The Mafia Boss's Deadly Maid

The basement apartment in Brooklyn smelled like rotting wood and stale beer. Water dripped from a rusted pipe overhead, hitting the concrete floor with a hollow plink. I shoved my tactical gear, the sniper parts, and the encrypted comms into a lead-lined safe hidden behind a loose cinder block in the wall. I locked it and pushed the heavy, moldy dresser back into place. I stripped off the hoodie and put on a faded, threadbare t-shirt that hung loosely off my frame. I stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror and rubbed a grey-toned powder under my eyes, making my skin look bruised with exhaustion. I walked into the main room, turned on a bulky analog radio, and cranked the volume to mask the steady, controlled rhythm of my breathing. I sat on the edge of the torn sofa, pulled my knees to my chest, and waited. Across the city, inside the impenetrable walls of The Aerie, Apollo Buck was staring at a massive monitor. He watched the grainy clinic footage on a loop. He saw my hunched, pathetic figure carrying his nephew. He rubbed his chest. The Wyvern mark burned beneath his skin, a constant, irritating heat. He hated women. Their scent, their touch, their very presence usually made his stomach churn with violent nausea. But as he watched the screen, he felt nothing but a strange, hollow curiosity. Cole walked into the study and tossed a thin manila folder onto the desk. "The Nobody. Orphan. Evicted twice. Currently drowning in debt to the Russian mob. She's a ghost because she's too poor to exist." Apollo didn't look at the file. He looked at the screen. Down the hall, Jace's cries echoed. "I want the mint girl! I want her!" Apollo's jaw tightened. He stood up, grabbing his coat. Back in the basement, my ears picked up the heavy, synchronized hum of armored engines cutting off at the end of the street. My heart rate didn't spike, but I forced my hands to start shaking. I grabbed a rusted kitchen knife from the counter and curled into a tight ball on the sofa. Heavy boots thudded down the concrete stairs outside. Bang. Bang. Bang. The door shook in its frame. Dust rained from the ceiling. Before I could react, the door was kicked off its hinges. It slammed into the wall. Three men in tactical gear flooded the tiny room, their weapons drawn. I let out a piercing, ragged scream. I held the dull knife out in front of me, tears instantly welling in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. Apollo stepped through the doorway. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame. He looked around the squalid room, his upper lip curling in disgust. His dark eyes locked onto me. "Put the knife down," he ordered. His voice was a low, vibrating growl that rattled my ribs. I shook my head frantically, pressing my back harder into the corner. "I don't have the money! Please, just give me another week! Don't kill me!" I sobbed, my voice cracking perfectly. Apollo frowned. He despised weakness. He hated the sound of crying women. Yet, the usual bile didn't rise in his throat. He gestured to Cole. Cole stepped forward and held out a crisp check. The number written on it was astronomical. "For saving the boy," Cole said flatly. I stared at the paper, my eyes wide with manufactured terror. I didn't reach for it. I shrank back further. "Is this a trick? Are you buying my organs?" Apollo lost his patience. He stepped into the room, his expensive leather shoes splashing in a puddle of dirty water. He closed the distance between us in two strides. The sheer physical dominance of his body triggered my combat instincts. Every muscle in my arms coiled, ready to drive the knife upward into his throat. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, forcing my body to freeze. Apollo reached down and grabbed my wrist. His massive hand wrapped entirely around my arm. The second his skin touched mine, Apollo froze. His pupils blew wide. The constant, agonizing burn of the Wyvern mark on his back vanished. The violent noise in his head went dead silent. A wave of absolute, terrifying peace crashed through his veins. He stared at my trembling hand, then up at my tear-streaked face. I let out a whimper and dropped the knife. It clattered against the concrete. "Please don't hurt me." Apollo snatched his hand back as if he had been burned. He took a staggering step backward, staring at his palm. His chest he heave. He looked at me again. The disgust was gone. It was replaced by a dark, consuming hunger. "Jace wants you," Apollo said, his voice suddenly thick and uneven. "You're coming to work at The Aerie." I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I looked up at him through my messy hair. "Do... do I get room and board?"