My Volkswagen Beetle decides to screech as soon as I pull up to the iron gate blocking off the entire property. I roll down my window by the handle, and even that sounds like a banshee screaming in the night. I wince, then my entire body heats with embarrassment because there is no way the person who lives in this mansion didn’t hear everything wrong with my car.
Yes, it needs a new fan belt, new air conditioning, tires, an oil change, and brakes. The entire car shakes when I press the brakes and I don’t think that’s a good sign. Every now and then, the exhaust pops too, like a gunshot.
I just hope it doesn’t do that while I’m here.
It’s one of the main reasons I need this job so badly. I know this car isn’t pretty to look at. It has faded blue paint and rust around the fenders. It needs a lot of work, but it’s my car. I bought it with my own money. That’s important to me. I want to be able to fix it with my own money too.
In hopes that I get the job; I might have my bags packed in the trunk from being a little too hopeful. Michael wasn’t happy when he had come home to empty drawers with no note, but honestly, what is there to say? It’s time to move on. I have nowhere else to go now; if this doesn’t work out, I’m not sure what my next move is. But I had to get away from Michael. I had to take this risk.
“Milazzo Residence,” a deep voice sounds over the speaker.
I tug on my shirt sleeves to make sure my burns are covered. “Hi. My name is Sophie Matthews… I have an interview for the nanny position?” I swallow nervously, wondering if maybe I’m at the wrong house or if they made a mistake calling me.
I stare out my windshield at the most gorgeous home I’ve ever seen. The windows arch, allowing sunlight in, and the light and dark brick complement each other. It has a gothic feel to it, something old, and possibly a dangerous story to be told.
“Welcome, Ms. Matthews.” There’s a buzzing sound and the iron gate opens, creaking to add to the dark quality the estate seems to hold.
Easing on the gas, my car lurches forward, sputters, and does the one thing I didn’t want it to do.
It backfires.
“So embarrassing,” I groan, and park in one of the few parking spots off to the side.
A house with designated parking? There’s a first time for everything.
I still have both hands on the wheel when there’s a knock on my window. I scream, placing a hand to my chest. I scramble for the pepper spray I keep in the middle of the console and point it to the window.
The man on the other side gives me a ghost of a smile, lifting up his hands in surrender. I’m still trying to catch my breath when he opens the door.
“Ms. Matthews, I come in peace. Apologies for scaring you. That was not my intention.”
I drop the pepper spray and it clatters on the floorboard. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I should have known. It’s a habit.”
“It’s a good habit to have. I’m Gianni.” He offers his hand to me, and I take it so he can help me out of the car.
“You can call me Sophie,” I kindly correct him.
He gives a curt nod while giving my car a look of quick disapproval. “Sophie. Mr. Milazzo is waiting for you in his office.”
“I’m interviewing with him?”
Gianni’s dark brows pinch together as he stares down at me. “Of course. It is his daughter you’ll be looking after.”
“I’m just surprised. Sometimes people of his…status have someone else to do the interview process.”
He shakes his head as he shuts my door. “Mr. Milazzo would never trust another person to hire someone else to be around his child. He is too protective of his daughter. And any parent who hires someone else to interview the person who is to watch their children is a sorry excuse of a human being,” he adds with venom, before clearing his throat. “Mr. Milazzo isn’t that kind of man.”
I’m not sure why I recognize the last name. It’s tickling a memory in my mind, something familiar that I can’t put my finger on.
“That’s great. I love it when parents are involved.”
“You won’t have to worry about that with Mr. Milazzo. He’s very involved. When he is working, he needs help. He is a single father.”
“Did something happen to the mother?” I want to make sure I don’t say anything offensive or hurtful if his wife passed away or something else.
“Mr. Milazzo has never been married. He adopted his daughter last year. Her biological parents died in a car accident. She was the only survivor.”
“Oh god, that’s… that’s terrible.”
“Don’t let him know I told you,” he grumbles as we climb the steps. “I have said too much, but I think it’s important for you to go into the interview with some information rather than none.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you, Gianni.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and step out of the way when he opens the large wooden door with a big iron handle.
“After you, Ms. Matthews.”
“Sophie,” I correct him. “Just Sophie.”
“Just Sophie.” He gives a slight bow of his head, spreading his arm to allow me inside first.
Stepping forward, my mouth drops open when I step inside. My eyes travel the walls, then the ceiling, focusing on the large chandelier hanging above me. On either side of the walkway are parallel wooden staircases swirling from the ground floor up.
It’s beautiful and unique. The style reminds me of something from another time… It’s like I stepped into a different era. “This place… It’s gorgeous.”
“He’ll be glad you think so. Follow me. I’ll show you to Mr. Milazzo’s office where he is waiting for you.”
I tug on my shirt sleeves again as I follow him through a house I feel like I have no business in. Gianni’s steps are long and calculated, proving he has walked this house a hundred times. Even from behind him, I can tell how confident he is. His shoulders are back, his spine is straight, and the expanse of his shoulders is impressive and muscular, even from this angle. For his age, he stays in great shape.
He walks with the confidence I wish I had.
I’ve never been the type to catch anyone’s eye. I don’t have the “in your face” beauty or body. I’m not what society deems beautiful. I’m plus-size. I have curves. I’m still learning how to appreciate my body. After bouncing around so many foster homes for most of my life, I heard horrible things from my foster siblings and parents. The abuse was never-ending when it came to body shaming me, but I’m working through it every day. It isn’t easy, especially with my scars.
One day, I’ll walk with as much confidence as Gianni.
He takes a hard left, knocking on a large French door that’s painted white.
“Come in.”
The depth of his voice from the other side of the door has shivers running down my spine. Even the two simple words sound commanding and powerful.
Gianni opens the door, and he gives a reassuring nod, silently saying everything will be okay. Letting out a breath, I throw my shoulders back and step forward, but of course, my foot catches the back of my heel. I squeal as I trip, soaring forward.
Arms wrap around me, catching me before I can hit the ground. I gasp, placing my hands on his chest. My back is touching his knee, protecting me from the floor, and I’m left staring up at the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Our gazes lock. Time stands still, and I lose any train of thought I had while in his arms. The palm of his hands spread across my back, making me feel small, fragile, and delicate. That’s hard to do. I don’t have the body of a model but while he’s holding me, I feel like I do. His gaze is darting between my eyes, a concerned darkness to them. I shouldn’t notice, but his top lip is slightly smaller than the bottom, and there is a scar on his chin.
I want to ask what happened, but I don’t want to seem intrusive, especially when this man is about to be my boss—hopefully.
“Are you alright, Ms. Matthews?” he asks, his tone intimidating as he peers down at me. He straightens, bringing me upright with him, and it somehow brings us closer. I feel like I can’t breathe in his proximity.
“I’m fine.” I finally report, unable to move or step away from him. He’s a magnet, forcing me to be pulled into him, and I can’t fight it. I slide my eyes from his stupid, perfectly structured face to his chest.
His wide, muscular, defined, and hard chest.
I lick my lips and then drop my arms fast when I realize I’ve been staring at him far too long. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trip. I’m a little nervous.” I know my cheeks are on fire and probably as red as they are when I get burnt in the summertime.
If I’m not mistaken, he looks me up and down, taking his time. I hold my breath for him to be done. I don’t know if he’s checking me out or assessing me, but his cold gaze leads me to believe that I shouldn’t be so confident. Maybe he thinks I’m not in good enough shape to be running around after his daughter, but I am. I love to run.
“There’s no need to be nervous.” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, walking over to his desk, speaking in a clipped tone. I hope I didn’t screw this up before I even made it through the door. “Please, sit down. Do you need anything? Water?”
I could go for a cold shower, but I’m not going to tell him that. “Water would be lovely, thank you.”
He opens a small fridge next to his desk and grabs the bottle, untwisting the cap for me. Our fingers brush as he hands me the water. A simple thing. There should be nothing special about that, but I swear, something passes between us. Maybe I’m going crazy. Either way, I need to stay focused. I need this job, and I can’t get distracted by my attraction to this man. Who is insanely attractive.
My adopted mom’s words echo in my mind, “Your career won’t ever leave you alone and heartbroken like a man will.”
The man standing in front of me has heartbreak written all over him.
No, thank you. I do not have time for that.
I take a long drink of water, casting my eyes around the room so I’m not caught in the snare of his gaze.
I bet he weaves a dangerous web and plenty of women fall into it.
He stands in front of the desk, one ankle crossed over the other, and my attention drops to his cock.
Oh my god, even the black slacks can’t hide how big he is.
“What do you like to do?” he asks out of nowhere.
I stop drinking the water and screw on the top to the bottle. “Don’t you want to know my school—”
“I’ve read your resume. You have your degree, you’re C.P.R. certified, and you have plenty of experience with kids. You have glowing recommendations, and that’s great. That tells me you care about your job and kids, but it doesn’t tell me what you like to do or who you are as a person.”
“Oh,” I state with surprise. I’m not used to that. “Well, um… I love being active, going to the park, amusement parks are my favorite, dressing up, going out with friends.” I stop myself from listing anything else when I realize my best friend stabbed me in the back and now I don’t have anyone I can trust. “I always love to have blankets on me when I’m sitting down on the couch. It doesn’t matter how warm it is. I always want a blanket.”
His dark demeanor slips for a moment, and I catch his smile, showing his perfect teeth which makes me want him more. I hate it.
“A blanket lover. Okay, I can respect that,” he says, rubbing his face back into its solemn state. “Nothing like being cozy.”
“Exactly.”
“And what kind of things do you hate?”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, once again, surprised by his answer.
“Things you don’t like? Like what makes you happy, what makes you mad? What are you intolerant of?”
This is such an odd interview. I stay silent for a minute, gathering my thoughts as confusion whirls around in my mind.
He tucks his hands in his pockets. “I’m asking because my daughter’s happiness is important to me. I need to know you’re kind, compassionate, funny, and easily adaptable. I need to know you want to be part of this family because I won’t let my little girl fall absolutely in love with you only for you to leave. So, while your resume is impressive—” he picks it up from his desk and tears it in half. “It tells me nothing about who you are as a person.”
“I understand.” Pushing the fear from my mind, I clasp my hands together on my lap, wanting nothing more than to be close to the family I work for. “Well, I don’t like radishes, I think they are gross.” I crinkle my nose. “Or dragon fruit. Both remind me of dirt. I dislike when someone says they will do something and then they don’t.”
“My daughter does not like radishes either. It’s something you have in common.” He suddenly sits down in the chair next to me and holds out his hand. “We never got a proper introduction. I’m Matias Milazzo.”
I jump out of the chair and back away when the name finally clicks. He gets up, slow and steady, as if he is dealing with a wild animal.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
“Milazzo. You’re mafia. I don’t get in business with dangerous families. Not after—” Not after what happened to my family. “It was nice meeting you—”
“—Wait.” He wraps his hand around my arm to stop me. “What you have heard about my family is true. I am in charge of my family’s…organization.”
“You’re a crime family,” I correct him with a bit more sass than anticipated.
He tilts his head and the friendliness in his eyes is gone, replaced with the same darkness I’d expect to find in a man who is about to do something I do not like.
“We are. We are successful, too. You’ll find we run most of the city. While you might not like my business tactics, I am a different man personally. I want to offer you the job. A million per year? Benefits included.”
An odd sound escapes me, something between a yelp and a gasp. “A million is a bit much.”
“Not for my daughter’s happiness. You have one last interview to pass, and I have to warn you, she’s high energy. Unless you want to walk out the door because you don’t want to be associated with a crime family,” he says.
His hand is still on my arm, his fingers clutching firm enough to have me stay still but gentle enough for me to melt into his arms.
“I—I don’t know. You don’t understand.”
“I don’t,” he agrees softly, and I can tell he’s trying to calm me so that I don’t run out of here like a maniac. “But, maybe I can prove I’m someone you can trust so one day I can understand.”
I lift my eyes to his, and his attention drifts all over my face before landing on my lips.
I lick them and I don’t know if the two are related, but he grunts before letting me go.
“Ella!” he shouts for his daughter. “Her name is Fiorella, Ella for short. I call her Ella Bella or Ella Bella Bear. Depends on the day.”
“It’s funny to think of a man like you saying those words.”
“Ah, I’m not so big and evil.” He winks, and I have to look away quickly, wanting to hide my reaction to him. What the hell was that?
Fast little footsteps pound down the hall and the door bursts open. An adorable girl flies through the room and slams herself against her dad. He picks her up and sets her on his hip. If I didn’t know he adopted her, I would think they were related.
She has dark hair like his, inquisitive eyes, but a smile that’s honest and innocent.
Ella is wearing hot pink leggings and a white shirt that has a unicorn on it that’s jumping over rainbows. There’s a big red stain on it too. Probably from a popsicle.
“Ella. This is Sophie. She might be your new nanny.”
“Hi, Ella.” I take a step forward and hold out my hand, careful not to drop my tone too much. In my classes, I read it’s important to talk to them normally. It helps with development.
“Do you like ice cream?” she asks.
“I love ice cream.”
“Would you dress up with me for tea time?”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff. “I would love to do that. It’s been so long since I’ve had a good cup of tea.”
She giggles. “Not real tea, silly.”
“Oh, duh.” I slap my forehead. “I love pretend tea too. Will there be tiaras?” I give her a skeptical glare.
“Yes! Yes! I love tiaras. Daddy wears one too. Well, he calls it a crown,” she rolls her eyes. “But whatever.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I use the same tone as her, and Mr. Milazzo sets Ella down. I realize a moment too late that I may have overstepped, and look back to him. I feel relief wash over me as he smiles at his daughter.
“I see I’m going to have my hands full with you two.”
“Come on. Let me show you my room.” Ella grabs my hand and ushers me out of the office. Kids are so trusting.
I follow her, then make the mistake of looking over my shoulder to see Mr. Milazzo staring at me. It’s an image I never want to forget. His domineering gaze is pinned on me as we run down the hall, and I feel a shiver run down my spine, unsure if it’s fear or pleasure.
“Look! See? They are all ready.”
Her stuffed animals sit in chairs surrounding a child-size pink table. They are wearing fake jewelry and tiaras.
And Gianni is there, giving me a ‘save me’ look. He is wearing a tiara, too, and strapped to his shoulders are a pair of fairy wings that are way too small for his body.
“I guess you got the job.” He picks up the teacup that’s too small for his fingers and sips. “You better get used to teatime.”
Ella giggles, which has Gianni’s tense shoulders loosening.
I place my purse down and sit in a free chair, allowing Ella to place the tiara on me.
Yeah, I guess I did get the job.
“Tea?” Ella asks.
“Yes please.” She tilts the pot and pours the fake tea out.
I hold up my hand. “That’s good. Thank you.”
I think I hear Gianni chuckle under his breath, but we’re interrupted by his cellphone ringing. “Sorry, Gummy Bear. I have to go back to work.”
“You owe me for tea then,” Ella huffs.
“I always do.” He kisses her forehead and hurries out the door.
“I guess it’s just us girls,” I tell her, picking up my cup.
“Finally. The boys in this house—” she shakes her head which causes me to laugh.
I think I’m going to like it here.
