Maid for the Mafia
Little Scrapper

**ROMANY**

Huffing and puffing above Dana, I pin her arms near her head and work to catch my breath. Her dark eyes are wild and her chest is heaving, a half snarl turning her busted lip as she gazes up at me. My eyes scan her the rest of her features with satisfaction. It seems to me I got her pretty good. The left side of her face looks to be swelling and the bruise forming under one eye promises to blossom into the mother of all shiners. She got me too a couple of times, but not in the face and for that I am grateful. Because despite that the boys are still bouncing around the hallway, I still intend to enjoy their simultaneous company tonight.

"Get off of me, Puta!" Dana growls. "Or I'll have you snatched away from here and sold to the lowest bidder."

With a chuckle, I whisper, "They'd kill you for it, trust me. You'll be lucky if they don't kill you for threatening it."

She snorts, her nostrils flaring. "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself. You're just a whore. Probably a very good one, but a whore nonetheless. The men in this place don't respect you, they *desire* you. There's a world of difference between the two. Sure, they might get upset when their favorite plaything is gone, but they'll find another. Girls like you are bought cheap and widely advertised."

I don't let it show, but her words sting. I have often thought the same thing and wondered if maybe I should take a break from this sexual revolution I seem to be on. Although I don't want her words to affect me, they do, and I can feel my body trembling with new anger.

"I guess you're right," I say with a shrug, cutting my glance toward the hallway as a particularly large crash sounds. Looking back at her I add, "Maybe I shouldn't be worried for them, then. If what you say is true, they must fight over all their whores."

She snickers, flexing her wrists in my grip. "You think they are fighting over *you*? Alex already told me that you are nothing but a maid with a pretty pussy. Not good enough for marriage. Your most valuable skill is obviously that you let him do whatever he wants to you. He can even sell you off to his friends and you stick around so long as he feeds that mouth of yours his dick afterward. Pathetic."

A hot coil of rage burns in me for the smallest of seconds and for a tiny little second I believe her, but then I remind myself of what happened to those 'men' she mentioned and I'm able to shake it off. Still panting, I allow myself to smile. *If she only knew.* "I'm curious," I begin softly, noticing for the first time that one of her eyelashes sits like a feather on my knuckles. "How many times did you have to beg Damien to stay a little longer after he's fucked you and asked his questions? And out of all of those times, how many did he actually stay?"

Her face heats, her eyes glittering. "It wasn't safe for him to stay with me there. Every time we met up he risked my cousin's men catching him."

I study her with a half smile. "You don't want to tell me...well that's fine. I understand. But ask yourself how many times... Was it every time, or was it only once? Because he only told me about the one time and about how much he regretted doing it."

Her face turns red so fast that for a moment I'm concerned that her head might actually explode. "Your cousin is dead," she says flatly and my body tenses as a reflex.

"Is that a fact?" I manage to reply, trying to holster my rage for this bitch despite that I *know* she speaks a lie. "And how would you know that?"

She chuckles, an ugly sound when paired with her fat lip and bloodied teeth. "Because when she refused to join him, he gave her to his men and *that* lot don't quit until the bitch stops moving."

Fear slices through me for a moment as I wonder if what she says could be the truth. I only demanded to see Ruby alive the one time before I agreed to Santos' deal. Anything could have been done to her since then and she was* chained to a bed when he called. Might he have done that to her afterward? He did say that *he* didn't want to kill her. But did he allow somebody else to?

*I have to call him. I have to call him now.*

My mind begins to whirl with the possibility of having been tricked by Santos. *Everyone* I've met describes the man as heartless and cruel beyond measure.

*But they said the same about Alex and Alex is...*

The fact that the noise in the hallway has stopped doesn't even register until a warm set of hands rests upon my shoulders and a familiar voice says, "Hey Little Scrapper, what have you got there?"

I release Dana's wrists, peeling her eyelash off of my knuckle and sticking it to her forehead. "I believe this is yours," I say sweetly, standing up and spinning around with a smile. "Tiny!"

"Baby girl," he grins, his deep dimples flashing as he grabs me in a hug and spins me away from the angry bitch on the floor.

I'm still in his arms when I notice Alex and Damien have returned to the room. Both of them are bleeding and panting with anger. Neither of them seems able to look at me. "When did they stop fighting?" I whisper in his ear as he lowers me back to the ground, sliding my body against his the entire way to my feet.

"I stopped them a few minutes ago. But nevermind them - when did you *start* fighting?"

Watching Dana as she pushes off the floor onto her knees, I smile. "I wasn't fighting. I was just making a few things clear."

Tiny snickers, losing his smile to glare at Dana. "Did she hurt you at all?"

I shook my head absently, patting my pockets for my phone. *Shit, it's gone. I must have dropped it somewhere in here.* "Only my ego."

He laughs, "Well I brought something that might cheer you up." He eyes Damien and Alex who seem locked in some silent argument. A battle of glares. "There's something in my trunk I think you might be very interested in, DeMarco. Can I have your permission to have it moved upstairs?"

Alex doesn't miss a beat, ripping his eyes away from Damien just long enough to pull out a cigar and light up right here in the dining room. His face is swollen and I immediately want to go to him, but Damien's eyes find mine right then and what I see there stops me. Longing and sadness fairly drip from his gaze and I'm held hostage, not able to move a muscle.

"What is it?" Alex asks, after exhaling a more than adequate plume of smoke from his lungs.

"Proof," Tiny says simply.

"Proof?" Damien questions, still looking at me. "Proof of what?"

Tiny scans the room, then shrugs. "Proof that the Red Raider is still alive."