Page 4

Chapter Three

Dante

I meant to come home earlier.

Early enough to meet the new nanny, introduce her to the kids myself, and maybe spare Teresa the work of handling it alone.

But I didn’t come home last night. And I wasn’t there at eight this morning to greet her.

This is what happens when a shipment of guns arrives at the port and then disappears into thin air.

We've finally recovered the shipment, but it’s nearly midnight.

I’ve been awake for almost forty-eight hours. My body is sore, my head is pounding, and all I want is a hot shower and a few hours of sleep.

My aunt will give me hell in the morning. That much is guaranteed.

I sigh as I step into the house. It’s dark. Silent.

I head upstairs, slowing as I pass the nanny’s room.

I stop in front of the door, stare at it for a moment, then shake my head and keep walking.

No point now. I’ve already made my impression, or lack thereof.

In my room, I pour a generous glass of scotch from the bar and take a long sip as I walk toward the bathroom.

The shower is hot, the kind of heat that peels the fatigue from your skin in layers.

I stand under the spray until my muscles start to loosen, until I can almost pretend I’m not carrying half the weight of the city on my shoulders.

By the time I dry off and head back to bed, the glass is empty.

I fall onto the mattress, and I’m out before my head even hits the pillow. No tossing. No turning. Just sleep, deep and uninterrupted.

Lucia doesn’t wake me. That thought hits me the second I blink my eyes open and glance at the clock: 8:17 a.m. Far later than I usually get up.

I groan as I sit up, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I’ll be working from home today. I need to catch up and, more importantly, speak to Nanny Alice .

We haven’t had a proper conversation yet. That changes today. She needs to understand the rules.

The twins are not to grow attached. They’re not shy, but they’ve learned better than to trust strangers.

Teresa’s been with them for months and hasn’t managed to get so much as a hug. I won’t have some young, temporary nanny becoming a fixture.

They’ve lost enough.

I get in the kitchen and make a coffee, but as I pass the sunroom on the way to my office, I hear something that makes me stop.

Laughter.

Not just Alessio’s usual chaos, but Lucia’s. Light. Airy. Real.

I quietly step closer. The door is cracked open.

Inside, Alessio is on the couch, wooden sword in hand, standing victorious on the cushions.

And beside him, barefoot, one knee up on the sofa, hair slightly mussed is her.

Alice.

Sword in hand, expression fierce, eyes dancing as she squares off with him in mock battle.

“You’ll never take the treasure, Captain Alessio,” she declares in a terrible pirate accent.

“We’ll see about that, traitor!” Alessio shouts back, leaping forward.

And Lucia, sweet, quiet Lucia, is sitting on a blanket on the floor, giggling as she waves a little flag made from tissue and a pencil.

She’s part of the game. She’s playing. She never does .

I watch, stunned.

Not just because they’re all laughing.

But because this woman, this stranger, walked into my house less than twenty-four hours ago… and somehow cracked open something I haven’t been able to reach in months.

I nudge the door open a little farther. It creaks, catching her attention.

She glances over, and in the split second her eyes meet mine, she loses her footing on the sofa and tumbles to the floor.

Instead of scrambling up in embarrassment, she starts laughing.

Not a nervous giggle, but real, breathless amusement.

Lucia giggles, too, hand clapped over her mouth like she’s not sure she’s allowed to laugh this freely.

I walk into the room, both loving and hating what I see. Loving that my daughter is smiling like that, open, easy, happy. And hating that the source of it isn’t me.

It’s her. This outsider. This woman I barely vetted. This woman who just waltzed into our lives.

I know I’m being unfair. Irrational, even. I’m the one who hired her. But still… she’s not here to become their friend.

“Good morning,” I say, formal and clipped.

She sits up, brushing her hair back from her face. The brightness in her eyes dims, replaced by wariness.

Smart girl.

“Good morning,” she replies. “I didn’t know you were home. Did we wake you? ”

“You didn’t.” I turn to Lucia. “You didn’t come into my room last night.” I try to keep my voice light, but it’s rough around the edges. “That’s great. Congratulations.”

Lucia glances up at Alice, then back at me.

“Alice came into my room and helped with the monsters. I’m okay now.”

I look back at this woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretending to belong.

Monsters. That’s what Lucia calls her grief. Her fear. And Alice walked straight into that room and made it safe.

“Are you a specialist in monsters, Nanny Alice?” I ask, my tone a little too dry, a little too sharp.

“I’ve met my fair share.” It slips out before she can stop it.

And just like that, something in her face tightens. She regrets saying it. Good. That’s something I won’t forget.

“Have they had their breakfast?”

Alice glances toward Alessio, and her smile softens.

“Yes. He negotiated a full dragon-slaying session in exchange for finishing his fruity oatmeal.”

I stare at her. “You’re not supposed to give in,” I say flatly. “You weren’t hired as an entertainer but as an educator. I thought that was clear.”

Alessio slumps onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. Lucia’s shoulders round inward, like she’s retreating into herself.

And just like that, the laughter is gone.

I hate being the killjoy.

Hate even more that I’ve become the killjoy.

And instead of dealing with that—my own guilt, my own failure—I turn it on her.

I purse my lips. “A word?”

She sighs. It’s quiet, tired. Then she stands, brushing off her jeans.

“Yes, Mr. Forzi.”

I give the kids a tight smile, then turn, heading toward my office with her close behind, still barefoot.

“Take a seat,” I say as I close the door behind us.

No pleasantries. I’m not in the mood.

Are you ever? The voice in my head is unwelcome but not wrong.

She sits, linking her hands neatly in her lap. Too composed. Too calm. And still barefoot, like she belongs here. That shouldn’t bother me. But it does. “Sir, I’m not sure wh?—”

“My children lost their mother,” I cut in.

“I know,” she says quietly.

“And I’m not keen on them forming attachments to someone who won’t be a permanent fixture in their lives.”

Her brows lift just a fraction. “I’m their nanny. I thought that was part of the job requirement.”

“Playing pirates?” I snap.

“Treasure-seeking dragon hunters,” she corrects without missing a beat.

She dares correct ME?

“And I thought keeping them happy and fulfilled was part of the job description.”

“You’re supposed to keep them in line.” There’s a knock at the door. I ignore it. “I don’t think that humoring them in their?— ”

The knocking turns more insistent. I raise a finger at her to say I’m not done with you .

“Come in.”

Of course it’s Aunt Teresa, wearing the kind of scowl that’s been perfected over six decades.

She’s the only person in the world I can’t really tell off.

“Teresa.” I sigh. “Are you coming to say goodbye?”

“In a minute,” she says, walking in like she owns the place. “But the kids just came to tell me Nanny Alice was in trouble. That can’t be right, can it? Not when the woman managed to get your son to eat fruit for the first time in over a year without a single tantrum.”

I scowl at her. She didn’t just weaken my argument. She annihilated it.

“I see. Is there anything else?”

“No, not really. Enzo’s here to pick me up, so I’ll be leaving now, but—” She switches to Italian, tone pointed. “ Don’t be too hard on her. She’s young, yes, but she brings them joy—something you’re not able to do. Suck it up and let it go .”

I purse my lips and glance at Alice, who’s watching Teresa with polite curiosity.

At least she doesn’t understand Italian. One less thing to hold against her.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply, switching back to English.

Teresa nods, then turns to Alice. “It was lovely to meet you. Truly.”

“Same to you,” Alice says with a small, uncertain smile.

Once Teresa is gone, I wait a beat. What the hell am I supposed to say now? Before I can figure it out, my phone rings. Just like that, I’m back in capo mode.

I jerk my chin toward the door in dismissal. “That’s all,” I say, already reaching for the phone.

She rises quietly as I answer.

“Pronto.”

She leaves without another word, not even clicking the door shut.

I lean back in my chair, already shifting gears, forgetting all about the nanny who managed to make my children laugh.

At least, I try to.

But that bright smile she gave my son, unfiltered and warm, sticks in my mind like a splinter I can’t dig out.

I don’t know why it lingers. But it does. And it unsettles something inside me I don’t want to name.

Still, it doesn’t last long. It can’t. I’ve got bigger problems. I need my head in the game.

Logistics. Smuggling routes.

Where to hide the new shipment now that our dock storage, disguised as carpet cargo, has been compromised.

Because while the kids and their nanny are playing with imaginary dragons, I’m still hunting real ones.