Maid for the Mafia
The Difference

**DAMIEN**

I can't have heard her right. *There's no way she said what I thought she said. It's impossible.*

It may be dark in my room, but the sexy glare Romany pins me with is vibrating with arrogance. She's trying to bait me. She thinks she's catching me off guard by springing that question on me and attaching a name to it, but she couldn't be more wrong.

The only time I ever mentioned Dana was when I apologized for allowing my jealousy to control my behavior. I admitted to *using* a woman. just to try and wash Romany from my mind, but I *never* gave her a name, so she should *not* have

one.

"What number is *who*? What?" I repeat stupidly and almost groan when I hear how synthetic my voice sounds.

Romany chuckles soundlessly, the absence of her voice triggering a stampede of reckless thoughts to take shape in my head. Antony is still alive - although in considerably worse shape than he was when he got here - he is now safely tucked away in his suite downstairs on the first floor. But everytime I see Romany fighting to be heard? I see his hand around her throat again and my body coils with anger.

*I should dip out of here after she passes out and head downstairs to guide that fucker into the afterlife.*

"Don't!" Romany whisper-yells, trying to push out of my arms and turn around.

I don't let her. "Okay! Okay, okay," I coo, pulling her even further into my embrace. I sigh with pleasure when I feel her body go slack in my arms and she rests her head on my shoulder. "Dana... she doesn't have a number. She's Santos' little cousin." Romany's entire body goes rigid and for a moment her breath seems to huff a little erratically. Quick tufts of air heat my earlobe as she tips her head upward to study me. I lean up a bit, gazing down at her to search for signs of *what* has her suddenly stressed. "What is it?" I ask. "What's wrong, baby?"

Romany blinks then looks away, relaxing once again. "Has she ever been here?" Romany rasps as one hand begins tracing soothing circles over my abs.

My head falls back onto the pillows and my balls begin to throb, almost as if Romany's sweet stroking has reminded them of just how close her mouth had been moments ago. *Shit.*

"Yes," I answer truthfully and her body tightens almost angrily. "*Not* in my bed!" I clarify, happy when I hear her sigh and relax against me. "Alex uses her to spy on Santos. Dana hates him because of some bullshit he apparently did to her mother. A year or so ago, Alex had her come to dinner and it was pretty obvious to everyone that night that she had a thing for me. So..."

"So Alex turned you into you her white rabbit," Romany whispers and for a moment I feel her nails in my flesh.

*God that might hurt f it didn't feel so gooood!*

"Right," I agree, stroking my hand down from her back to pet the tender flesh of her exposed ass.

"And now..." Romany says on the end of a yawn. "Now... he's invited her here to work for him."

*Say what?*

"Baby," I begin, workinng as carefully as possible not to shoot straight up into the roof with anger. "What are you talking about?"

I gaze down at her to see her eyes closed. Her head tips back ever so slightly and her hand on my abdominals stops moving.

"Is she the one?" She whispers.

I *know* what she's asking, but I decide to play dumb for a moment. "No, baby girl. Ever since the first moment I saw you... *you* have been the one. The only one." And it's true. She is.

She giggles silently, her eyes still closed. "You know what I mean!"

I smile, never mind that she can't even see me with her eyes still closed. "I do," I admit.

"She's the one that doesn't matter," Romany whispers almost too softly.

For the briefest moment I'm filled with guilt for my choices. Not *only* for fucking Dana that night, but for allowing Dana to think that I might like her *beyond* our little arrangement. But the sensation dies quickly when I remind myself that I've never* promised any more than I gave. I'm not in control of what fantasies she chooses to fall prey to.

"Yeah baby," I admit, kissing the top of her head. "That's right."

"Well... you matter to her," Romany rasps, before her entire body goes limp and she passes out. *Yeah. I know.*

I speak my apology to her anyway. "I'm sorry baby. You're the first girl I've *ever* had such strong feelings about. The *only* girl I'll ever want again. I didn't know how to handle it when we first met. I didn't know how to navigate my jealousy. I still don't. Not really. But I'm learning and I won't give up. I can't because..." I kiss her head again, even though I know she can't feel it, "I'm in love with you."

And I know without a doubt that's true. I'm head over heels for this gorgeous girl in my arms. There is nothing that I wouldn't do to keep her. The realization is more than a little scary because I know I might not be the only one who feels so strongly about her.

*But if it's the last thing I do, I will be the only one that she loves back.*

As I lay here trying to sleep, my mind drifts back to that day...

Romany was nowhere to be found that morning. I'd gone straight to her room planning to reinsert myself as the object of her desire, and she hadn't been in it. Alex's office was my very next stop, but before I could make it to the front hall, the place was swarming with cops. When Alex emerged from the protected space alone, but looking like he'd just been shown the gates of heaven, I felt betrayed. Not by him of course, but by her.

When it came to Alex, such things were to be expected. He's never been the kind of guy that gave a fuck who a woman might belong to. If he wanted someone, it didn't matter if she was married to a boss in the high district, or engaged to the Prince of Wales, he was going* to fuck her. Well, I mean, he was if she was even remotely interested. And women are *never* - not interested in Alex - at least to some degree.

It was that little glimmer of infatuation that Alex *loved* to exploit. He *enjoyed* it. *Reveled* in it. Made a *game* of it! Don Some of the women he's played around with

But with Romany, it was different for him.

The truth is, I have never had a number one *or* a number two. Not until *she* came along that is. Before I walked up on her in the hallway that day, I'd been content to go on living my untethered existence. Blissfully unaware of all the tiny little things that go along with belonging to someone instead if *something*.

She was growling and cursing at the dinner cart, and frantically bouncing around in that tiny little black joke of a dress - I had never met any one girl that I thought was even a little bit special. And *definitely* not in any kind of romantic sort of way.

I mean, sure, there were females that caught my eye on a daily basis. A nice ass here, or a great set of tits there - but none of them ever had a name. At least, not one I cared to remember. Honestly, I can't *really* say that I never hit the same chick twice, because the truth is, I *might have.* But in the event that I did, it happened because I couldn't remember fucking her the *first* time.

Before Ruby planted Romany here, Alex and I had a steady retinue of females that we *sourced* from his night club almost every single weekend. And never just one or two. It wasn't ever like a double date thing, or an *'I'll take the redhead and you can have the blond'* type of thing. Nope. For us, boning these lucky ladies was like putting in an extra hour at the gym. It was just something we did in the interest of self-care. Like when you're ten years old and you learn to bust a nut so that you don't end up with blue balls.

It was a habit really. A routine. It wasn't even something that I looked forward to anymore.

Sure, the sex was good *sometimes*, but it wasn't ever great. Believe it or not, once you bag your first pole dancer, you've pretty much had them all. Trust me when I say, they aren't all they're cracked up to be. The fantasy many men have of any one particular girl finishing her set on stage just to follow them up to VIP, is only a fantasy until it happens. Once it does, these men learn two things.

One - body glitter is a fucking bitch to wash off. You can literally scrub yourself raw, then inspect every inch of yourself until you are satisfied that the offending sparkles are gone and finally get dressed for work. Then you will step out into the bright of a brand new day and catch yourself shimmering like a fucking mermaid in every reflective surface you come across for the next month.

Two once their glitter has disappeared they end to look a lot more like regular, average, women and a lot less like the unattainable wetdream wildcat you paid a grand just to fuck. If I'm being honest, I actually find strippers to be the most boring in bed. They twirk on your cock more for themselves than for you, and they do it so much that most of them lack the capacity to try for any other position. Trust me, once you've had a few *'exotics'*, you realize the truth of them. They aren't any more exotic than the girl next door when she finds herself pregnant and suddenly in need of financial security. How *exotic* are they when they're laying next to you and sobbing about every pervert they are forced to endure just to pay their rent? Sharing their dreams of being swept off their feet - *by you* - so that you can insist that they quit the club to become your domestic. They are *that* fucking predictable. They *never* stray from the program because it fucks with their training and they literally approach every conquest as a chance to up their stage game. And if that weren't already enough... I hate the way they sound when they moan.

Alex and I have fucked so many different categories of slut that we didn't even view them as individual people anymore.

It was easy to forget what existed outside of our lifestyle. *Easy* to overlook the simple normalcies

We've had tall girls, thick girls, models and actresses. Cheerleaders and librarians, dental assistants and registered burses. Doctors, single *mothers*, teachers, and waitresses. The daughters of enemies and the daughters of friends. You name it and we've pounded it. Neither of us*ever* went a week without some type of action. But none of them were ever any more than a way to pass the time.

Romany though... She is the difference and we're both fucked.