The Crime Boss’s Wife Laughed When the Maid Hit the Water... Until the Maid’s Little Girl Asked Why Sixty Adults Let Her Mommy Cry Alone
Part 2: “I don’t want toys in the main rooms,” Genevieve had said, not even looking up from the tablet in her hand. “I don’t want little footsteps in my hallway. I don’t want guests asking why there’s a child wandering around. Your daughter may stay in your quarters or outside near the service lawn. Nowhere else.”
Rebecca had swallowed the insult because she needed the job.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Genevieve’s eyes had lifted then, pale blue and sharp.
“And don’t call me ma’am like we’re in some roadside diner. Mrs. Falcone will do.”
Rebecca had nodded.
“Yes, Mrs. Falcone.”
From that day on, Clementine learned to make a kingdom out of a narrow room.
Rebecca cut paper stars from old envelopes and taped them to the ceiling. She placed a secondhand rug beside the bed. She found a chipped mug with flowers on it and filled it with crayons. Every night, after the last glass had been washed and the last floor checked, she would sit beside Clementine and read from the same worn animal book.
The elephant is big.
The elephant is gentle.
The elephant never forgets.
Clementine loved that line most of all.
“She never forgets, Mommy,” the child would whisper, pressing her finger to the elephant’s gray face.
“No,” Rebecca would say, kissing her curls. “She never forgets.”
Then Clementine would curl against her and murmur the promise Rebecca had repeated every night since Thomas died.
“Mommy’s always here.”
Rebecca would close her eyes and hold her tighter.
“Always.”
The strangest friend Clementine made in that house was Nero.
Nero was Adriano’s massive black mastiff, a creature so enormous that new staff members froze when he entered a room. But Clementine had no fear of him. The first time Nero appeared outside the service room door, Rebecca nearly dropped a basket of laundry.
Clementine only squealed with delight.
“Puppy!”
The dog lowered his huge head as if he understood that this tiny person required gentleness. Clementine placed both hands on his muzzle and giggled when he huffed warm air against her palms.
After that, Nero visited often.
He would lie outside the little room while Clementine turned pages in her book, one small hand resting on the dog’s heavy neck. Rebecca knew she should discourage it. Nero belonged to Adriano’s world, and Rebecca wanted her daughter far away from that world.
But Clementine looked so happy.
And in that cold mansion, happiness was rare enough that Rebecca did not have the heart to send it away.
Adriano noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He noticed everything.
One evening, Rebecca was carrying folded linens through the west hall when she saw him standing by the windows, watching Nero stretched out in the service garden while Clementine placed a paper crown between his ears.
Rebecca froze.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ll bring her inside.”
Adriano did not turn toward her at once. His face remained angled toward the garden.
“She isn’t hurting him,” he said.
“No, sir.”
“She’s not afraid.”
“No, sir. She thinks he’s a puppy.”
At that, something almost like amusement moved across his face. It vanished quickly, but Rebecca saw it.
“Nero has been called many things,” Adriano said. “Never a puppy.”
Rebecca did not know what to say, so she lowered her eyes.
May you like
Adriano looked at her then. For one brief second, his gaze was not cold. It was searching.
“What is her name?”
