Page 5 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe (Revenge Brides #6)

CHAPTER FIVE

Misha

I flick through the website for the millionth time finding all the same horrible, underpaying jobs that were here when I looked this morning. I’ve been searching for over a week and haven’t come across anything that doesn’t make me want to hurl or slit my throat.

How can people offer such low pay for such shit jobs?

I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket, turning to check how much longer my laundry has to go before the spin cycle is done.

Usually, my mom is the one who sits at the laundromat because I’m at work. But now I’m not working, and her seamstress job is taking off nicely, so she is busier than usual. I’m proud of her.

But I’m not proud of myself. This money I acquired will not last forever and I’m doing my best to stretch it. But I’ve learned from the past - you might feel rich now - but in a month or two you will be counting all the things you wasted money on.

I need a job. It’s not a choice.

The washing machine is still dragging on and there is still another load to do, and I realize I am going to be stuck here all afternoon.

I sigh and lean back in the not-too-uncomfortable plastic chair.

I hear a voice that is oddly familiar and open my eyes to see a man walking past me in a dark blue suit. A man that could be a younger version of Vincent Vece.

The similarity is uncanny.

The man raises his hand towards the lady behind the counter. “Is my dad here yet?” He calls out.

“No, Mr. Vece. He’s not here yet. Are you going upstairs?”

“Yes, please send him up when he gets here.”

I am frozen in place, listening to the conversation as though it was the latest breaking news. Mr. Vece. As in Vincent Vece’s son.

Well. That explains why he’s so hot. He looks around my age - which makes him too young for me considering my daddy issues always lead me to be more attracted to older guys.

But what is he doing here?

Also - crap - did he just ask that lady if his dad was here yet? So, Vincent is coming here? Shit. Dammit. Crap.

I stand up, unsure if I should just haul my laundry out halfway through the cycle or leave it there and come back later, hoping no one has stolen it or dumped it on the floor.

I bite my lip as I hover between choices.

I’m leaving.

I’ll take the risk.

I turn towards the door and the lady behind the reception desk calls out. “Lady, you should stay with your laundry. You must remove it from the drum as soon as?—”

“I know. I’ll be back I just have to?—”

And I turn and walk straight into Vincent.

“I just have to—” I mumble as his scent washes over me and sends my mind racing back to all the delicious things he did to my body the other night.

“My sneaky little raven who likes to steal treasure that doesn’t belong to her.” He smirks.

Shit.

He knows.

Obviously, he knows - it was a shit load of money.

“I - can explain.” I say boldly, grinning up at him.

“Is that so?” he muses.

“Ok - I can’t explain.” I huff, pulling my mouth to the side. “I wanted a coffee; I wanted to get a takeaway coffee.” I say.

“And - was it the most delicious coffee you’ve ever tasted - at that price I mean?

” Why is he smiling like that? From everything my mother told me about the mafia I am quite sure I’m about to have my hand chopped off in some underground dungeon.

Although, what I know about Vincent it might suggest he enjoys chopping off hands and that would be the reason for his smile.

“The coffee was amazing. I’ve got to go. It was nice to see you again, Vincent.”

He wraps his strong fingers around my arm, locking me in place. “Where do you have to go in such a hurry?” He asks, pulling me close, whispering the words against my ear and causing a shiver of warning to run down my spine.

“I’m job hunting. I have an interview.” It’s only half a lie.

“Cancel it.” He demands darkly.

“I can’t. I need the job.” I stammer.

“Cancel it. I have a job for you.”

Why do I want to do exactly what he tells me to do? I’m a rebel. I shouldn’t want to do what he tells me to do. But at the same time, I don’t want to, and I want to push my luck with him to see what will happen. Sheesh. I have issues.

I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. “Doing what exactly? Your laundry? Cleaning your toilet?”

“No. You will work in my house as my personal assistant.”

“As your housekeeper. So, not just your laundry - all of your cleaning. I suppose you expect me to wear one of those French maid’s outfits?” I say sarcastically.

He chuckles, licking his lips. “You can wear that - I certainly won’t complain. But you won’t be cleaning anything. I have a housekeeper. You will arrange my travel plans, my holidays, my social calendar. And I assure you that the pay is going to be to your liking.”

He can see he’s caught my attention because he feels bold enough to release my arm from his steel grip - fully confident that I won’t run away.

“So, a real personal assistant then. What’s the catch?” I raise my brows and fold my arms across my chest, jutting one hip out.

“The catch is that if you misbehave - I punish you.”

My heartbeat races faster.

I bite my lip.

Dammit, Misha. Stop thinking like that.

“Most people just fire me when I misbehave.” He’s already seen a sample of what I’m capable of when I don’t like how I’m treated at my job.

“I do things my way.”

His eyes are so gorgeous I can’t look away.

It’s crazy how, if his son is anything to go by, he just got better and better looking with age. Fuck. He’s so sexy. I have to answer him. But instead of pondering the pros and cons of working for a mafia boss like I should be doing - I’m perving him.

“Um. What is my pay? What are you offering? I won’t accept anything less than?—”

“The amount you stole from me,” he says calmly.

I bite down hard on my lip. “I’ll pay it back.” I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush with heat.

“No need. But that amount is your salary.”

“You’re going to give me that amount monthly? Every month?” I say in disbelief. This is too good to be true.

“No, my black-hearted little raven. Weekly. But it is a live in position. And I need your answer right now.”

He’s got me backed up into a corner. He knows I can’t turn down an offer like that but he’s crazy for offering it in the first place. Crazy enough to catch my attention and turn me on at the same time.

“What if I say no?” I ask, but my voice comes out as a whisper.

He steps very close to me and runs his hand up the back of my neck, twisting his fingers in my long hair, he pulls my head backward, tilting my face towards his. He presses his lips against my ear.

“We both know you will not say no, Misha.” His voice vibrates through me as he pushes his pelvis into me, letting me feel how his cock is growing harder.

My knees are growing weak, and my heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy.

I lean against him and gently rest my hand on his solid chest, taking in a sharp breath.

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, untangling his fingers from my hair.

“You know where I live. You start tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do not be late or you will be punished.” He warns me. “Do you need me to arrange a driver to collect your things?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll be there.” I say cautiously.

“Very good.” He murmurs, his voice running over me like melted butter. Hot melted butter.

He brushes his hand over my jaw and winks at me then just like that - he walks away.

Oh.

My.

Word.

My legs stop working and I quickly move back to the chair I was sitting in before.

This can’t be real. A salary like that? What does he really want me to do? Help him hide bodies? Scrub the blood of his mafia enemies off his carpets? Be his sex slave? Mm.

I can think of several things I would do for him without getting paid a damn cent.

Wow. My body is on fire and my mind is racing a million miles in every single direction.

I have a job. Living in a penthouse. I’ll be making enough money to get my mom a much nicer apartment and a new sewing machine and some beautiful fabrics.

We can save though - because I know myself and I’m obviously going to mess this up in a few months - or weeks - or days.

I sigh loudly. Let’s try not to fuck this up, Misha .

But if I’m getting paid that amount weekly - holy shit. We’re going to be ok for a while. All I have to do is not mess up. Right? I can do that. I’m sure I can.

When my laundry is done, I throw it into a basket and run home excited to tell my mom.

But as I get closer to the apartment, I realize that she will try to convince me not to take the job.

It’s obvious he’s mafia. It’s obvious he is a criminal, and she will want me to have nothing to do with any of that.

But I’m so tired of working these shitty jobs for no pay and being treated like scum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

I decide to skim around the truth a bit.

As long as I can take care of her that’s all that matters.

“Mom.” I hurry into the apartment and dump my laundry onto the kitchen counter. “Guess what?” I say excitedly.

“Why didn’t you have it dried, honey? Did you run out of coins?” she frowns as she reaches in and picks up a pair of damp jeans.

“No, don’t worry about it I will hang it up over the bath. I got a job. ” I say, jumping a little.

“You did? Oh, my word that’s amazing.” She picks up the laundry and starts carrying it to the bathroom. She doesn’t seem that interested in my job and based on my track record - can I blame her?

“Mom, I’ll do that. Listen, it’s a live-in job, housekeeping for one of the rich houses in the city.”

“Oh, so you’ll be required to stay there - full time?” she doesn’t even sound worried about being left alone.

“Yes, but I’ll still come visit.” I promise.

She laughs. “Misha, I’m not worried about whether or not you visit me - I’m worried about whether or not you managed to not get fired in the first week.”

I roll my eyes and pick up my t-shirt, helping her hang the laundry on the ropes we have tied over the bathtub. “Mom, I’m not that bad.” I huff.

“Hmm,” She says, unconvinced.

“OK, fine. I don’t have the best track record. But the money for this one - it’s too good to mess up. There will be enough for monthly expenses and to save a bit .”

She stops, reaching out and wrapping her delicate fingers around my cheeks. “Sweetheart just stay out of trouble. Alright. That’s all I worry about.”

I smirk and nod. “I will. I start tomorrow. You should see the house—it’s insane.”

“Who are you working for?”

My throat closes. I don’t want her to know because what if she recognizes the name and knows they’re mafia somehow? She used to be quite connected when she was younger.

“It’s a couple. Mr. and Mrs. O’Dell. They are older and can’t manage the upkeep of the house on their own.”

“That’s nice. At least you aren’t working for some rich asshole who is going to take advantage of you. A beautiful girl like yourself. You have to be careful of those things.”

“Mom.” I huff, shaking my head. “The world isn’t filled with bad people. There are some good people out there.”

She looks up at me with her beautiful green eyes. “I’m really happy for you, Misha. But you have to stay in touch on your phone, ok? And try to behave.”

“I will.” I smile and promise her.