Raphael (The Veneziano Family #3)

Chapter 1 - Raphael

I hate interviews.

But not when I'm the one doing them, when I'm asking the questions, deciding who lives and who dies, or in this case, who gets to watch my son. Then I'm in control. Then I can read every micro-expression, catch every lie.

But this situation has me on edge. I'm desperate, which means I'm vulnerable, and I fucking hate being vulnerable.

"Daddy, when is the new lady coming?" Marco's little voice pipes up from the living room where he's surrounded by Legos. His dark curls fall across his forehead as he concentrates on building some complicated structure.

"Soon, buddy." I check my Rolex. Two minutes until the agency's candidate is supposed to arrive. "Remember what we talked about?"

Marco sighs dramatically, the way only a five-year-old can. "No talking about your work. No telling her about Uncle Dante or Uncle Franco. And no saying bad words like f—"

"Exactly." I cut him off with a smile. "You're the smartest kid in the world, you know that?"

His chest puffs up with pride, and for the millionth time since he was born, I feel that fierce, overwhelming protectiveness surge through me. I'd burn the world down for this kid. Already have, in some ways.

The doorbell rings, and Marco jumps up, but I motion for him to stay put. I move to the security panel by the door first, checking the camera feed.

The woman standing on my doorstep is not what I expected.

When the agency said they had someone perfect for my "unusual situation", code for someone who wouldn't freak out about my late hours and occasional bloodstained clothes, I pictured someone older. Sturdier. Not this girl who looks barely old enough to drink, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

She's small, probably a foot shorter than my 6'6" frame, with curves that her modest dress can't hide. Her hair is cut short, framing a heart-shaped face, and even through the security feed, I can see unusual amber-colored eyes darting around nervously.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, then catch myself. I need to stop swearing before Marco picks up even more colorful language from me.

I open the door, and those amber eyes widen as she takes me in.

I'm used to this reaction. My size tends to be intimidating even when I'm trying not to be.

Today I'm in simple dark jeans and a black henley with the sleeves pushed up, showing the tattoos that snake up my forearms. Professional enough for a parent but not hiding who I am either.

"Mr. Conti?" Her voice is surprisingly steady despite her obvious nervousness.

"Call me Raphael." I extend my hand, engulfing her much smaller one. "You must be Annie."

"Yes, Annie Harper." Her handshake is firm despite her size. Points for that. "Thank you for considering me. The agency said you needed someone urgently."

I step back, gesturing for her to enter. "My last nanny quit without notice." No need to mention that she quit after seeing me stumble home at 3 AM with blood on my shirt that wasn't mine. "I have unusual hours, and I need someone who's flexible."

She nods, stepping into my foyer. I watch her take in my home—the high ceilings, the sleek modern furniture mixed with child-friendly elements, the security system that's a bit more extensive than what you'd find in typical suburban homes.

"It's a beautiful home," she says, but her eyes linger on the security panel longer than necessary. Smart girl.

"Daddy, can I come say hi now?" Marco calls out, still obediently waiting where I left him.

"Come on over, buddy."

Marco races around the corner, skidding to a stop in his sock feet. His eyes light up when he sees Annie, and I can't blame him. She's stunning.

"Are you going to be my new nanny?" Marco asks bluntly.

Annie crouches down to his level, another point in her favor, and smiles. "Well, that depends on if your dad thinks I'm the right person for the job. But I hope so. I'm Annie."

"I'm Marco. I'm five and a half." He holds up his hand with fingers splayed to emphasize. "Do you know how to make dinosaur-shaped pancakes? Mrs. Petrov did, but she left."

"I can't say I've made dinosaur pancakes before, but I'm a quick learner. Maybe you could teach me your favorite shape?"

Marco beams at her, and just like that, he's charmed. Not surprising. What is surprising is the way something tightens in my chest watching them. I clear my throat.

"Marco, why don't you show Annie your Lego creation while I grab her resume from my office? Then we can all talk."

As Marco eagerly grabs Annie's hand to pull her toward his toys, I take a moment to study her.

She's young, too young probably, but there's a maturity in her eyes that doesn't match her age.

She moves with a natural grace around Marco, already listening intently to his rambling explanation about the spaceship he's building.

In my office, I pull up the agency's file on her again. Annie Harper, 21 years old. College student majoring in History. Excellent references from her previous families, though all short-term assignments. Father deceased three years ago. Supporting herself and her mother.

Normally, I'd never consider someone so young for this position.

I need someone who won't ask questions when I come home with bruised knuckles or when Dante calls at midnight.

Someone who won't freak out if they accidentally see the gun I keep locked in my bedroom safe.

Someone who understands that there are parts of my life that remain completely off-limits.

But I'm desperate. Marco starts kindergarten in two weeks, and I need someone reliable before then. The agency has sent three candidates already. All quit within days once they realized what they might be getting into.

When I return to the living room, Marco is demonstrating how his Lego spaceship can transform into a robot, and Annie is watching with genuine interest. Not the fake enthusiasm some adults show to children, but actual engagement.

"So, Annie," I say, settling into the armchair across from them. "The agency tells me you're in college."

She straightens up, professional mode activated. "Yes, I'm studying History. I'm entering my sophomore year next month, but my schedule is flexible. Most of my classes are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with one evening class on Monday."

"And you're comfortable with variable hours? Sometimes I need to leave very early or come back very late."

She nods. "The agency mentioned that. I'm a night owl by nature, and as long as I have enough notice to plan around my class schedule, I can accommodate most timing needs."

"What about last-minute situations? Emergencies?"

"Mr. Conti—Raphael—I grew up with a father who worked unpredictable hours. I understand that sometimes things come up without warning."

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "And you're not going to ask questions about where I go or what I do?"

Her eyes meet mine directly now, that amber color almost glowing in the afternoon light coming through the windows. "The agency was clear that discretion was a primary requirement for this position. I'm here to care for Marco, not to involve myself in your personal affairs."

Smart answer. Practiced, maybe, but delivered with sincerity. I glance at Marco, who's gone back to playing with his Legos but is clearly eavesdropping on our conversation.

"Marco, why don't you go pick out a book for after dinner?" I suggest. He looks ready to protest but knows better. Once he's out of earshot, I turn back to Annie.

"I need to be clear about something," I say, my voice lower now.

"My work requires absolute privacy. If you take this job, you'll see things sometimes that might make you uncomfortable.

Late nights. Phone calls I take in another room.

Occasional... injuries." I watch her face as I continue.

"I'm not asking you to lie to anyone, but I am asking you not to speculate or gossip about what you might see or hear. "

She doesn't flinch. "I understand."

"Do you?" I press. "Because the last three nannies said the same thing, and none of them lasted more than a week."

Annie takes a deep breath, and I watch her gather her thoughts.

"My father was a police officer," she says quietly.

"He worked undercover operations. Growing up, I learned very young that asking questions about his work could put him in danger.

I learned to look the other way, to not mention certain things to my friends.

" Her eyes meet mine again. "I don't need to know what you do, Raphael.

I just need to know that Marco will be safe with you. "

That catches me off guard. Most people are too intimidated to question me about anything, let alone my ability to keep my son safe. "Marco is always my priority," I say, an edge creeping into my voice. "Everything I do is to protect him."

She doesn't back down. "Then we understand each other."

For a long moment, we just stare at each other, and I feel something changing in the air between us. Something dangerous. Something I need to shut down immediately. She's too young, too innocent, and absolutely off-limits, both as an employee and as someone who will be caring for my son.

But goddamn if those amber eyes don't do something to me.

"When can you start?" I ask, breaking the tension.

Relief floods her face. "Tomorrow, if you need me to."

"Tomorrow would be perfect." I stand, towering over her as she rises as well. "Seven AM. I'll need to leave for a meeting by eight."

"I'll be here at six-thirty," she counters. "That will give you time to show me Marco's routine and anything else I should know."

I find myself smiling despite my reservations. "Six-thirty it is."

As I walk her to the door, Marco races back in with a stack of books. "Are you coming back tomorrow, Annie?"

She crouches down again to his level. "I sure am. And maybe we can try making those dinosaur pancakes for breakfast one day this week?"

His entire face lights up. "Yes! T-Rex ones!"

"I'll practice my T-Rex shape tonight," she promises with a laugh that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

At the door, she turns to face me one last time. "Thank you for this opportunity, Raphael. I won't let you down."

As I close the door behind her, I can't shake the feeling that I've just made either the best decision or the worst mistake of my life. One thing's certain: Annie Harper is nothing like what I expected.

And that makes her dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with my work for Dante.

"Daddy, I like her," Marco announces, hugging my leg. "She smells like cookies."

I ruffle his hair, pushing away thoughts about how Annie smelled, like vanilla and something floral, or how those curves would feel under my hands, or how her lips would taste if I—

"Yeah, buddy," I say, cutting off that train of thought. "I think she'll be good for us."

Good for Marco, at least. As for me... well, I've never been one to deny myself what I want, but Annie Harper is definitely in the category of things I can look at but can't touch. She's too young, too innocent, too necessary for Marco's stability.

Tomorrow morning can't come fast enough. And that's exactly what worries me.