Rich Forever: Zo & Remy (Jennings Mafia Family)

Prologue

Alivia Wilson, The Housekeeper

Weston Mansion- Baton Rouge, Louisiana

I sighed as I took a seat at the counter to get off my feet.

I had been up and at it, cleaning the mansion from top to bottom since the crack of dawn.

These slip-resistant shoes did nothing to support my arch, and even the inserts didn’t help.

But I couldn’t change them. Mr. Weston was very specific about his staff; he had everything planned from the time we woke up until we went to sleep.

Even down to the uniforms that we wore and which day we’d wear what color.

He was intense, an asshole, honestly, and I had grown tired of being subjected to his entitlement and verbal abuse.

The job paid well, although there wasn’t a price that could be put on putting up with his bullshit.

But it was more than I would make with my current skill set.

Once I had saved up enough money to relocate, I was going to get the hell away from him.

“You tired?” Remy asked lowly with a polite smile, as she went over to the fridge to grab something to drink. Then she leaned against the counter and waited for my response.

“Yeah, it’s a lot having to do this by myself,” I admitted.

She didn’t speak right away, just gave me an understanding nod.

I was the only housekeeper who lived on the property, responsible for the daily upkeep of the mansion.

The others came if there was a party or something that required more hands.

Remy is Mr. Weston’s fiancée. A beautiful woman with long legs and a shapely figure.

She has the warmest smile and the most inviting personality.

If not for her being here, lighting the load, and making our jobs more tolerable, I probably would be on the street.

Or in a grave. Because many times I had thought about taking a blade to his neck like Celie did to Mister, but I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t walk off the property alive.

Since Remy has been here these last couple of months, she has made it almost bearable.

Even when he was being a bitch, she would always come to our defense.

She would let us take breaks and even take responsibility for the simple mistakes that he blew out of proportion.

I had never asked about her life, never asked how she ended up here with such a horrible man, but I knew she wasn’t here by choice.

I could see she didn’t love him. Maybe she stayed because she had nowhere else to go, or because she feared what would happen if she tried to leave.

It was there in her smile that never reached her eyes, how she tensed when he took her hand or showed affection, the way she exhaled like she’d held her breath when he embraced or kissed her.

She looked as captive as I am. Karlos, though, was smitten.

He was like a wet cat out of water whenever he was near her.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and only then did he seem more human.

I couldn’t blame him; she was a bombshell, but the feelings weren’t mutual.

“You know you can take the rest of the day-” she started to speak just as the front door opened and in walked Karlos on his cell phone.

I fought the urge to immediately hop to my feet and busy myself with cleaning, but I didn’t.

My feet felt like I had been walking on two bricks.

I knew that sitting down for Mr. Weston was a no-go, but I didn’t have the energy, so I stayed seated.

He walked in, phone pressed against his ear with a scowl on his face.

It was a shame that he was such a dick because had he not been, he and Remy would have made a beautiful power couple.

Mr. Weston was as handsome as they came.

He was tall, had rich, deep, dark skin, a low cut with no shortage of waves, and a smile that could be plastered over any toothpaste commercial.

Not to mention that he was wealthy, and Remy on his side would have only elevated all that he was.

But he had a soul straight from the pits of hell.

He was entitled, a liar, a scammer, a thief.

All over the state of Louisiana, they call him Weasel Weston because his entire empire was built on betrayal and theft.

He came in quick, his accent thick with that Louisiana twang.

“I pay you to sit down, or I pay you to clean my shit?” He asked as he took the phone from his ear and stood in front of me. His eyes cut deeper than any knife in the kitchen could.

“We were having a conversation, Karlos, be easy on her.” Remy butt in. She looked from me to him and sipped from her drink again.

“I don’t give a fuck. I don’t pay muhfuckas to talk Remy. Go clean my house.” He barked, snapping at us both. I nodded, slowly stood, and went back to the closet to grab the supplies I needed to start cleaning the floor.

Mr. Weston had never crossed the line of hitting me, but admittedly, he scared me a bit.

Because he was the worst type of person: grimy and unpredictable.

He was short-tempered and wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands or a weapon to get his point across.

I’ve watched him slap grown ass men, and they did nothing but stand there and take it.

I knew that he was in the Mafia, and I had been in this house long enough to see and hear enough to know that I never wanted to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

I walked over to the closet, grabbed my supplies and bucket, then went into the bathroom to fill it with water. By the time I came back, I could hear him having a conversation with Remy, so I stopped in my tracks to hear it better.

“Give me a kiss, my baby,” He said lowly.

“No,” she said sharply, making me chuckle.

“No? You telling your husband no, Remy?” He asked, his tone was a mixture of shock and aggression.

“We’re not married, Karlos, stop grabbing me like that. And I already told you that you need to watch how you speak to me.” She sneered.

I rounded the corner and made my presence known.

I glanced at them and saw that she was leaning against the counter, and he had his arms on either side of her, blocking her exit.

He was trying to lean down and kiss her, but she kept turning her head.

For the most part, I had tried to mind my business, but this conversation between the two of them confirmed what I knew to be true.

She didn’t love this man and probably hated it here as much as I did.

I cleared my throat, went to the far side of the living room, and began mopping the floor.

I wanted to give him and Remy space, knowing their conversation was getting heated.

I put my headphones in, hoping to signal I wasn’t listening, because I didn’t want him to feel that Remy was purposely trying to embarrass him or that I was judging.

They sat in the kitchen long enough for me to get done mopping. Then I got out one of the cleaning wands Remy had purchased for me with the extended handle and started cleaning the baseboards. But before I knew it, my headphones were snatched from my ears, and I was being spun around by Mr. Weston.

My confused eyes met his as he gave me a look that could kill. Then I looked down at the floor, and all I could see were the imprints of his loafers all over my freshly mopped floor. One that he was definitely going to make me do over because it wasn’t up to his standards.

“Who gave you that?” He snarled.

“Me, I didn’t want her bending and hurting her back. What’s the problem?” Remy asked as she came closer as fast as she could to get a handle on the situation.

He snatched the wand from my hands and bent it in half like he was a superhero from a movie and threw it across the living room, shattering one of his vases in the process.

“My pawpaw was right, you muhfuckas are lazy. This generation has no work ethic. Hands and knees like I like it, baby girl.” He chuckled as he turned around and walked toward the back of the mansion. Leaving me to clean his mess.

Before he rounded the corner, he looked back at me and said, “Remy is going to get you fucked up. I suggest you stop listening to her. Aight?”

We both stood there for a second as I tried to keep it together. But I’m sure she could see everything in my eyes. The frustration, the defeat, the sadness, all of it.

“I’m sorry, let me get a broom and help you,” She apologized before I could stop her and jogged over to the supply closet.

She came back with a broom, a dustpan, and a trash bag, went to the corner of the house, and started sweeping the vase pieces into a pile.

“Remy, I’ve got it. I don’t want him to get upset with you.” I warned her. She stopped abruptly and closed a little bit of the space between us.

“And do what exactly? Words are one thing, Liv. But if Karlos ever puts his hands on me, he’ll be buried so fast they won’t even need to embalm him.

Now come on, once you get this floor done, you’ll be off for the day.

This is too much of a house for you to do all at once.

” She said as she wiped the lone tear from my face and continued to sweep.

She swept the glass while I mopped over the places that he had walked through before I did the final wax.

“Do you have an extra pair of booties?” She asked, standing frozen in place with the bag full of glass in her hand. I reached into my apron and gave her a pair, and she slipped them on before carefully walking through the floor.

I smiled, which I had rarely done in the eight months that I had been here. It was a simple gesture, but it really just showed the type of person she was. She was such a treasure. I hoped that no matter what, wherever life took her, she would find someone better than Karlos Weston.

***