Author's Note: So this is my first GTA V fanfic that I decided to write after reading a really good reader-insert fic. The concept itself was inspired by a story called Old Enough to Be by Dantya Noire. At any rate, it influenced me to run with my crossover idea. The protagonist here will be revealed pretty much at the very end of this chapter. So you can say it's a surprise or not a surprise. Let's see if you guys can catch on quickly as to what crossover is with.

Extra Note: The protagonist will remain unnamed. However, pronouns should indicate what gender they are. Pairings might be debatable depending on what my readers want. Also, there might be some grammar errors cause I normally write my stories as reader inserts before converting them to OCs; easier for me to write that way. Regardless, most pairings will not be messed with from canon. At any rate, here is the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Grand Theft Auto V.

Los Santos. It was supposed to be the start of a new beginning.

Arriving at the airport, she could remember the familiar voices begging her to not go - that she shouldn't leave the empire that she built from the ground up, spent years on building. However, she knew that the friends she left behind could deal without her leadership. They had been by her side for years and what they witnessed should have toughened them up. It was better this way. After all, her enemies wanted her dead not them. Any enemies would certainly use them as bait if they could, but you didn't have to worry anymore. They were completely wiped out and no new gangs had formed back there.

Hailing a taxi cab, she headed over to her apartment complex. She already had a car transferred and set everything up. Regardless, she also had bought a car that looked to be really low end on purpose. The work that she was hired to do required her to be low-key if she wanted to leave her past behind. She may have changed her hair color, her eye color and even her skin color before leaving her former hometown but the only thing that remained as hers that she truly had left was her real name, not the pseudonym that she used for so long and were known to be addressed by. Not even her close friends knew her real name, only by the name she wanted to be addressed.

Arriving at the gated building in her issi, where her employer was waiting for her, her eyes stared up in curiosity. Well, at least the guy backed up the information he provided her with. "De Santa Household, huh?"

Being the new maid in the De Santa household quickly made her learn new things about the family within the first week. The slam of the door made her stand up straight from her leaning position. She weren't sure what the hell was on top of these kitchen counters, but it was making her having a hard time cleaning off what substance stained it.

"Dad~ Jimmy called me…" The maid rolled her eyes, going back to the task at hand. It was just Tracey, complaining about something her brother did again. Those two were always bickering around each other. Her eyes glanced over to her employer, the much older male (Well, not that much older.) and man of the house – something she tried to remind herself not to call him after he corrected her on how to address him.

Michael. Remember, call him by Michael. She scolded herself. Honestly, she was a little intimidated by her employer at first, not used to having such a low key job. Most things that required stealth was something she fucked up with, preferring explosions and violence than anything else. It was honestly a miracle she hadn't blown her cover and had the authorities on her. Things managed to ease up as the first week turned into several weeks, managing to prove her work ethic to her employer and doing a good job of making the place as spotless as it could be. And maybe left a scent of lemons that became a tall-tale sign that she was done.

It was when she was taking off after her shift that things took a more personal turn. Something she wasn't entirely used to or tried to put herself in. After all, the people she truly cared about were mostly dead because of her. There was a huge list of people in that list that she lost count. Talk about knocking on wood but she didn't exactly want her employer to die on her, adding himself onto the list of deceased friends, not when she was trying to start over.

Still, the memory was pretty clear as day as if it happened only yesterday.

"My kids are a mess." The statement surprised her, but with how observant she had been, she wasn't exactly all that surprised. She was just surprised at how suddenly the business relationship was slowly drifting into a personal one; and she wasn't sure if she felt comfortable about that.

When Tracey and Jimmy weren't bickering or Michael wasn't having another argument with his unfaithful wife, he was always off in his own little world in that patio of his that had a huge swimming pool. Just dozing off while he listened to god knows what on some iPod to drown out the occasional argument Tracey brought up with her mother. Maybe it wasn't entirely his fault but the way he tried to escape from his reality almost resonated with her; that's probably why she didn't blame him too much on his negligence.

For once, she was silent - not even making a sarcastic comment or joke, still listening to him. She wasn't sure why, being the type to just have business relationships. All of her personal ones were back home at-

"A complete fucking mess. I honestly haven't had a clue how they manage…" Michael's complaints cut her train of thought off. The pause he took, not even wanting to finish his sentence was enough to make a statement in of itself. Even though she never had children of her own, she could pick up the disappointment that he refused to acknowledge. It actually made her feel sorry for her employer. From what she understood, his entire family didn't appreciate what he gave them. It made her almost furious that they couldn't be happy at the fact they were getting fed, had a roof over their head and weren't living out in the streets. She didn't know what to say that day but when she mentioned the wages were still the same, she suddenly felt relieved not to make Michael more stressed out by changing the subject.

And maybe… that's probably what she wanted to do; make him less stressed. Which was why she suddenly spoke without thinking, "Well… is there anything else I can do for you? I might be done cleaning for the day but I don't mind running any errands you might have." She quickly added, "And I'm not charging extra for that, by the way." Well, then again, she was used to running favors for people at the cost of risking her life.

The corner of her lips turned upwards into a smile.

She would try to help him out somehow.

She tuned out whatever argument Tracey would have with her dad concerning her younger brother, heading upstairs. This was the maid's usual task during the day; clean up the main section of the house and restrooms then she would do a double check on the restrooms upstairs, ordered not to touch anything in the rooms – which she didn't – but it was something Michael told her that he ordered of their previous maid. The previous maid never said she got sick of the family, but the new one wouldn't really blame her with what she saw. The only explanation of her absence was she was getting too old, again, Michael explained.

Then that's when she came into the picture; how convenient that a low-key job was available as soon as she arrived in Los Santos. Unfortunately, she saw things that were common for maids to accidentally stumble upon on like finding out Michael's wife wasn't exactly the most faithful in their marriage. Either she had seen her with her tennis coach that was "helping" her with her position, which the maid called bullshit on, or it was discussed in the various arguments she overheard between husband and wife in the time she had been employed in the De Santa household.

At any rate, everyone that was supposed to be in the house was more or less downstairs, leaving her alone. The maid stopped at Jimmy's door, noticing he hadn't followed Tracey down the stairs.

Probably occupied with his stupid first person shooter game, not that she blamed the kid to escape from the toxic environment he's in. She was about to raise her hand to knock on the door when she heard something, like heavy steps, in the bathroom that made the maid's natural instincts kick in.

She moved away from the door, heading towards the source of the noise, stopping in front of the bathroom. Her heart beat raced; feeling the adrenaline running through her body. The maid hoped something interesting would happen in this town. Opening the door, she was confronted with a black male, who was also in shock, but had a very bad attempt at stealth.

Well, there were crazier things she had seen before she signed up for this job.

The burglar raises his hands up, next to his head, making it evident that he didn't have anything armed on him. However, with her past, she couldn't help but narrow daggers at him. Even though this man might think of her as a lowly maid, she knew a thing or two with how to use a gun (and explosives). If anything, the burglar should be glad she weren't carrying one with her.

A forced smile was given as she nonchalantly messed with her work apron.

"Look.." The criminal spoke. For being a criminal, he sounded like if he was… nice, almost soft-spoken. Still calling bullshit on his occupation, she really wondered if he was the real thing. "I… ain't gonna hurt you, a'ight?" His choice of words reminded her of a friend back from a certain city that she had left behind; abandoned because she simply wanted to settle down away from what she had gone through.

The criminal doesn't move from the bathroom, still feeling like if she were the one that was dangerous. Well, he wouldn't be that far off. Again, the maid wasn't really terrified, just anticipating what he would do next.

"If you're looking for Tracey, she's downstairs. Mr. De Santa took off earlier so there's really no need for stealth-" She paused, motioning at his poor position. "Well, your poor attempt at it, anyways."

Her dry humor caused the criminal to chuckle but he shook his head, "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Oh. Not here for the loose one in the house then?" She commented, hoping Tracey wasn't in hearing range. Raising an eyebrow she asked, going down the line with the family members. "You here for Jimmy? The front door was that way in case you didn't notice." Yep. Her sarcasm was still in check.

The criminal still answered negatively, leaving her dumbfounded.

"Um… then maybe Mrs. De Santa?" She rolled her eyes at the prefix. Honestly, from what she had seen so far, the woman wasn't exactly the best wife in the world. "I never thought she would have the guts to have her affairs straight out in the open." The maid mumbled. Yes, she practically spilled the beans of what dark side this wealthy household had in front of this stranger, but it wasn't as if she really cared so much about them.

At least she tried not to.

She just had to make sure what exactly what this guy was doing.

He still replied with a no.

Running out of ideas, the maid simply did what was best for her end. She stepped back, folding her hands over her apron, giving him a nod. "Right. Well, carry on." The colored male continued wherever he was headed to. Meanwhile, she continued with the last tasks of the day. When she went down the stairs, the male was completely gone but she noticed Amanda and her instructor in the kitchen. Her face scrunched up in disgust, hearing Amanda's failed attempt at playing innocent.

"Oh great. They're still here." The maid rolled her eyes, passing without notice. Heading into the garage to place back her cleaning equipment, her eyes widened. What happened to that yellow SUV? The equipment in her hands dropped to the floor loudly.

So that guy was here for that car. Uttering a curse, she knew she should've done something. Closing the door leading to said garage, she mentally shrugged it off. It wasn't her car, anyways.

She didn't say anything about the stolen car. Well, it wasn't as if she could tell anyone. While Amanda was busy with her tennis instructor, the house was pretty empty except for the occasional rambling Jimmy did with his trash talking.

It was around late afternoon when Michael finally returned. His shirt seemed a bit ruffled; some blood was on his knuckles, meaning he probably beat somebody to a pulp.

Worry was etched on the maid's face.

"Uh… are you okay, Michael? You kinda look…" She mentally cursed for how awkward that sounded.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I just took care of some business." He assured her, going towards the kitchen sink to rinse off the blood. Already used to the routine, she promptly went over to his liquor storage, taking out his favorite whiskey and a glass. It was the only way he could ever actually relax. Placing the glass on the kitchen counter with the bottle of whiskey, the maid finally spoke.

"Well, here's your glass of whiskey."

Michael had finished drying his hands, his blue eyes peering at her. She wasn't sure if it was out of amusement or if he was scrutinizing her. "Huh. You've managed to pick things up quickly about me, haven't you?" He downed the glass in one drink, giving a thanks.

"Mind if I take a look at your knuckles?" She had some experience dealing with bullet wounds herself, but the question came out of nowhere. He didn't protest, allowing the maid to look at them. It was just a few scratches, meaning he actually used a lot of force when taking care of whatever business it was. She would know, being a former- well... that didn't need to be placed out there for attention. "Well, you were right. Nothing to worry about."

Michael poured himself another glass, entering his lounge and offered her a seat to take. His eyes shifted towards her. "So what made you ask about how I was doing?" This was definitely the first time someone even spoke towards him with the compassion he had been longing for from his own damn family.

"Well, I can't exactly have a job if my employer is dead, you know?" Her dark humor made him laugh.

He leaned back in his seat, "You've got a point there."

She wasn't sure how long it had been since the conversation started. However, she was surprised at the same interests she shared when concerning movies and music taste. The hours flew by as they both exchanged stories and other interests. Before she knew it, the sun had gone down and it was time for her to go home.

"I'd better get going. It was a nice talk, Mr. De Santa." She quickly corrected herself. "I mean Michael. Sorry." She got up from her seat, taking her car keys from the table. What she didn't realize was despite not knowing much of where she came from or her history, she left an impression on Michael. He found her to be intriguing; the fact the conversation actually deterred him away from thinking about anything that had been troubling him did a number.

The door slammed shut, leaving Michael all alone with his whiskey. "Yeah. It was great talking to you." He would have said if she didn't leave in such a rush, no hint of sarcasm evident in his comment.

That, in itself, was a miracle.

Leaving her hometown for Los Santos was a blessing and a curse. She was grateful for the things her past taught her that helped her manage to survive drive byes along the way back to her humble abode, compared to Michael's house, in Vinewood or the base she had back at her hometown. However, she was getting tired from what she was involved in.

She leaned over, raising the volume to her radio that was on Los Santos Rock Radio. Being a sucker for eighties music, simply because it reminded her of her high school years, she enjoyed the ride back home. In reality, she owned a Coquette Classic, liking vintage cars, but stored that in a garage. She just simply didn't want Michael pestering her on what she really did for a living if he saw a maid, who were normally poor, driving up in that kind of ride. Her past wasn't shameful, but she didn't need to alert the authorities. It was good enough for her to start her life again in Los Santos with the clean money she could get without getting shot or making trouble.

Well, most of the time. There was still a part of her that lived for the thrill and violence.

She carried a gun in the glove compartment of the car; always as a just in case. Plus, out of habit. Well, if she could scratch off that time she wore her empire's signature purple color and got mistaken for some stupid little bullshit gang called the Ballas. She was forced to give up that color for normal civilian clothing. Still, the nightlife was quite beautiful in Los Santos.

Arriving at her apartment complex, there were a lot of things running across your mind. Mostly of the conflict of how personal things would become. Yes, she was aware that the De Santa's were a dysfunctional family in their own right, but she could tell that Michael De Santa was empty – an emptiness that she could relate to – and trying to find some meaning in his life.

It was one thing to have everything, but what was it worth the price when you lost too many friends because of what you did?

She didn't want to think too much about that.

After all, work was calling for her the next day.

And work started with an abrupt morning. Immediately entering the De Santa household, the maid heard Mrs. De Santa and Tracey bickering.

"He is not staying the night! He's a bum!"

"Oh my god!"

"Ugh. Time to use the ear plugs again." She placed them in her ears, effectively tuning out their pointless argument. It should have been normal by now but with Amanda and Tracey, no offense to them, but she couldn't handle their whiny voices. Doing her usual work, cleaning up the upstairs first and purposely taking her sweet ass time at that. When she was done, she took off the ear plugs to make sure the coast was clear.

Silence greeted her.

"Oh thank god." The maid placed them inside the pockets of her apron. When she climbed down the stairs, she noticed Michael with that guy she had seen the other day, making her stop in her tracks.

"Wait a second. Aren't you-"

"Hey, it's a long story." He defended himself, making her not press the story further.

"Don't worry about Franklin. He and I are going to get some drinks. We'll be back-" A ringtone cut off Michael. He lifted his smartphone up to his ear. While the men were heading out, she could hear Michael's voice rising in anger.

"The yacht's been stolen?!" The double doors slammed, leaving her in ominous silence. Oh dear. That yacht was Michael's "baby" of sorts. She couldn't worry too much of what would happen, Michael would get himself out of this mess. Something told her that he was used to this sort of thing. The day went on normally with no interruptions. Mrs. De Santa didn't even come home at all, meaning she was probably with someone else.

Yes, she was quite aware of how many affairs that woman had.

Michael didn't return until the evening. The strong smell of whiskey and other alcoholic drinks when he passed by her meant that he came home from drinking at a bar.

"Michael, what happened?"

The older man plopped himself on his seat, repeating for the umpteenth time that day. "I lost my fucking boat." With how angry and dazed he seemed, she wasn't sure if she should stay again before leaving or leave him to himself. However, with how quiet he was with the occasional 'My boat' slipping from his lips, she was sure it was the latter.

"I'll be coming by again, tomorrow." She said before heading out, leaving Michael alone.

Getting into her car, she bit her bottom lip, not sure if she should get her connections involved. Taking out her phone, there were her contacts. Even though she started a new life and had gone so far as to change her number, she made sure to keep their numbers in the event that she needed them for something. The images flashed in her mind of what she saw for the past few weeks.

And recalling that night.

She wasn't sure why but suddenly she felt compelled to make sure Michael wasn't stressed anymore.

So she made the call.

"Hey, Boss. It's been awhile. So how's Los Santos? Boring over there?" A familiar voice greeted your ears along with the harsh typing on the keyboard.

"No, actually. Things got a bit more interesting, Kinzie." The maid, finally addressed by the only name she had grown used to, took a shortcut to her apartment.

A groan from the woman was heard on the other line.

"What happened now?"

"I have to steal a yacht back. Think you can track down the coordinates if I give you the plate numbers?"

"Sure, sure. I'll hold." Her bored tone was typical of her. Tracking down anything was a piece of cake for the former FBI agent. "Wait. Weren't you supposed to start all over again?"

As The Boss parked her car into the garage, she explained the situation to Kinzie, getting on the elevator. What Michael didn't know is his maid kept a note of the yacht's plate number, meaning with Kinzie's skills, she could easily track down where the hell that yacht was. She headed inside her apartment, opening up what was supposed to be a storage room that actually held her entire armory. What the landlord didn't know was The Boss had actually stashed her weapons from her days with the Saints into the apartment, meaning she had an entire weaponry inside.

Fuck Ammu-nation.

If that didn't make her fit even more in Los Santos, the Boss weren't sure what did.

Almost immediately, Kinzie texted her the coordinates of the yacht.

The location made her groan.

"I'm going to have to deal with those fucking meth dealers?!"

The yacht was located in Sandy Shores. However, the frown that adorned her face was erased when her hands grabbed her familiar pistols that she had learned to use for most of her life.

"Oh, how I missed you."

Ending notes: That's the surprise, everyone. Guess whose favorite Boss is back in action? Yep. It's a Saints Row/GTA V crossover fic. The timeline is more or less going by what the Boss's age has been hypothesized to be about in his/her thirties by the time 2013 comes around. (Can't exclude the male boss as well.) So this takes place directly after Saints Row the Third with no mention of the events of Saints Row IV coming into play at all.

At any rate, leave a comment or something to let me know if you want more.