I Was The Mafia’s Maid Now I’m Their Regret Chapter 01
As long as I can remember, the Marino family has had one rule: when a child completes a task for the Family, the consigliere enters their name into the black leather service ledger. A signature from my father means you can claim your reward.
My older brother once delivered a sealed tribute list for my father. His name went in the book. He got a new phone.
My older sister spent an hour keeping a capo’s wife company at a dinner with our allies. Her name went in, too. She got front-row concert tickets.
But when it came to me, no matter how much I did, the consigliere always dismissed it as simple housework. My name never appeared in the service ledger.
To earn a spot on the family trip to Aspen, I took over the daily operations of the estate for an entire year.
I inventoried the safe house supplies, incinerated used cipher sheets, prepared three meals a day, did the laundry, memorized every guard’s shift schedule, and tracked everyone’s needs, day in and day out.
But on my birthday, my mother took Francesca shopping.
“Your sister entertained a capo’s wife for me today,” she said. “It’s in the ledger. I promised I’d take her to Saks for a new bag.”
My father said Nico had swept his car and found a tracker, so he was taking him to the new amusement park as a reward.
That day, I was the only one left at the estate.
Head bowed, I sent a full year’s worth of my work into the encrypted family group chat—photos, dates, detailed records.
No one replied.
That night, Francesca came home with an expensive new bag and watched a movie with Mom. Nico returned from the amusement park wearing a new pair of Air Jordans.
My hands were still empty.
After everything I had done, no one had ever bothered to ask what I wanted.
So I decided to give myself a reward.
I was done with this Family.
…
“Cosima, stop posting those records in the group chat. It’s annoying.”
After dinner, Francesca casually slid her plate toward me. At the far end of the long table, my father’s consigliere and two capos were just finishing their reports.
I glanced at my phone.
Half an hour earlier, she had posted a photo of herself confirming the guest list for Mom’s banquet. The consigliere had made an entry, and Mom had transferred her the money on the spot, telling her to buy the limited-edition dress she’d been eyeing.
I had posted a year’s worth of records and hadn’t even gotten a reply.
“I just wanted you all to see what I’ve done.”
Francesca frowned.
“The Family only recognizes service that the consigliere records. No one officially assigned you those chores, so why are you keeping score?”
She had barely finished speaking when my father pushed open the door.
The conversation in the dining room died instantly. The head of the Marino Family was back. The consigliere closed the service ledger, and the two capos rose to their feet.
Francesca immediately ran to him.
“Dad, I arranged the seating for your meeting at noon. Did you get me the Tiffany necklace you promised?”
My father smiled and nodded, taking two bags from the man behind him.
Nico’s new PlayStation.
Francesca’s pearl necklace.
The silver bracelet I had been asking about for a month—he’d forgotten. Again.
I took a quiet breath, about to speak.
“Dad…”
He answered without looking at me, turning to follow Francesca into her dance studio.
That room used to be my bedroom.
Francesca had earned it for “organizing Mom’s wardrobe for a week of banquets.” Father had signed the ledger, and I’d had to move out.
Upstairs, Nico was shouting for me to clean his room.
He’d claimed it as his reward for delivering lunch to the accounting office. Father had let him trade that one service for a month of personal care, and I was the only person in the house with no official role to protect me from it.
That was how it had always been in this family.
Whoever got their name in the service ledger got money, gifts, even privileges within the Family.
Only my labor was forever filed under “what she should be doing anyway.”
Mom sat in the living room, flipping through a photo album with Francesca tucked against her side, both of them smiling.
“Look, this was the first time you plated a Family dinner. You were so little. You dropped so many plates.”
My father leaned over to look, laughing with them.
Nico stood beside them, hands on his hips.
“She’s not as good as me. The first time I brought coffee to the guards, I only dropped one cup.”
“And here you are, helping me cook for the first time. You almost set the kitchen on fire.”
Mom held up Nico’s photo for everyone to see, and they all laughed again.
I stopped in the doorway.
“What about my pictures?”
Mom kept flipping through the album, her answer absentminded.
“I’ll look for them when I have time.”
But when would she ever have time?
I managed a smile.
“Forget it. You don’t have to.”
Back in my room, a classmate sent me a message.
“Thanks for helping me with my math model. I bought you that silver bracelet you liked. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”
It had been a small favor, something I had done without a second thought.
But she had remembered. She had actually gone out and bought me a gift.
I almost cried. All I sent back was: *Thank you.*
In a corner of the basement, Mom stored years of photos and videos. Every single one documented the first time one of us did something for the Family.
Francesca’s back as she greeted guests for Mom.
Nico crouching by Father’s car, checking the tires.
One after another, they filled her phone’s storage.
I searched for a long time before I finally found myself in an old video.
I was six years old, standing on a stool by the sink, washing the baby clothes Nico had soiled. Mom was filming Francesca, who couldn’t quite hold Nico properly and had nearly dropped him.
I just happened to be in the background.
That was the day Francesca’s name went into the service ledger for the first time, earning her the Apple Watch she wanted.
I washed clothes all day. My reward was a strawberry lollipop—the flavor I hated most—stuffed into my hand.
I put the album back, wiping my tears away.
The rough skin of my palms stung my face.
The voices from the living room carried down to the basement, perfectly clear.
“Francesca, don’t forget to make breakfast for your brother tomorrow. That’s the reward he traded for sweeping my study for bugs today.”
A laugh escaped my lips.
“Got it.”