Semua Bab Maid To The Three Mafia Kings: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Of course, they were drinking champagne.It was always champagne at parties like that—the kind where everyone was pretending to be effortlessly rich, effortlessly interesting, and effortlessly not dead inside. The penthouse of Moretti Tower, a glass-and-steel middle finger to gravity.Sixty-ish guests swarmed the place, doing the same three things on loop: drinking, gossiping, and hoping someone was watching them while they did it.The skyline of Atlanta sparkled below like it was in on the joke. You thought you were above it all, standing up there, drenched in LED light and narcissism. But the city didn’t care about your champagne or your secrets. It just blinked back at you, indifferent.The DJ was spinning a beat that sounded like it was genetically engineered to numb people with too much money and not enough substance. Waiters glided through the crowd with trays of liquid distraction, their smiles tight, eyes glazed from too many fake laughs.Everyone talked in whispers there. And

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for every can you finish, Amelia,” Aidan said, casual like he was betting on a coin toss.Millie stared at the beer can in her hand, tilting it just to watch the bubbles fizz. This guy was throwing around a hundred bucks a can like it was pocket change. She was on her fifth, and the buzz was hitting, but it didn’t make this whole situation feel any less absurd.“This is ridiculous,” she mumbled, half to herself, taking another sip. The beer was good, sure, but not that good.Aidan, sprawled on his fancy couch, raised his glass of some amber liquor. “I told you, a hundred bucks a can,” he said, smirking. “You’re five deep. That’s five hundred bucks. And you’re still stressing about your next cleaning appointment?”He wasn’t even flexing, not really—just tossing out numbers like they didn’t mean anything. It pissed her off, but she was too tired to call him on it. Besides, the cash was why she was here, wasn’t it? Sitting in this stupidly nice place, drink

Amelia ‘Millie’ Parker wasn’t used to being the center of anyone’s attention, but Aidan Moretti was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth watching. It threw her off—made her feel exposed, desired, and a little reckless all at once. The way his eyes roamed her, sharp and hungry, had her heart racing in a way she wasn’t sure she liked.“You’re stunning, Amelia,” Aidan murmured, like he knew exactly what those words would do to her. His fingers slipped under her bra, unhooking it with a quick, practiced flick. The fabric hit somewhere on the floor, and his lips were on her skin before she could catch her breath, brushing softly over her nipple. It hardened instantly in the cool air, and when he grazed it with his teeth, just enough to tease, she gasped, her body betraying her with a shiver.He smirked against her skin, clearly enjoying her reaction, and moved to her other nipple, pulling it into his mouth with a slow, deliberate tug. Millie bit her lip, a soft moan

Millie woke up, and she felt everything hurt. Her brain was pulsing against her skull, and her mouth was dry. She blinked at the ceiling. Where the hell was she?Then it came back. Sort of. Beer. More beer. Aidan Moretti. That kiss—and now this bed. This enormous, expensive, completely-not-hers bed.She sat up too fast. Mistake. Her stomach flipped, and she had to close her eyes and breathe through it.Where was her bag? Her phone? Did she leave it by the door?Shuffling out of bed like a reanimated corpse, she found her tote dumped near the entrance. The phone was inside, its screen lit up. 7:00 AM.Three missed calls from Clara.Eight from Bert. Eight!Bert didn’t call unless something was actively on fire. And even then, he usually just sent a passive-aggressive text.Millie hit dial with a sinking feeling in her gut. It rang once.“Millie! Girl, finally!” Bert sounded... weirdly upbeat. Suspiciously so. “Listen, I don’t have long. Those specialty cleaning products? I need ’em back

Millie didn’t mean to ignore the warning. It just sort of… happened.The room was chaos, but the good kind. Alive. Half-used paint tubes lay like little grenades across the floor, half-finished canvases leaned like tired soldiers against the wall, and brushes were scattered across every surface like someone had just walked out mid-thought.Without thinking, she started tidying—stacking some blank canvases, uncapping a rogue paint tube before it dried shut. Her hands moved on autopilot, like touching the mess might calm the one inside her. She wasn’t painting. She wasn’t snooping. She was just... organizing. Respectfully.At least, that’s what she told herself.Then a sharp rattle of a brush falling broke the trance. She turned and found Clara in the doorway, arms crossed, mouth tight.“Millie,” Clara snapped, stepping inside like the floor might explode beneath her. “What are you doing?”Millie froze, caught like a kid rifling through someone’s drawers. “I’m—” She glanced down at her