4. Casey
The first morning feels different before I even open my eyes.
It isn’t the room—I’ve already adjusted to the soft light through the curtains, the unfamiliar ceiling, the faint scent of clean linen and something citrus I can’t quite place. It’s the awareness underneath it all. The quiet knowledge that today isn’t a transition or an arrival.
Today is a new start.
I lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the house wake up around me. There’s movement somewhere beyond the annex, a door closing, footsteps somewhere in the house, the low murmur of a voice I’m already beginning to recognize.
Adriano.
I don’t know why that thought settles so heavily.
I push it aside and sit up, stretching out all the kinks in my muscles and groaning in pleasure. One of life’s simple pleasures is the morning stretch. I throw the covers back and jump out of bed, ready to start the day, but first, coffee and a shower.
Caffeine, for me, is a necessary part of my routine.
Without it, my brain feels sluggish, and focus is a slow start.
But I also like the structure of my morning routine.
Working with children can be a mix of routine and complete chaos.
The only thing I can control is what I do until I figure out this household and its occupants.
I have a feeling routine is important here, and I like that. It means I know where I stand.
I glance at the documents I read and signed before I went to bed last night.
Adriano is very detailed in what he does and does not want.
I know a little about his family history, and what and who his father was, through Isabella.
It should scare me that his family was the head of the Mob, but weirdly, I don’t feel the tiniest bit of fear around him.
That Mr. Mancini senior had steered his family out of that life, because it was his wife’s dying wish, tells me a lot about who they are inside.
I don’t know the ins and outs of Mob life, but I can’t imagine it was an easy thing to do.
That’s the kind of love I want one day. I sigh and push the thought away. It serves no purpose other than to make me feel sad right now, and I have too much to do today to let myself dwell on things I can’t control.
Still, the contract and the NDA remind me of why I’m here. I’m the nanny; that’s what I’m here for. I dress in dark denim jeans, a chunky gray knit sweater, and gray sneakers. It’s smart-casual and perfect for a day of planning activities for Letty and entertaining a four-year-old.
By the time I step into the main house, the kitchen is already in motion.
Letty is perched on the counter, swinging her legs, her hair only half contained in a loose ponytail that looks like it was attempted and abandoned midway through.
There’s a bowl in front of her and a spoon in her hand, though most of the cereal seems to be orbiting the bowl rather than staying in it.
Adriano stands at the stove, sleeves rolled, attention divided between whatever is in the pan and the small voice narrating her morning beside him.
“You said I could have strawberries.”
“You are having strawberries.”
“That is one strawberry.”
“It’s the first strawberry.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is if you wait.”
“I don’t like waiting.”
“I’m aware.”
I hover in the doorway for a second longer than necessary, taking it in before I step fully inside. “Good morning.”
Letty’s head snaps toward me immediately. “Casey!”
The brightness in her voice catches me off guard. “Good morning,” I say again, softer this time.
“You said you’d practice.”
“I did.”
“Show me.”
“Before breakfast?”
“Yes.”
Adriano turns then, his gaze landing on me with that same measured precision as yesterday, though there’s something slightly different in it this morning. Less assessing. More… aware.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning.”
There’s a brief pause, like we’re both deciding how this interaction works now that it’s official. I can feel heat moving over my cheeks at his gaze and snap my attention away.
No, no, no.
I do not find him attractive. That’s a lie, but regardless, I cannot and will not act on it or encourage it. Men are the enemy; they cannot be trusted. Except maybe Nico, and perhaps Rossi. He seems like a good guy, too.
“You’re early,” he adds.
“I start at seven.”
“It’s six forty-five.”
“I prefer a buffer. Better to be early than late.”
His gaze lingers for half a second longer than necessary, then he nods once, like he’s filing that away somewhere.
“Noted.”
Letty makes an impatient sound. “Dragon.”
I glance at Adriano, who says nothing, but something in the set of his shoulders suggests he’s curious to see how I handle it.
So I turn back to Letty and lower my voice just enough to make it conspiratorial. “You want a dragon before breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“That feels dangerous.”
“I like dangerous.” Her giggle is infectious, but it’s the soft snort from Adriano that makes me smile.
“I can see that.”
I crouch slightly, leaning in just enough to meet her at eye level without disrupting the space entirely.
When I speak again, my voice drops, roughens just enough to make her eyes widen. “You should be careful what you ask for,” I growl softly. “Dragons don’t always listen.”
Letty gasps, delighted, nearly knocking her bowl over in the process.
Adriano catches it without looking.
Again.
“That’s a good one,” she whispers.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“I can tell.”
She beams at me like I’ve just passed some kind of test.
Something warm flickers low in my chest.
The morning settles into a rhythm faster than I expect. Shoes are found, though not without protest. Hair is redone twice before Letty declares it acceptable. A backpack is located, inspected, repacked, and abandoned until the last possible moment.
I move through it all with practiced ease, stepping in where needed, stepping back when not, learning the cadence of their routine without disrupting it. I feel he wants to step in, but this is why I’m here, so he can step back and get to work. Still, I observe as much as I can.
Adriano notices.
I know he does. I feel his eyes on me. Not in a pervy or sexual way, but in a watchful way.
He’s trying to get a read on me, and in this situation, I’m an open book.
Behind the doors of my work persona, I’m different, and I wonder if he senses the change in me.
I haven’t flirted with him once, and my loud energy is considerably quieter.
Not that it matters if he notices or not.
He doesn’t comment, but his gaze tracks me more than it needs to, catching small adjustments, quiet corrections, the way I redirect Letty without making it a battle.
By the time we’re heading out the door, Letty is ready, fed, and only mildly disgruntled about something that no longer matters.
“I’ll take her,” I say, reaching for the car keys on the side table.
Adriano pauses. “I’ll come today,” he says.
Of course he will.
First day.
Trust isn’t given. It’s earned.
“That’s fine.”
We walk out together, Letty between us, her hand slipping easily into mine like it belongs there.
I feel Adriano notice it.
I don’t look at him.
The day unfolds in small, manageable pieces.
Drop-off goes smoothly. He signs some paperwork to add me to her list of approved adults.
Letty barely looks back, already absorbed in something more interesting than either of us.
Adriano lingers for a moment longer than necessary before stepping away, his gaze moving from her to me and back again like he’s calibrating something he hasn’t quite defined yet.
“I’ll handle pick-up,” I say.
“I’ll be available if needed.”
“I’ll call if there’s an issue.”
Another pause.
“Good.”
Then he leaves.
Just like that.
No lingering.
No unnecessary words. He walks toward a black town car that I hadn’t even seen idling and is gone.
It should make things easier.
It does.
And somehow it doesn’t.
I head home and get stuck into reading through the binder of information Adriano presented me with this morning. Her likes and dislikes, a reminder of her routine. What he deems acceptable and not—and it’s a lot. The man is a control freak.
By the time I pick Letty up, she’s talking before she’s fully through the gate.
“We did painting, and I made a dragon, but it looked like a dog. Miss Harper said it was still good, but I know it wasn’t.”
“I’m sure it was a very convincing dragon-dog.”
“It wasn’t.”
“We’ll work on it.”
“You’ll help?”
“Of course. I love drawing.”
She considers that, then nods like she’s accepting the terms. “Okay.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of crayons, snacks, and negotiation.
We spend an hour at the park behind the preschool because Letty decides the slide “needs testing properly,” which apparently involves going down it at least twenty-three times while giving me detailed performance reviews after each attempt.
By the time we get back to the house, the late afternoon sun has turned everything gold, long shadows stretching across the manicured lawn.
Inside, Letty abandons her shoes by the door with the kind of confidence that suggests someone else usually picks them up, then climbs onto one of the kitchen stools and immediately demands a snack “before starvation happens.”
I give her apple slices, crackers, and exactly six gummy bears after several intense negotiations that honestly feel worthy of legal representation.
After that, we settle at the kitchen table with crayons and paper spread between us while she draws increasingly aggressive-looking dragons and informs me very seriously that purple is an underrated color.
This child will run the world one day.
She’s a master negotiator and completely unafraid to use her cuteness to get her way. I can already see why her uncles are wrapped around her tiny fingers.
She talks constantly, filling the space with thoughts that move faster than logic. I listen, respond, redirect, and somewhere in the middle of it all, I forget to be careful for a few minutes at a time.
It feels… easy.
Too easy.