Chapter 6
brUNO
Two small bodies jump on me, pulling me out of my slumber immediately. Giggles bounce off of the walls of my bedroom, and I blink open my eyes to the sight of Monica and Matteo jumping on the mattress around me, with wide grins on both of their faces. I chuckle deeply at the sight of them. There are worse ways to wake up.
“Are you two on a sugar rush this morning?” I ask them, an arm folded under my head as I watch them jump. They’re still in their pajamas, dark hair messy from sleep.
“No,” Matteo says with an exaggerated shake of his head. He jumps before landing on his knees right next to me, grin wide and toothy. “You said you’ll make breakfast. It’s breakfast time!”
My lips tug up. I did say that. “Alright, alright,” I say, pushing myself up to a seating position. “What are you two in the mood for? French toast? Pancakes? Waffles?”
In true twin fashion, they simultaneously yell out, “Pancakes!”
I stand up from the bed, wrapping an arm around each of them before lifting them up and setting them on the ground. “Then pancakes it is.”
They squeal in delight, and Monica doesn’t let go of my hand until the three of us are downstairs in the kitchen. I switch the TV on, flipping to the channel that plays cartoons early in the morning while putting on a pot of coffee for myself and for Gloria, for when she wakes up. I told her to sleep in today, both because I wanted to make breakfast with the kids and because Gloria needs her rest. I’m not completely heartless. Sometimes.
Matteo is distracted by the show, so I turn to Monica and raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to be my sous-chef?”
Monica nods enthusiastically, although I’m pretty sure she has no idea what the hell I’m talking about. “Yes!”
I gather the ingredients to make the pancakes and set Monica so she’s sitting on the counter before handing her the wooden spoon and telling her, “Okay, mix this really well.”
Monica nods, her features setting in adorable determination as she begins to stir with both hands, and I use one to keep the bowl in place. As she does so, I pull out my phone and look through the emails and texts I’ve received throughout the night, pausing when I notice a text message from an unknown number.
Good morning, Mr. Cataldi. This is Diana Elliott. I was hoping we could meet sometime today about your job offer. I have something I would like to discuss with you.
My eyebrow arches as I read her message. Does this mean she’s changed her mind after all? Pleasant surprise courses through me, but curiosity also pokes at my brain. I’m assuming she has some stipulations about the position—I wouldn’t be surprised if she did; it’s not every day you’re given a job offer from a man like me.
So, I text her back, telling her to meet me in my office downtown at two o’clock, pocketing my phone afterward to continue making breakfast for my kids. Whatever Miss Elliott wants, I can’t guarantee that I will deliver, but I want to hear her out anyway. Maybe she will surprise me.
*****
The door to my office opens, and Raf appears on the threshold. “Miss Elliott is here to see you, Boss.”
I lift my gaze from the file I’d been reading. “Send her in,” I say with a single nod. Raf looks to his right, out in the hallway, before stepping aside and waving Diana in. She stands in the doorway, dressed simply in jeans and a shirt, makeup-free, and somehow her mere arrival in the office seems to brighten the place up. I dismiss that thought immediately as I lift my chin. “Miss Elliott. Take a seat.”
Diana glances back at Raf for a moment before looking at me again. She approaches my desk, and I don’t see a hint of hesitation or fear in her eyes. Either she’s excellent at masking her emotions, or she truly doesn’t feel either of those things. I’m not sure which one I’d be more impressed by.
“Mr. Cataldi,” Diana says as she sits down on the chair opposite me. Raf shuts the door, leaving just the two of us, and Diana doesn’t break her gaze from mine. Her blue eyes are bright, burning with a kind of fire that I hadn’t expected. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
I will myself not to give her a once-over. “Your text had me intrigued,” I tell her, leaning back in my leather chair. “Have you reconsidered your answer to my offer?”
“I have,” Diana says with a nod. I don’t celebrate just yet. It’s obvious she wants something in exchange for being my new nanny. She lifts her chin, the determined expression on her features fierce. “On the condition that you look into who started the bakery fire and killed my father.”
Her words surprise me, though my expression remains flat and stoic. Recognition clicks easily; the bakery fire—her father was the man who ran it. Benny Elliott. He was found dead in the bakery, and according to both the authorities and my men, the fire wasn’t set intentionally.
The harshness of her blue eyes is now understandable. Grief has found its home in Diana, but she masks it with anger. I remember her initial refusal to take the nannying job; she had said she was taking care of her father, and now he’s gone. My jaw clenches, having too good of an idea of what this kind of grief and loss feels like. It’s numbing.
But I remain relaxed in my seat, arching an eyebrow at Diana. “What makes you think it was arson?” I ask. “I’ve already had my men look into it. They came to the same conclusion as the police: a faulty electrical cable.”
“That’s not what happened,” Diana says tightly, through gritted teeth. The look in her eyes and her tone of voice is impressive; there aren’t many, if any, people who could speak to me in such a way, scared too shitless to even look me in the eye. Diana then reaches into the tote bag she’s carrying, pulling out something wrapped up in a plastic bag. I watch, bemused, as she presents what looks like the remains of a gas tank. “I found this in a cabinet in the bakery. There’s no reason for this to be there. It’s not ours. And my dad—” Her voice cracks for a moment, and my jaw clenches. She carries on, “My dad was religious about the upkeep of the bakery. He’d never leave a faulty electrical wire unfixed. I’m telling you—this fire was intentional. My dad was killed.”
I fix my gaze on the gas tank, the gears in my head turning. My hand clenches into a fist on my thigh. In lieu of my silence, Diana continues, “The police won’t do anything. They told me to mind my business, stay home and grieve. Everything seems so off. Please, Mr. Cataldi.” I lift my gaze at the tone of her voice, my eyes locking with her glassy ones. Still, she doesn’t let any tears fall. “Please, find out who killed my dad, and I’ll be your kids’ nanny.”
Her eyes carry her grief, the devastation of losing someone she loves, and I’m not sure how I feel about seeing myself in her gaze. I know her pain like I know my own, the one that comes with losing Maria. Her death was just something that happened, her body failing after giving birth to the twins. There was no one to direct my pain to—not when I had two newborns to take care of.
But Diana. . . She’s determined to find the source of her pain, to make them pay for what they did to her. And I admire that, even if I don’t admit it.
Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on hers, and say, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Elliott.” Her eyes widen slightly. “I’ll have my men investigate.” Her lips part but before she can spew her gratitude and thanks, which I don’t need, I continue on, “I’d like for you to come over to my house. I want you to meet the kids and determine if they can easily adjust to you being their new nanny. Let’s go.”
Diana blinks, her eyes still wide as I get up. She looks up at me, still sitting, as she asks, “Right now?”
I give a single nod. “Now.”
About twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the gated driveway of my home, Diana’s Volks Wagon right behind my car. I get out after parking, the gravel of the driveway crunching under my shoes as I catch sight of Diana getting out of her car as well. She looks up at my home, three stories big with more land than I know what to do with, taking in the sight before her. She’s worked in Los Angeles, for famous families, so I’m sure she’s seen houses as big as this. If she’s impressed by what she sees, she doesn’t show it, nor does she seem to pay much attention to the men I have stationed around the property for safety. I have to suppress my mildly amused smirk.
Without saying anything, I walk up to the front door, hearing Diana follow after me, her sneakers slapping against the front concrete steps before I open the door and walk into my home. Almost immediately, I hear footsteps approaching, and I look away from Diana, whose eyes are taking in her surroundings, to see Gloria walking over.
“I didn’t expect to see you so early, Mr. Bruno,” she greets, eyebrows raising in surprise.
I gesture to the woman beside me. “Gloria, this is Diana. She’s going to be taking your place, so I brought her over so she can meet the kids.”
Gloria’s eyes widen, but a pleased smile curls at her mouth as her gaze flickers to Diana. “Oh, how wonderful!” She offers her hand to Diana, who takes it and shakes it with a tentative smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, honey. Come, come! The kids are upstairs in the playroom.”
She pulls Diana along, and I follow them up the stairs. Diana is directly in front of me as we go up, and my jaw clenches as my gaze lingers on the curve of her ass, the jeans she wears hugging her well. Her hips sway slightly as we make our way upstairs, and the blood in my veins heats up. I force myself to look away. She’s my kids’ new nanny. However attractive she is, I can’t fucking act on it. It will be like opening a can of worms with no way of closing it.
When we get to the second floor and continue down the hall, the sounds of my kids’ chatter and laughter waft from the playroom. Gloria pushes the door open wider, and I catch sight of Monica and Matteo sitting on the ground, playing with their toys. They’ve built a little city, it seems like, using toy trucks and cars, Barbie dolls, Legos—all of the works. They talk to each other in different voices, and I press my lips together, the smile threatening to take over.
“Kids—there’s someone here to meet you,” Gloria announces as we walk into the room.
Monica and Matteo look up, their gazes first going to me, grinning widely in greeting, before they look toward Gloria and Diana. Curiosity crosses over their features as they take in the unfamiliar woman, and I step up, one hand in the pocket of my pants as I say, “This is Diana. She’ll be taking care of you when Gloria leaves.”
Their curiosity intensifies, and part of me is concerned they’re going to outright reject Diana based on the mere fact that she will be replacing Gloria. It would make the adjustment period more difficult between the kids and Diana, and I want this to be as smooth for them as possible.
But then Monica sits up on her knees, her gaze zeroed in on Diana as she asks, “Do you wanna play with us?”
“Uh,” Diana glances at me to see if I’m okay with it. I dip my chin once in a nod and Diana looks back at the kids, and a smile upturns her mouth, friendly and kind. “Sure, I’d love to.”
She walks further into the room and sits down on the ground between the twins, and I watch as Monica hands Diana one of the Barbie dolls before Matteo launches into explaining the story he and his sister have created for whatever game they’re playing. He talks rapidly, like always, but Diana listens intently, nodding along, and a hundred percent of her attention is suddenly on the kids.
I remain standing by the door, arms crossed as I watch the scene in front of me. Diana seems to fit in right away with the twins, smiling with them as they play together. Next to me, Gloria stands with her hands clasped in front of her. “That was easy,” she comments with a quiet smile.
It was. To Gloria, I say, “I’m leaving you in charge of filling Diana in about all of your duties that she’ll be taking over. Leave the rest to me.”
She nods. “Yes, Mr. Cataldi.”
Looking back at Diana, I catch the moment she looks up and meets my gaze. She is fine where she is, so I give her a subtle nod, silently telling her that the deal still stands, and I turn and walk out of the room. As I make my way through the hall and down the stairs, I pull out my phone and dial Leo’s number.
“Yeah, Boss?” he answers.
“The bakery fire—I want you to look into it deeper,” I tell him without preamble. “I have reason to believe that it was intentional. Find out and report back to me directly, understood? I want them dead by my hand.”
If Leo is surprised by my demand, he doesn’t show it. He simply says, “Got it,” before hanging up.
I shove my phone in the pocket of my pants as I reach the bottom of the staircase, and I stop, eyebrows pulling together as my thoughts begin running. If the bakery was set on fire by rivals, then that’s easily an open declaration of war. I have spent years cultivating the precise and tight control I have over this city, and if someone knowingly acted out against me—because it’s well known that I own that bakery—then that person is trying to start something against me.
The last thing I need is a war breaking out between the different mobs that run through this city. I’ve made my way to the top through years of business deals, both on this side of legality and the other, and I will not take any disrespect lightly. If someone is trying to go against me, if they are trying to start something, they will be found out.
And they will not go unpunished.