Chapter 2
2
D ante
I finish changing AJ’s wet diaper and throw it in the trash. She coos at me with a sweet smile on her chubby face. Her green eyes sparkle, and the frustration of being unable to do much work washes away.
Then, a second later, my phone buzzes, and said frustration returns.
She’s sitting now, so I place her beside me in my bed. I brought her crib to my room, but now this has to change. I’ve killed men, blackmailed politicians, and trafficked illegal guns—still do. But I can’t make a seven-month-old baby understand that she needs to sleep in her nursery at night.
To make things worse, the last nanny left.
I moved back home a month ago, and I thought I had found a perfect match—an older woman who was a widow with no grandkids and missed spending time with babies. She was great until a week ago when she broke her hip after she tripped over the diaper trashcan. It was an accident, but word got out, and other potential nannies don’t want to apply because they think I hurt the old broad.
“Bro. Are you here?” Rocco asks, walking in before I reply. He’s one of the few people with the right to appear unannounced at my place—him, my other brothers, and my father.
“Yeah.”
“Well, guess what? I found a solution to your problems. A new nanny is waiting downstairs,” he says, then waves his hand like we’re in a campy game show, and he’s the host.
“What?” I shake my head. Rocco loves to put his nose where it doesn’t fucking belong. The idiot has no boundaries.
“A friend of a friend recommended Lucia to me. I met with her yesterday to review her experience and ensure she was a good candidate before bringing her in.”
I rub my temple. I’m operating on too little sleep to deal with bullshit. “You mean you slept with her.”
“No. I’m trying to help because Massimo is gone for a while, and you being super dad… we need help. She’s trustworthy.”
Jesus. Massimo has been gone for a few days and will return in two weeks. Sure, it’s been crazy busy, but I can handle it. Although… I’m sure Rocco misses his business partner and his brother. We used to go out a lot together, along with Nico, the youngest. “Which friend?”
He looks away. “She worked for a friend of Sara’s. That girl I dated.”
“The server you fucked at an event,” I say, decoding his guy speak.
Rocco, much like the rest of us, is addicted to living life in the fast line, and steady relationships aren’t our style. Our dad never had a good record, and dealing with the drama surrounding his love life when our mom was alive and after her death scarred us for life. Massimo is the only one who married but initially did so because of a business deal.
Rocco waves me off. “Potato, po-tah-to.”
I run my fingers through my face. It keeps getting better. “No.”
“Give Lucia a shot. Listen, if you don’t like her, I’ll send her ass back. But she knows the drill. She loves babies, she doesn’t mind not having a personal life, and she knows you deal dangerous weapons.”
I do need a nanny. Desperately. Even with Massimo returning, I can’t count on his wife, Amara, to help me. She has her own life. And my housekeeper, Zenovia, the Russian woman who comes a few days a week to clean and cook, is not a baby person—as she made it clear when I offered more money for her to help me out. “How old is she?”
“She’s young, but at least she won’t break a hip like the last one.”
Young. Young means inexperienced but also… energetic. Hopefully. “I’ll talk to her. But no guarantees.” I know that the perfect person to care for AJ is out there… even though my life is in shambles, I’d hate to hire just anyone off the street. Rocco doesn’t have children, so he doesn’t get any of that shit. He’s not known for being selfless.
I follow him downstairs to the living room, my brother with his cocky walk like he’s cracked a nuclear code.
A woman in her early twenties sits at one of the accent chairs facing the set of sofas. Streaks of blonde blend with brown, from what I can see. Her hair is in a ponytail, and she’s fresh-faced. Intriguing brown irises with rings of gold around them. She wears a black shirt, jeans, and sneakers. She’s slim and average height and squares her shoulders when she sees me.
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes—as if she’s trying to be friendly, she’s trying to like me, but she isn’t too sure about this idea. Well, we’re in the same fucking boat.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she says. “I’m Lucia Whitlock.”
“Nice to meet you, Lucia,” I say without offering a hand. I sit across from her.
“I’ll let you two chat,” Rocco says. “If you want to give Lucia a try, her suitcase is in the foyer. I thought I’d speed things up just in case.”
Motherfucker. He had no right to bring her shit with her without even checking with me. I’ll have to set Rocco straight. I’ll teach him a lesson during our next kickboxing session—or maybe much sooner.
When I’m alone with her, tension thickens in the room.
She eyes the opposite side of the living room, and I wonder if she’s uncomfortable. My gaze takes stock of her. A strange sensation lurks around us, mainly around her. Not necessarily a bad thing. Chances are, she’s scared about being alone in a room with me. Though if that was the case, why did she come to this interview? And with her suitcase?
Unless Rocco made her.
“Talk,” I say.
She looks at me square in the eye and lifts her chin. A beat later, she flashes that fake smile again. “Your brother told me you need a nanny. Well, I need a place to live. I’ve moved recently from New York City due to unexpected circumstances. Anyway. I love babies and can help you.”
Unexpected circumstances… that’s vague. But I don’t care what brought her here. Not getting personally attached to a female employee makes things much easier—especially when she’s young and pretty. “Currently, I don’t have anyone else. Ideally, I’d have two nannies on rotation so you could relieve each other. But it’s been hard to keep one.”
“I can imagine. Rich people always say good help is hard to find.”
A small smile pulls at my lips. “Are you… good help?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about you. Are you Italian?” She looks of the same descent as me, but her last name is English.
“From my mother’s side, yes. Dad wasn’t. He’s not in my life,” she says, and I notice she’s careful with her words, not giving me much personal information freely. Is she hiding something or just shy?
I drum my fingers on my leg. “Are you aware that if I hire you, you won’t have your own life until I find someone else? I don’t have a wife or a partner. You’ll be it, which means… no coming and going. This is a different job. I don’t want you to tell your friends or post on social media. My daughter is my main concern.”
She crosses and uncrosses her legs. “I don’t have any friends in town, and I hate social media.”
“You’d mostly be with my daughter, and if you ever leave for a doctor’s appointment, you’ll always have two bodyguards.”
She claps her hands together, unfazed. “That sounds good to me.”
I frown. I can recognize bullshitters when I see one, and this woman could be a used car salesperson. She’s giving me all the correct answers. “Does it? You’re young. Don’t you want to go hiking on weekends?” Or whatever it is that you do?
She shrugs. “I’m not one for outdoor activities.”
“How about a boyfriend? Do I have to worry about someone complaining about your hectic schedule?” I ask. Her position isn’t conducive to a loving relationship. I don’t need a stranger distracting her from her job or wanting to visit. No need for random people anywhere close to my home, particularly until Santini is caught and killed.
“Not at all. I’m single as a pringle and kind of hate men right now.”
Ah. So, she’s probably moving from New York because of a former relationship. Figures. “Why are you giving me all the answers I want?”
“Am I?” She tilts her head, feigning innocence.
I surge to my feet. She’s a smartass, which I usually appreciate, but she has a quality about her I can’t pinpoint. Her answers are rehearsed, and she may want to come across as confident in her abilities. I have a gut feeling that she’s in trouble. She’s not telling me the whole story, and I don’t have the time or energy to yank it out of her. “You can leave.”
She stands up, and a flicker of anxiety crosses her eyes. “Mr. Gallo?—”
I lift my hands in denial, warning her to stay away. “I can’t trust you. Go.”
I gesture for her to leave, to move, and she takes a couple of steps, then turns around and looks at me. “I want to work for you because I didn’t do a good job planning my move… which I totally should have, at twenty-two.” She threads her fingers together, fidgeting, then takes a deep breath. “But here I am, desperate. I’ve been working as a bottle service at a strip club, and I hate every moment of it. Guys think they can grab my ass because they have money, and I wish my manager gave a shit, but he doesn’t because he does the same thing. I’ve been staying in a gross motel—the kind you see in horror movies. So yes, living in this kickass mansion and dealing with a cute baby instead of drunk grown-up men is the best opportunity I’ve had in forever,” she says, a current of contempt to her voice like she’s managing to sound calm, but rage burns underneath. “I really, really would love that opportunity and promise you to do my best.”
I take a good look at her. Finally, some authenticity. “Lucia… what’s your last name again?”
“Whitlock.”
I exhale. I wanted her to be truthful. Well, there she is. She needs this job—and I need that kind of employee. “Lucia Whitlock, you’re hired. Don’t make me regret it.”