Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Offered Me a Fortune to Stay With His Sons—Then I Discovered Why Every Nanny Had Run Away
The first thing Victor did after the security team confirmed the east entrance was secure was order everyone out of the kitchen.
Everyone except me.
His sons had not released my hands. Matteo, the oldest, stood on my left with his chin raised in a way that reminded me of a miniature businessman preparing to negotiate a merger. Luca, the middle child, watched the hallway. Noah remained pressed against my side, his small fingers twisted into the sleeve of my borrowed sweater.
“Boys,” Victor said, lowering himself to one knee. “Daddy needs to speak with Amelia.”
None of them moved.
I expected him to lose his temper.
Instead, the terrifying man who reportedly controlled half a dozen businesses and an extensive criminal network sat back on his heels and waited.
“Can she stay?” Matteo finally whispered.
Victor's expression changed.
It was barely noticeable, a tightening around the eyes, but I saw it.
“Yes,” he answered. “She can stay.”
Only then did the boys let go of me.
Victor rose and gestured toward the breakfast table. “Sit down.”
“I'd rather stand.”
His security chief, Owen Price, looked as though I had just announced that I intended to rob a bank in front of the police commissioner.
Victor merely studied me.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Bellandi, the agency gave me your name, your address, and the salary. They didn't provide a family history.”
“Then you should understand something. My household operates differently from ordinary households.”
“I noticed the armed men.”
“They are there for a reason.”
“So is the alarm.”
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement crossed his face.
“You're either very brave or very desperate.”
“I'm desperate enough to take this job. I'm not brave enough to pretend otherwise.”
That answer seemed to interest him more than a dozen rehearsed assurances would have.
He pulled out a chair and placed a folder on the table.
“The agency told me you have experience with children.”
“I helped raise my sister. She was eight years younger than me.”
“Did she have behavioral problems?”
“She was a child. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she refused dinner, and sometimes she threw a shoe at me because I wouldn't let her stay out past midnight.”
“Did she ever stop speaking for months?”
My heart tightened.
“No.”
“Did she ever become frightened of a particular room in your house?”
“No.”
“Did she ever wake up screaming because she thought someone was standing outside her bedroom?”
I looked toward the boys.
All three were listening.
“I don't know what happened to your children,” I said carefully. “But they don't need another adult interrogating them.”
Victor's jaw hardened.
“I have hired seven nannies in eight months. The longest lasted forty-eight hours. One quit during her first night. Another accused my sons of being dangerous.”
“Are they?”
“No.”
He answered so quickly that I believed him.
“They have never deliberately hurt anyone,” he continued. “But they scream, hide, refuse food, and sometimes become violent when strangers approach them. Every specialist tells me something different. One recommends medication. Another wants to send them away to a residential program. My mother believes they need discipline.”
“And what do you believe?”
For several seconds, Victor said nothing.
Then he looked at his sons.
“I believe something happened to them while I was supposed to be protecting them.”
The words sounded like a confession.
I remembered the way Matteo had checked his brothers' plates before eating. I remembered Luca's eyes fixed on the hallway. I remembered Noah's hand gripping mine.
“Have they always been like this?” I asked.
“No. They changed after their mother died.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. She was murdered.”
My breath caught.
Victor's face became unreadable.
“Three years ago, my wife, Isabella, died in a car accident. The police called it an accident. I never believed them.”
“Were the children in the car?”
“No. They were at home with my mother.”
“Then why did they change afterward?”
“They began having nightmares. They stopped speaking to strangers. They refused to eat food prepared by anyone they didn't know. At first, I thought it was grief.”
“And now?”
“Now I think someone has been using their fear against me.”
He pushed the folder closer.
“Your salary will be twenty thousand dollars a month. Your room will be on the children's floor. All meals and expenses will be covered. You will have access to a driver whenever you need one.”
I stared at him.
Twenty thousand dollars a month would pay my overdue rent, settle my sister's remaining medical bills, and allow me to start rebuilding the life I had lost.
It would also make me dependent on a man whose wife had been murdered and whose front gate had just been opened by someone inside his own security perimeter.
“What are the conditions?” I asked.
“You follow security instructions. You do not take the children outside without authorization. You do not discuss family matters with the press. And if you see anything suspicious, you tell Owen or me.”
“What happens if I want to quit?”
“You may quit.”
I blinked.
“That easily?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did the others leave?”
Victor's expression darkened.
“Because they believed my sons were monsters.”
From the hallway came a small, frightened sound.
Noah stood at the kitchen entrance, clutching a stuffed rabbit with one ear missing.
He looked at Victor.
Then at me.
“Don't let Grandma take us.”
The words were so quiet that I almost thought I had imagined them.
Victor turned sharply.
“What did you say, Noah?”
The little boy immediately backed away.
“Noah,” Victor called.
But the child was already running.
Luca and Matteo followed him without hesitation, their bare feet disappearing around the corner.
Victor stood motionless.
I looked at him.
“What does he mean by that?”
He did not answer.
“Mr. Bellandi?”
“My mother is visiting this afternoon.”
“And the children are afraid of her?”
“They have been acting strangely around her lately.”
“That wasn't my question.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You've been here less than an hour, Miss Carter.”
“And in that hour, your youngest son asked me to protect him from his grandmother. If you want me to help your children, I need the truth.”
Owen shifted uneasily beside the door.
Victor looked at the folder, then closed it.
“My mother believes the boys need to be separated. She thinks their behavior is a result of my inability to discipline them.”
“Separated how?”
“She has suggested sending each child to a different boarding school until they become manageable.”
I felt a surge of anger.
“They're little boys, not defective machines.”
Owen looked down.
Victor's expression became dangerously still.
“Be careful, Miss Carter.”
“I'm not trying to insult you. I'm telling you what they need. They need someone who makes them feel safe enough to eat breakfast. They need adults who listen when they're afraid. And they need you to stop treating every frightened reaction like a problem that must be solved.”
For several seconds, he stared at me.
Then he asked, “Can you do that?”
“Can I do what?”
“Make them feel safe?”
I looked at the doorway where the boys had disappeared.
“I can try.”
“Then stay.”
I should have refused.
I should have collected whatever money the agency owed me and returned to my tiny apartment.
Instead, I signed the employment contract.
That afternoon, I discovered why the children feared their grandmother.
Eleanor Bellandi arrived at precisely three o'clock in a black limousine, accompanied by two men in tailored suits. She was sixty-two, elegant, and cold enough to make the grand entrance hall feel like a winter cemetery.
Her silver hair was pinned into a flawless arrangement. Diamonds glittered at her ears. She wore a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than everything I owned.
She looked me up and down.
“This is the new maid?”
“Her name is Amelia Carter,” Victor said.
“I asked whether she was the maid.”
“I hired her to care for the boys.”
Eleanor smiled without warmth.
“How sentimental. And how long has she lasted?”
“Today is her first day.”
“Then we shouldn't celebrate prematurely.”
I kept my mouth shut.
She turned toward the staircase.
“Where are my grandchildren?”
“In the playroom,” Victor answered.
“Bring them down.”
“They're resting.”
“I did not ask whether they were resting.”
Victor's shoulders stiffened.
For a moment, the two of them looked less like mother and son than rival rulers negotiating over a disputed kingdom.
Then Eleanor turned toward me.
“You. Go upstairs and bring them to the drawing room.”
I glanced at Victor.
He gave no instruction.
“I'll ask whether they want to come down,” I replied.
Eleanor's smile disappeared.
“You will do exactly as I tell you.”
“With respect, Mrs. Bellandi, I'm employed to care for the children, not to force them into a room where they feel uncomfortable.”
The silence was immediate.
Owen appeared at the far end of the hall.
Victor slowly turned his head toward me.
Eleanor took one measured step closer.
“You are a temporary employee in my son's home. Do not confuse a salary with authority.”
“I don't.”
“Then remember your place.”
I looked directly at her.
“My place is wherever those children need me.”
Her expression changed.
For a moment, something unpleasant flickered behind her eyes.
Then she laughed softly.
“Victor, you have hired a fool.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But she's the first person who has managed to make my sons eat.”
Eleanor's gaze moved toward the kitchen.
“Eat what?”
“Breakfast.”
“Impossible.”
“Would you like to see the plates?”
She said nothing.
I should have felt victorious.
Instead, I felt a strange uneasiness.
Because when Eleanor turned toward the staircase, I noticed a small gold key hanging from a chain around her neck.
Noah had been carrying a similar key in his stuffed rabbit's torn lining.
I had seen it when he dropped the toy earlier that afternoon.
I had assumed it belonged to a cupboard.
Now I wasn't so sure.
That evening, while the children ate dinner, I asked them to tell me about their mother.
Matteo stopped chewing.
Luca stared at his plate.
Noah pulled the rabbit into his lap.
“You don't have to tell me anything,” I assured them. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me whenever you're ready.”
Matteo looked up.
“Will you leave if we tell you?”
The question broke my heart.
“No.”
“Everybody leaves,” Luca whispered.
“I'm still here.”
“For how long?”
I swallowed.
“As long as I can.”
Matteo studied me with unsettling seriousness.
“Grandma says people who know our secret don't stay.”
My fingers tightened around the serving spoon.
“What secret?”
All three boys looked toward the door.
Then Matteo leaned forward.
“Mommy didn't die in the accident.”
Before I could respond, the lights went out.
A crash sounded somewhere upstairs.
The emergency lights flickered on, illuminating the children's frightened faces.
Then came the unmistakable sound of a door locking.
And from somewhere deep inside the house, a woman's voice called out.
May you like
“Find the boys.”
It was Eleanor.
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