Chapter 15
Iturn over with a groan, my body feeling like I’ve been in an accident. When I move my legs, they feel bruised. My thighs have taken the brunt. “Jesus,” I grumble, moving to sit up as I wince at the brightness streaming through the tilted blinds.
Opening my eyes, I take in the sheets, and the blood coating them has my pulse racing. I dart my eyes toward the space beside me, sending my heart falling to the floor, thinking about his absence.
Memory after memory assault me from last night, each one heating my cheeks and causing my core to squirm. I bite into my lip with a smile, remembering how wild Rafael was for me.
After showering, dressing, and taking my pill, I head downstairs and into the kitchen. It’s a little after ten, and Oliver is in lessons all morning, so I go about my business creating a quick breakfast and pouring a glass of juice. In a bubble of happiness, I bounce on the balls of my feet. Rafael told me to make myself at home, so I smile as I chop a few strawberries and place some aside for Oliver’s snack after his lessons this morning, eager to keep my little man happy.
Sitting at the counter, I sip my juice and scroll through my phone, looking for activities for myself and Oliver that might help with his verbal skills. It’s something we can do later, after his lessons.
A message from Jade pops up,
Jade:Heard you got yourself a Mafia Daddy.
Me:(roll eye emoji)
Jade:Rafael is hot as fuckkkk.
Jade:Just not my kind.
I smile to myself, kind of relieved my best friend isn’t interested in Rafael.
Me:I’m his nanny.
Jade:His or Oliver’s?
I spit my juice across the counter, then quickly bend over to grab the kitchen tissue and wipe it up.
Jade:Do you read him a bedtime story, or does he read you one?
I snort at her message.
Me:I’m Oliver’s nanny, dumbass, and you know it.
Jade:I can imagine. So did you suck?
My eyes widen.
Jade:His face, obvs.
I throw my head back on the laugh. She didn’t mean face at all.
Me:Go away. I’m planning the rest of my day with Oliver.
Jade:Sure. Have fun!
Flicking my finger, I scroll back through Pinterest and decide we will use paints. I glance around the kitchen, and a lady wanders in. She has thick black hair pulled into a messy bun, with silver strands littering it. She’s small but taller than me, with an apron around her waist, and looks to be in her sixties. I scrunch up my nose, knowing I’m not good with ages. I can only assume this is Rosalita, the housekeeper Rafael spoke of.
“Hello, my name is Rosalita,” she confirms with a beaming smile. “Housekeeper.”
I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ellie, the new nanny for Oliver.”
Her eyes scan me up and down before latching onto my neck, and she chuckles. “You’re more than a nanny. I know this.” She winks, and my eyes widen as heat travels over my face. She hums to herself while I continue scrolling through my phone, planning the perfect activity.
Glancing up, I scan the room, trying to figure out where will be best to let Oliver get messy with paints.
“You appear lost. What’s wrong, child?” she asks, lifting a brow as she takes ingredients from the fridge.
I ignore her referring to me as a child, knowing her sweet demeanor wouldn’t mean it as an insult.
“I want a space for Oliver and me to do arts and crafts, but I’m not sure where’s best.”
A smile encompasses her face. “Down corridor. In classroom.” She points toward a door that Rafael said was Oliver’s education wing.
“Is Oliver working in there now?”
Her face falls, and she nods, causing awareness to prickle beneath my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck to rise.
“Poor boy. Crying.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head.
My body stills on her words. “Crying?”An urge to reassure him hits me in the chest.
She nods, but I don’t give her a chance to explain. I jump off the barstool and march toward the classroom to find out just what the hell that sweet little boy is crying for.
Opening the door to the room reveals that it’s not even furnished appropriately for its designated purpose. The walls are bare. They’re lacking color, emotion, and, more importantly, not fit for someone his age.
His sniffles garner my attention, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m scooping him into my arms to cradle him against me. His small arms go around my neck, and the hammering of my heart subsides with my little man in my arms.
“Shhh, it’s okay, little man. I’m here.”
A throat clears, and I spin on my heels to face an older gentleman with a stern face and even sterner eyes. He doesn’t look like someone who has a toddler’s best interest at heart; he looks like he’s a professor who belongs in a university. The thought almost knocks me for six.
“And you are?” He stands to his full height, his gaze sharpening for battle, and I swallow hard as I step back.
Panic sets in. I interrupted Oliver’s lesson with no forewarning or Rafael’s consent. “El...” Oliver’s tears drip onto my neck as he attempts to speak for me. “My El...” My heart crumbles at his muffled words.
“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I’ll look after you.” He pulls back to view my face. Tear streaks mark his plump little cheeks and have my body tightening. Just how long has he been crying? I grind my teeth before bringing my attention back to the man standing before me. I straighten my shoulders, preparing to go to war for Oliver.
“Who the hell are you?” he snipes out, disdain oozing from him as he looks me up and down with a sneer. No doubt taking in Rafael’s shirt. It’s so long it covers my jean shorts, appearing more like a dress than anything else, or maybe he thinks I’m naked beneath it. The thought causes unease to creep over me.
I lift my chin. “I’m Oliver’s nanny.”
He chokes on a sarcastic laugh, startling me. “Nanny? The boy doesn’t need mollycoddling. He needs being made a man of.”
My mouth falls open. A man? “He’s three years old!” I spit back.
His eyes sharpen. “I’m well aware of his age. He can barely string a sentence together. He’s an embarrassment to the family.”
I reel back on my heels, my blood boils, and the sound of my heart beating creates a whooshing in my ears. Anger like never before overcomes me as I glare at the man.
Oliver’s small fingers stroke through my hair, reminding me he’s in my arms, and thankfully, grounding me enough not to rip the man’s eyeballs from their sockets and stamp on the beady offenders. Instead, I head toward the door, ignoring his grumbles along the way. I march through the kitchen and head straight toward Rafael’s office.
As I approach, I hear hushed voices and see a guard standing beside the door. He moves toward me but backs off after I glare at him and glance at Oliver.
Swinging open the office door, I ignore the men seated opposite Rafael, too angry to care. His darkened gaze meets mine and his shoulders relax until he sees Oliver in my arms. He’s out of his chair and standing in front of me in the blink of an eye.
“Leave,” he barks in the men’s direction as his eyes scan over Oliver. “What happened?”
The door shuts behind the men.
“That man you have teaching him is awful.”
Rafael’s hand strokes over Oliver’s hair, but stops when I continue my tirade. “I don’t want him anywhere near him, Rafael.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and his eyes narrow, but I refuse to back down. Oliver deserves better than having someone treat him this way.
“You don’t want him anywhere near him?” His words come out slow, with an almost deadly threat laced among them.
I let Oliver slide down my arms and onto the floor, where he moves to stand behind me, his small hand holding on to my shirt. That move alone anchors me to the spot, giving me the strength I need to stand up for him.
My eyes burn with fire, annoyed that Rafael allows this to happen but knowing he was probably raised the same way, worse even. The thought has sympathy trickling in and taking over the anger, allowing me to think clearly before I speak.
“That man is causing your son to cry, Rafael. Whatever historic educational system he has in place is nothing short of barbaric, and I refuse to let Oliver be a victim.” My voice rises with emotion as I explain my point. “He needs love and nurturing, not whatever rubbish that old goat is spieling to him.” Rafael’s lip twitches, and the move only angers me further.
“I’m telling you”—I point toward Rafael—“I don’t want him anywhere near him. In fact, I want a list of everyone that works with Oliver, and I want to meet them personally before I decide if they’re worthy.”
“Worthy?” Rafael rears back.
“Yes, worthy. He deserves the best, and that’s what he’s going to get. I refuse for him to have subpar or outdated so-called professionals; he deserves the best.” I stamp my foot, then wince at how demanding and petulant I’m acting.
He strokes his hand over his jaw as he watches me. “That old goat Doctor Philips is one of the best.”
A shocked noise lodges in my throat. “In what era? The man is a dinosaur. He’s so outdated he should be extinct.”
Humor spreads over Rafael’s face. “Are you suggesting I kill him?”
My heart skips a beat at his insinuation. Holy shit. I stare back at him, unblinking, searching for all seriousness. Then, like a tsunami, panic floods me, and I realize I may have gone too far. Rafael is, after all, the Mafia. What the hell have I done?
“Nnnn-no.” I drag a hand through my hair. “No, please don’t do that. I just don’t want him working with Oliver again.” My throat becomes dry, like sand, but I will myself to speak. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
He drags a finger over his lip, his gaze darting from mine to Oliver’s before his features soften, then he turns toward his desk and presses his phone.
“Kai. I want all staff associated with Oliver escorted off the estate and new applicants on my desk no later than Wednesday.” His eyes dart to mine, as if seeking for approval, and I bite into my lip, giving him a nod. A sense of accomplishment ripples through my body, and I find it difficult not to pump my fist in the air like a child winning an important game. All because Rafael has considered my suggestions, and better yet, acted on them.
Rafael looks down toward Oliver. “And tell Rosalita to collect Oliver from my office once she’s made him an ice cream sundae.” He winks in Oliver’s direction, and my heart soars. Ending the call, he turns his attention back to me. His face becomes stoic as he stares through me while I struggle to swallow at the intensity behind his eyes. “Now, what am I going to do with you?” His dark voice delivers a warning, one that has me taking a step back from him, knowing how volatile he can be.