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Chapter Two

Francesca

I pack my suitcase with shaky hands.

What I’m doing is basically a suicide mission.

Dante Forzi is ruthless, and if he finds out there’s a traitor in his home, he’ll kill me without question. No second chances. No conversation. Just blood.

No one in their right mind would have agreed to this. But I’m desperate enough to try.

Still, it stung to find out my father offered me up for the job like a sacrificial lamb. I always knew women held little value in his eyes, but cannon fodder? That was new.

I pause, fingers curled around the zipper of my bag, and let my thoughts drift, just for a second.

I think about the life I could have. One outside the mafia. One I got a small taste of these past two weeks, hidden away in this tiny apartment, living as someone else.

Alice Winters.

I turn toward the mirror, staring at the stranger reflected back.

Francesca Mori is gone.

The long, honey-brown hair I used to brush out in soft waves each morning? Chopped into a blunt, dark-red bob.

My emerald eyes, one of the only features my mother ever praised, are now hidden behind warm brown contacts.

A softer jawline thanks to contour. A new wardrobe. A whole new story.

Everything about me has been rewritten.

I lied through my teeth in that office.

Well. That’s something I’m quite experienced with.

I’ve spent most of my life pretending that everything was fine, that my soul wasn’t quietly being crushed beneath the weight of this life.

But honestly? I’m not even sure I lied that much.

I have been grieving my mother my whole life.

It took me years to realize she wasn’t alive, not really, not in the ways that mattered.

And even longer to understand why.

It was him. It was always him.

My father. The man who calls himself a protector, a provider, a patriarch .

He took her light and left the shell behind.

“I won’t finish like her,” I mutter, slamming my suitcase shut with more determination than ever… even if it means walking straight to my death.

A notification pops up on my phone. My rideshare is here. Good. One thing to focus on. Just that. One step at a time.

I already did the hardest part: getting the job. At least, I thought that was the hardest part.

But living under the same roof as Dante Forzi? Smiling at his children, digging for secrets, trying not to get caught? That’s a whole different kind of battlefield.

I head downstairs, phone clenched in my hand, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing.

The car is waiting at the curb.

I open the door, slide inside, and freeze.

“Bruno.” I exhale his name like a curse, like a prayer. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Listen,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the road. “I thought about it. I can help you run.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it—just keeps his voice low, steady.

“It would take days for your father and Don Salvatore to realize you never made it to Forzi’s. You’d be long gone by then.”

It’s tempting. I won’t lie. But what kind of life would that be?

“I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder,” I murmur. “That’s not freedom. It’s just a different kind of prison. ”

He starts the car with a sigh. “I tried to talk to him.”

“I know you did.” And I mean it.

I don’t know what Bruno’s father did for mine all those years ago, but it earned Bruno a level of access most men in the famiglia will never reach.

At twenty-five, he became my father’s personal guard, the only one who went everywhere with him.

It takes a lot to reach that kind of trust, even if my father isn’t as powerful as he pretends to be.

His direct access to Don Salvatore makes him useful.

But Bruno… Bruno has always been on my side.

“I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Feels like you’re trying to pacify me.”

“Is it working?”

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “You’re a good person, Cece. Never forget that.”

I nod, swallowing hard, and we drive on in silence toward Forzi’s address.

Halfway there, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out what looks like a cheap pizza takeaway pamphlet.

“Here. Take this.” He holds it out to me, and I frown as I reach for it.

“The pizza place is a front. The guy Derek, he’s a friend,” Bruno says.

“If you’re in danger… if you’ve been made…

if anything goes wrong. Call that number and order a triple pepperoni pizza. He’ll get you out within the hour.”

I stare at it. This isn’t from my father.

This is Bruno. All Bruno. And if I use it? He’ll pay for it in blood .

I tuck it into my jacket pocket. I won’t use it. I can’t—because I can survive this. But I couldn’t survive dragging Bruno down with me.

We make the rest of the drive in silence, and once he stops, he turns on his seat.

“Cece—”

“No.” I cut him off gently. “Don’t blow my cover. You’re just a rideshare driver, remember?”

I offer a small smile I don’t feel. “I’ll be fine.”

I grab my handbag and step out, tugging my suitcase from the trunk.

The car doesn’t pull away immediately. Bruno lingers, just for a second, like he’s not ready to let me go.

I don’t look back.

Not until I hear the tires roll slowly away, gravel crunching beneath them like bones.

Then I let myself breathe and take in the house.

The Forzi estate is beautiful in the way old castles are grand, imposing, and meant to intimidate more than impress.

From the outside, it looks like the kind of place most little girls might dream of growing up in.

Stone walls. Towering iron gates. A driveway lined with perfectly trimmed cypress trees.

It looks like a fairy tale but feels like a warning.

The front door opens before I can even ring the bell.

A woman stands there, older, thin, dressed in all shades of black and brown, with no trace of a smile. She gestures for me to enter without a word.

I clutch my bag and step through the doorway.

It’s even worse inside .

The house is stunning: vaulted ceilings, dark wood, and a golden chandelier, but there’s a kind of silence here that feels loaded. The kind that holds its breath. The kind that says Don’t speak too loudly, or he’ll hear you.

There are no family photos in the hallway. Just oil paintings, cold, expressionless. Like someone curated the space to look lived-in, without ever actually living here.

I know that kind of silence. I grew up in it.

“I’m Teresa, the children’s great aunt,” the woman says, her accent clipped and her tone efficient. “Their father is otherwise occupied, but I’ll make the introductions. Let’s go over the basics first.”

I nod, a swirl of emotion catching in my chest.

Relief because I won’t have to face Dante’s sharp, inquisitive brown eyes just yet.

Annoyance because, apparently, the man who hired me doesn’t think meeting the woman tasked with caring for his children is worth his time.

And something else. A quiet, unexpected sadness for the children I haven’t even met yet. For the way their father’s absence already feels like a presence.

Teresa jerks her head toward the stairs, and I follow her up to the first floor.

She stops in front of a door and gestures to it. “This will be your room with an en suite.”

She opens the door, revealing a spacious room—bare but clean. Just the essentials: a bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a window overlooking the garden. On the opposite wall, a beautiful fireplace adds unexpected charm.

Frankly, it’s enough .

“You can leave your belongings here while we finish the tour,” she says.

I roll my suitcase in and set my handbag on the bed. They’ll search it. I know they will. That’s fine.

Everything inside screams Alice Winters. Even the phone—brand new, clean, nothing to trace.

She pauses in the hallway, glancing briefly toward a closed door at the end of the hall. She doesn’t explain what’s behind it. I don’t ask. But something in the air shifts, like the house itself is warning me to stay out. I also realize that’s probably the place I will need to explore.

“Will you be staying here too?” I ask, my voice casual.

“No. I’ve been here temporarily, helping with the children. I’m going home tomorrow.”

“What—”

She cuts me off before I can finish.

“Those are their rooms.” She points to the two doors across from mine.

I nod, understanding now that she isn’t here for small talk.

She turns and walks back down the stairs. I follow.

“You’re not expected to handle any domestic tasks. No cleaning unless it’s cleaning up after the children. Which, I’ll warn you, is a full-time job on its own.”

We enter the kitchen. She stops in the middle of it, folding her hands in front of her.

“Caring for them will take up most of your time. They’re young and… spirited. But you’re young enough to keep up with them.” She pauses, then adds, “They’ll be starting school at the end of the summer. In two months, you’ll have a bit more breathing room during the day.”

“Anything else I should know?” I ask.

“Yes.” Her eyes meet mine with quiet weight. “Stay out of their father’s way.”

I wish I could. “Of course,” I say instead.

She studies me for a second, then sighs. “Perfect. Let’s go meet the children. They’re in the sunroom.”

The sunroom . I almost laugh. What a soft name for such a cold place.

We walk down a long corridor until I hear them before I see them—high-pitched giggles, a little girl’s voice, followed by a boy’s more chaotic yell. Someone crashes into furniture.

“They’re not shy,” she murmurs dryly. “Be firm. Especially with the boy. He’s a menace.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “Yes, his father told me. He enjoys locking people in bathrooms and setting fires.”

She arches an eyebrow. “And that makes you smile? Maybe you do belong in this madhouse, after all. Ready?”

I nod, smoothing my blouse and taking one last breath before stepping into the lion’s den.

And then I see them.

Lucia is sitting on the floor with a crown of fake flowers in her hair and a small stack of picture books beside her. She looks up as I enter, wide brown eyes, so much like his, but softer. Quieter. Fragile in a way I wasn’t expecting.

And Alessio, currently standing on top of a couch like it’s a pirate ship, holding a wooden sword and screaming about dragons.

They both freeze when they see me .

I smile. It feels shaky, but I do it anyway.

“Hi,” I say gently. “You must be Lucia and Alessio. I’m Alice, your new nanny.”

Lucia blinks. Then whispers, “You talk like a princess.”

Alessio squints at me. “Can you fight a dragon?”

I pause, then smile wider.

“I’ve fought worse.”