I swallowed, trying to keep the rising heat from my chest from spilling into my voice. “I’m not your maid.”
“What was that?” he barked.
“I said I’m not—”
He slammed a half-empty soda can onto the floor. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Because you sure as hell aren’t contributing! You don’t earn a dime.”
My blood boiled. “I raised you. Fed you. Stayed awake when you burned with fevers. I’ve worked since before you were even born.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve worked on smelling better,” one of the twins shot back.
“Yeah,” Nico laughed, “it’s horrifying seeing you. People at school said you scare them, like some extra from The Walking Dead.”
Their laughter bounced around the kitchen. Marcello didn’t even look at me. He returned to polishing his pistol on the mantel, examining it as though it mattered more than I ever did.
“We’ve got money, Bianca,” he muttered. “But I’m not wasting it on useless help. You’re here. You’ve got two hands. Why hire a maid when you’re the so-called woman of the house?”