Texting My Mafia Boss

Chapter 1

MARA

My drunk neighbor leans against the broken fence, whiskey breath pouring into the late summer air. It’s not even midday yet. He’s an old man, capillaries burst all over his face, aiming a nicotine-stained finger at me, his watery eyes full of accusation.

“You’ll need to buy a new fence.”

Massaging the bridge of my eyebrows, I say. “I’m sorry, Gideon.” I’m not sorry, but this strategy is often best when dealing with men.

Most of the time. “But I watched you break the fence.”

“I did no such thing.”

I grind my teeth. “We’ve been over this. Do you want to see the footage from my security camera? You were mowing the lawn at 3 AM and crashed right into it.”

His eyes cloud over.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“It’s right here…”

As I reach for my cell phone, he backs away. “Ridiculous,” he hisses. “That’s a punchline, that is.” Now he’s off on one of his rants. “I knew your aunt. She would’ve paid, believe you me.”

“My aunt was a terrible person,” I snap.

“You didn’t know her, girl!”

“That’s how I know she’s a terrible person.”

“Go on, get out in the world. Work two jobs.

If required, accept tainted funds.

I want that new fence.”

“Have a good day, Gideon,” I sigh.

I have thoughts to convey to him, yet my mood prohibits it.

I’ve got an interview today, a high-paying nanny job.

I need the money. I walk into the house, adjust my shirt, and take a deep breath.

After a quick coffee, I get into my car – with its usual grumbling complaints, kind of like my neighbor – and begin the drive to a much nicer part of town.

My mind goes to what Gideon said about my aunt.

He knew her. I didn’t. I grew up in foster homes, bouncing between potential families until I came of age, then was left to fend for myself.

I was unaware of my aunt’s existence until eighteen months prior.

Then a lawyer reached out and informed me she’d left me this home.

Apparently, my parents had given it to her with the request that she pass it on to me one day.

She ignored that request and kept it for herself.

I spent years believing I had no family, living in rodent-infested apartments, only to learn she was living it up in a three-bedroom home. Okay, not living it up. I still would’ve preferred not to be alone.

The Bellandi estate is intimidating. A black iron gate opens the moment I approach, a camera watching me.

I laugh, shaking my head, when I see three men repairing a portion of the tall, imposing fence that surrounds the estate.

Gardeners move across wide green lawns. I park next to a fountain gushing water, my car looking like a real eyesore.

The doors are tall and wide. The knockers are carved into the shape of golden lions. I jump when I notice a pair of bright, shy eyes sticking out from behind the cracked door.

“Did I scare you?” the girl says, slipping out of the small crack.

“No, no,” I tell her quickly. “I thought the door was closed.”

“Are you here for the nanny job?” The little girl has dark, inky curls, sad eyes, and a solemn expression. She seems more grown up than other kids her age.

“I told Livia I don’t need a nanny, but she says I do.”

I kneel, meeting her at eye level. “I’m sure you’re right. I bet you can take care of yourself. But see that car over there?”

She takes a few steps forward. “Yeah?”

“It’s a real hunk of junk, isn’t it?”

She giggles. “That’s rude.”

“Hey, it’s my car. I went into the dealership said, I want something big and beautiful. They said, okay, show me the money. After I displayed my cash, they declared this to be the largest and most attractive car they could provide.”

Another cute laugh. But there’s still that sadness clinging to her. Or am I projecting? Seeing myself in her?

“But it’s not big or beautiful.”

“I know. I was very offended. I’m Mara Keene, by the way.”

“Sylvana,” she tells me. “Sylvie. My friends call me that. Do you want to call me Sylvie?”

“Only if you want me to.”

She furrows her brow as she considers it her answer. “I think I’d like that. Mara.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know your name means excited, like keen means you’re keen to do something?”

“No, I didn’t,” I say. “That’s very interesting.”

“So, are you keen to get this nanny job?”

I chuckle. What a precocious little girl. The advertisement said she was seven, but she’s already punning her way into my heart. “You could sa—”

“Excuse me?” The door whines open, and an older woman steps onto the stoop. With a posture as stiff as a metal rod and pinned silver hair, her piercing blue eyes give me the impression of having done something wrong, even though I know I haven’t.

“Livvy, I told Mara a funny joke.”

She rushes over to the older woman and clings to her hip. The older woman hugs her absentmindedly. Hug the damn girl properly. I can see how desperate Sylvie is for connection.

“Mara Keene, yes? Follow me.”

She turns and walks away, heels clipping. What a barrel of laughs.

I follow her into the entrance hallway, which is almost bigger than my house. A huge foyer opens onto a wide double staircase, artwork hanging on the walls in expensive-looking frames.

Pausing, I stand before the entrance to a separate chamber.

There’s a photo of Sylvie that looks like it was taken recently. A man stands behind her. He’s… interesting.

Tall, muscles outlined by an expensive suit, black hair with hints of gray at the temples. His eyes are deep set and dark, the same as his daughter’s. At least, I assume this is my potential future employer.

“Mr. Bellandi won’t be joining us,” the woman says when she catches me staring.

We walk into a large family room. There’s a whiteboard covering one wall, covered in drawings and writing in various colors.

“I’m Livia,” the woman says. “The housekeeper. Sit. We don’t have all day.”

I’ve never understood why some people have to be so rude. But I need this job. The money, yeah… and that little girl is cute and seems like she needs some attention, and I want to give it to her.

“We’ve already verified you hold the necessary accreditations and background checks,” Livia says. “Of course, you wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case. And your last…” She pauses. “Position spoke rather highly of you.”

I’m assuming that pause means she doesn’t value babysitting multiple children for multiple families as impressive as solo nannying.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say, remaining upbeat.

“I have some questions to gauge your character. I’m afraid time is of the essence. So, please answer quickly and directly.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She frowns for a moment. I keep my smile fixed on my face, thinking of the money, the mortgage, property taxes. My neighbor’s fence.

“Have you ever cared for a child who is slow to trust?”

I miss a beat. She glares at me. “Children, in general, aren’t slow to trust unless they’ve been given a reason to be.”

“Direct answers, please.”

“I’ve worked with shy children, yes. And I was able to bring them out of their shells. As much as they were comfortable with.”

She writes nothing down, but I can see her taking mental notes.

“Sylvana does not respond well to raised voices. Would that be difficult for you?”

“Of course not,” I say.

“If she ignored you for the first week, what would you do?”

“Give her space,” I reply. “While maintaining my duties. I’d try to coax her, find a common interest, or just be in the room with her. But she seems very social.”

“She does?”

Why does she seem so surprised? The girl is lovely. “Yes, she does.”

“Hmm.” She nods. “If she tells you something private, what do you do with it?”

“That depends. If it’s something harmless and didn’t violate any safeguarding rules, I’d let her have her secret. If I thought she was in danger or that you or Mr. Bellandi needed to know, you’d know immediately.”

More mental ticking-off. “This household values privacy. Can you respect that without needing every rule explained?”

“Yes, of course.”

Why the need for privacy? I don’t even know what Mr. Bellandi does. The ad just said high-value client.

“If you witnessed or perceived something strange, how would you react?”

“Uh…”

Before I can answer, she snaps, “Do you scare easily, Miss Keene?”

“No,” I say fiercely, annoyed at being caught off-guard.

Why would I need to be scared?

“You have no family listed as an emergency contact,” she says. “Is that correct?”

My ears burn. I don’t want to get into the whole story about my parents and foster care and my weirdo aunt who waited until she was dead to let me know she existed.

“I believe I have a friend listed. She’s very reliable.”

Livia nods, tapping a pristinely maintained fingernail against the arm of her chair. “What did you need most from adults when you were seven?”

This hits me hard. Livia looks at me with a flicker of patience, a crack in her armor, but I can’t assume it will last long.

“To be seen,” I say.

She stands immediately, gesturing to the door. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

That’s… it?

I stand, bowing slightly. Did I seriously just bow? “Uh, thank you.” Stop saying uh, Mara.

On the way out, I spot Sylvie sitting on the edge of the fountain, staring at the flow of water. She sees me looking and gives me a thumbs-up. I return it, hoping like hell I get this job.

I drive back down the long driveway, thinking of the big house, the strange questions—and the photo.

The picture of Mr. Bellandi, tall, dark, and handsome.

I’m not the kind of girl to catch a crush.

Never been the head over heels type. But there’s something in his brooding eyes that makes me so, so curious.