth. Maybe me.

Giovanni extracted the chair and slumped into it himself. Then he leaned forward, eyes searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, peering at whatever he was looking at.

“You’re not thinking of poisoning me again, are you?” That face was full of suspicion.

I laughed. “Boss, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it ages ago.”

“No seafood, shellfish, or marine animals?”

“None. Zilch. Zero. All is good.”

“What is this, anyway?” He tapped at the bowl of porridge, finding interest in my food.

“Rice porridge. Otherwise known as congee,” I proudly announced.

Giovanni looked at me dumbly. Guess he was pretty dense in the area of food. I tossed him my smarty-pants smile and explained to him what congee was.

“Child’s play. Italians don’t eat congee,” he stated like the almighty god he was.

“Ahem. I was brought up with lots of Asian friends, and when you’re sick, you eat congee. So eat congee and you’ll be better in no time.”

“What is this thing?” Giovanni turned his attention to the pickled cabbage dish next to the congee.

“Kimchi.”

“Isn’t that a Korean side dish?”

“Yep.”

“What’s that got to do with the congee?”

Good point. It had nothing to do with the congee. But I liked it. And that was all I cared about. So I put my rationale forth.

“Korean plus Cambodian. Kimchi plus congee. Delicious. Fabulous.”

“Rice glue and chili cabbage.” Giovanni glared at me, a disgusted look on his face. “You’re sick, Jay. I’m not eating it.” He shoved the two dishes across the table, lips pouting.

“Oh, boss. Don’t be fussy. It’s delicious. I have it all the time when I’m sick. It’s delish.” I slid the two dishes across to him again so the smell of kimchi could suffocate his nose.

“For you, but not me. Order me pizza.”

“Sick people don’t eat pizza. Now eat that congee.” I reprimanded, gaining the upper hand. “Sick people should listen to healthy people. Now eat.”

“Jay, I don’t know how to eat this thing. What do you eat it with? A fork?”

“Spoon, boss.”

“Show me.”

Wow. He was seriously like a kid when he was sick. But I did help him because I was kindhearted and generous.

I smiled gleefully and picked up the spoon, dipping it into the congee and offering it to him. He didn’t take the spoon from my hand. He tipped his head forward and grabbed the spoon with his mouth, slipping the congee down his throat.

I froze. Mouth agape. That action was a bit intimate.

“Well?” My voice trembled a bit.

“Again. I haven’t got the taste right yet.”

I sighed and dipped some more for him. Giovanni opened his mouth, then closed it again, his head turning to me, questions lurking in his eyes.

“You know I can’t eat chili.”

“It’s all right. This kimchi isn’t hot. It’s only the color. But if you don’t want to eat it, then let’s just stick to the congee.”

Giovanni shrugged and continued to use my hand as his spoon. “Still can’t taste anything.”

I laughed, feeding him more. “You’re not supposed to taste anything with the congee. It’s supposed to taste bland.”

Giovanni didn’t comment further. He was too busy gulping down the porridge like he hadn’t eaten in a century. For a mafia boss who in the beginning was as scary as hell, he sure tossed up a soft side when he was sick. I smiled to myself. My heart smiled, too.

Oh dear, my symptoms are starting again.

“So, how was it?” I asked, when his bowl was licked clean.

“Passable,” he muttered, dabbing a napkin to his lips.

“Right. Just passable, boss. The bowl looks so clean I don’t think I need to put it in the dishwasher.”

Giovanni jerked his head, snapping at me. “Clean up. I’m going to get some work done.” He shoved himself off the chair and strode to the door.

Ah, back to the devil mafia boss again. But his last sentence caught my attention.

“But, boss, I thought you were sick. You’re not supposed to work today. That’s why I’ve been babysitting you all morning.”

“Who said I was sick? I’m as tough as a boar. Get back to work. You’ve got a full house to clean, and laundry is piling up. I want my shirts pressed and coffee on my desk in ten minutes. Get to it, chessboard.”

I watched Giovanni exit, wanting so much to strangle his neck.

Damn. And here I was playing “babysitting the boss.” I’d been tricked!