The Mafia Boss Accidentally Saw His Maid Undressing — Then He Noticed the Scars She Hid

The next morning, the rain hit the valley in heavy, grey sheets, turning the dirt roads into mud and filling the gutters with dead autumn leaves.

In the kitchen of the estate, Angela was helping Rosalie peel apples for a pie. Her hands were still pale, but the Saratoga salve had worked miracles overnight—the deep, throbbing ache in her shoulder had dulled to a soft, manageable tenderness.

For the first time in three years, she hadn't woken up to the sound of someone screaming at her to make coffee. She hadn't spent the night listening for footsteps in the hallway, waiting for the doorknob to turn.

The side door opened, and Frankie Valenti walked in, dripping water onto the floor mat. He took off his flat cap and nodded politely to Angela.

"Morning, Angela. Rosalie."

"You're tracking mud, Frankie," Rosalie grumbled, though she pushed a warm mug of coffee across the island toward him anyway.

"Sorry, Ros," Frankie said, taking a quick gulp. He turned to Angela, pulling an envelope from his dry inner pocket. It was made of heavy, cream-colored paper with no name written on the front.

"Mr. Marquetti asked me to give you this," Frankie said smoothly.

Angela stared at the envelope, her hand freezing over the apple in her lap. "What is it?"

"It's yours," Frankie answered. "Just open it."

Angela set her paring knife down and took the paper. She unsealed the flap and pulled out the contents.

Inside was a cashier's check made out to Angela Marie Vance for twelve thousand four hundred dollars. Below the check was a copy of a title deed for a small one-bedroom apartment on Saint James Street in Beacon—registered entirely in her maiden name.

Angela’s hands shook so violently the paper rattled. "I... I can't take this. Mr. Valenti, this is wrong. I haven't earned this!"

"You didn't earn it from us," Frankie explained, leaning against the counter. "That check comes from the liquidation of Derek Lawson’s assets."

Angela looked up, her heart leaping into her throat. "What did you do to him?"

Frankie’s expression didn't change. "Nothing illegal, Angela. Turns out Mr. Lawson owed money to several people who weren't as patient as we are. When his creditors found out he was trying to sell fake security plans to Tony Russo, they seized his towing equipment and his car to cover his debt. He packed his bags and took a bus to Ohio at three this morning. He won't be coming back to the East Coast."

Angela sat in total silence, the sound of the rain beating against the windowpanes filling the room.

Derek was gone. Really gone.

Not hiding around the corner. Not waiting in the gravel lot with his fist raised. Gone.

She buried her face in her hands, her chest heaving as silent tears spilled onto the cream-colored paper of the check. Rosalie reached over and gently pulled the paring knife out of her fingers, patting her hair with a soft, maternal touch.