The Mafia Princess Mistaken for a Cleaner

Brenda stared at me for a second. Then she exploded into a piercing, shrill laugh.

"Hahahaha!" She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, tears streaming from her eyes. "Aria Moretti? You?"

She pointed at me, her laughter growing wilder.

"If you're Aria Moretti, then I'm the First Lady!"

I watched her, my face a blank mask.

"Listen, you little liar," she wiped a tear from her eye, her voice turning vicious. "The real Miss Moretti is studying at some fancy art school in Europe. Living like a princess. She would never look like you. Covered in mud, like you just came from a construction site."

"You're mistaken."

"I'm mistaken?" she scoffed. "I've worked in this house for three months. I know everyone. The real daughter is elegant, refined. She wears designer clothes, not that cheap crap you have on."

I looked down at my jeans and t-shirt. They were plain, but that meant nothing.

"Call my father. You'll see."

"Your father?" Her laugh was even harsher. "You little bitch, there's a limit to your bullshit. Do you know who the Boss is? The emperor of Chicago's underworld! You think his daughter would be a piece of trash like you?"

She stepped closer, her eyes full of malice.

"I'm warning you. Admit you're trespassing, or you'll pay for this lie. No one in Chicago gets away with impersonating a Moretti."

"I said, call my father."

"Enough!" Her patience was gone. "I'm not wasting my time with some crazy bitch's fantasies."

She raised my custom phone high in the air.

"No!" I lunged for it.

Too late.

With all her strength, she smashed it against the living room floor.

CRACK!

Electronic parts scattered. The screen was shattered.

I knelt on the floor, picking up the pieces. The family crest on the back was twisted. The screen was black.

"See? A piece of cheap junk," Brenda sneered, stepping over the fragments in her high heels. "A real Moretti phone wouldn't break that easily."

I clutched the broken phone. Rage burned in my chest. That phone wasn't just a phone. It held all my memories with my father, my grandfather. Precious family photos. Irreplaceable notes for my art.

"Do you have any idea what you just destroyed?"

"A fake," she shrugged, not caring at all.

I stood up. The murderous look in my eyes made the air freeze.

"Last time. Take off my mother's robe. And get out."

"Are you threatening me?" Instead of fear, Brenda looked thrilled. "A trespasser is threatening me?"

She walked to the bar. There was a huge champagne bucket filled with ice and half-melted water.

"You like playing pretend?" she said, lifting the heavy bucket with a vicious smile. "Let's snap you back to reality."

"You wouldn't dare—"

Before I could finish, a whole bucket of ice water came crashing down on my head.

Icy coldness shot through every pore. Ice cubes hit my head, my shoulders. The water ran into my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

My car had broken down in a blizzard. I’d already been waiting for hours in the freezing cold. This bucket of ice water stole what little warmth I had left.

My teeth chattered uncontrollably. My whole body started to shake.

"That's better," Brenda said, satisfied with my pathetic state. "You worthless cleaning girl."

I tried to speak, but I was too cold to form words.

"Still pretending?" She grabbed a fistful of my wet hair and yanked. "I hate girls like you. Thinking your pretty little face can get you everything."

A slap across my face. The sting almost made me gag.

Then another. And another.

She kicked and punched me like a madwoman, every blow filled with venom.

"For your lies!" Punch.

"For your disrespect!" Kick.

"And for thinking you could take what's MINE!" Another kick, harder this time.

I'd been protected my whole life. No one had ever laid a hand on me. The shock, the pain... I was close to blacking out. But the rage kept me conscious.

"Enough!" I screamed with what little strength I had left.

"Enough?" She sneered and kicked me in the ribs. "This is just the beginning. You impersonate the Boss's daughter, you pay the price."

She dragged me by my hair toward the bathroom in the corner of the living room. My knees scraped raw on the floor. My soaked clothes made it even worse.

"Let's wash that brain of yours."

She dragged me into the lavish bathroom. Gold-plated faucets gleamed. My ears were ringing. I could barely hear her.

She grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face under the freezing, running water.