NANNY FOR MORETTI

Luca

“Mr. Moretti, the nanny is here.”

My fingers tightened around a square picture frame, a photograph of the mother of my child peering out at me, her lips curved into a smile. I placed it gently back down on my desk and rose, smoothing a hand over the white button-down tucked into my black slacks.

I nodded at Sofia and rounded my desk, striding from my office to meet the latest applicant for the nanny position.

Rose needs a mother, not a nanny.

I shoved the thought from my mind. Remarrying wasn’t in the cards for me.

I couldn’t lose another wife to this war.

Soft carpet muffled my steps, and the woman waiting in the wide marble foyer didn’t hear me as she stood gazing at an old oil portrait of the original Moretti who’d built this empire on blood and loyalty.

Her head was tilted back, dark curls pulled into a neat twist at her neck. A simple black dress with thin spaghetti straps skimmed warm brown skin and hugged soft, full curves. The hem fell to just above her knees, and I stared down at the plain white sneakers on her feet—practical and completely at odds with the estate’s luxury.

A smile played at the corners of my lips. I fought it, clearing my throat.

She whirled around, expressive brown eyes clashing with mine.

“Oh! Sorry. Mr. Moretti, is it?” She strode forward, one hand extended.

I arched a brow as I took it. She wasn’t fidgeting or cowering like the last four applicants before her.

No, she exuded warmth and openness, something this place hadn’t had in…months.

I nodded. “Yes. You are…?”

Her smile returned, easy and free of the flirtation I would’ve expected from someone as youthful as her. Sofia had escorted the first applicant out after she grasped my bicep, commenting on my workout routine.

I didn’t need a quick fuck.

I need someone who’d focus on my child so I can focus on the bastards who killed her mother.

“Ayesha Addison. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I didn’t return the sentiment, scanning her from head to toe again. “You have experience as a nanny?”

“Yes,” she said, offering me another winning smile.

Damn, she’s handing those out like candy.

“I was an au pair for four years while studying abroad. I’ve only been back in the states for two years.” Her lips twisted with distaste, and my other brow rose.

“Not happy to be back?” I mused, crossing my arms over my chest.

She shrugged, her eyes flicking away from mine like there was a story there she didn’t want to share. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just been an adjustment.” She cleared her throat, clasping her hands in front of her. “Tell me about your child and what you’re looking for in a nanny.”

Irritation flared briefly at her swift change of subject, but I promptly buried it.

This was why she was here—for Rose, not for me to pry into her life outside of caring for my child.

“Perhaps you would like to meet her first? We can talk more in the nursery.” I pivoted on a heel, expecting her to follow me through the foyer, past reinforced doors and the two capos who nodded respectfully as we strode by them. She didn’t flinch at the faint bulge of holsters beneath their jackets or the way the estate morphed from luxury into a fortified fortress the deeper we traveled.

Ayesha quietly observed the high ceilings, marble floors, and didn’t comment on the subtle scent of lemon polish masking gun oil.

Rose’s wails slammed into us as soon as we reached the nursery—red-faced and tiny fists waving from inside the crib.

My heart tightened, but before I could cross the room, Ayesha strode to the crib and scooped my daughter up as if it was as natural as breathing.

One hand supported her tiny head, and the other cradled her back. Rose’s cries hitched, then softened as Ayesha cooed, rocking her gently.

“Oh, you sweet girl. What’s wrong?” she murmured like Rose would open her mouth and answer.

My baby turned her face into Ayesha’s chest, rooting with her lips opening and closing. Grief lanced my heart.

Maria had been breastfeeding before…

Ayesha met my gaze. “She’s hungry. Do you have any pumped milk stored? Or is she on formula?”

I swallowed several times before answering. “She’s…struggling with the bottle and…” Pain scratched at the back of my throat. “My wife was…she’s not…” I blinked rapidly, commanding my body to compose itself.

I am interviewing her, for God’s sake!

But like a benevolent angel, Ayesha spared me, her smile tinged with sadness. “My son’s one. I’m hoping to ween him off soon. I can…” Her eyes flicked down to my rooting daughter. “If you don’t mind?”

I blinked rapidly, my hands closing and opening at my sides. “Your health records…?”

“Up to date. I have zero known illnesses, and you can do a full workup with your own doctor if you’d like. We can also prepare her a bottle instead—”

I shook my head. “No. She’s struggling with formula. I don’t mind if you’re willing.”

She smiled graciously before settling into the wide rocking chair, her fingers quickly slipping one strap off and freeing a beautifully dusky, dark nipple.

Rose latched immediately, her tiny fists unclenching. I stared in stunned fascination as this woman—this stranger—nursed my child, her fingers gently caressing Rose’s dark hair.

I couldn’t look away.

Worse, blood rushed south the longer I gawked, my cock twitching against my slacks.

I can’t let her leave.

Rose was…content, quietly sucking and swallowing, her eyes drifting shut, her body relaxing against Ayesha—like they belonged together.

“How soon can you start?” I rasped.

Ayesha looked up, catching me staring. Her brows rose. “How soon are you wanting me to start?”

“Today,” I said crisply, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

Her lips parted. “That’s…quick.”

I nodded. “Yes. She needs it.” My gaze dipped to my daughter, her sucking slowing, like she were on the verge of falling asleep. “And I need her happy, so…name your price. I’ll pay it. I can have movers—”

“Movers?” Her voice rose, and she quickly softened it, peering down at Rose, whose eyes flew wide open. She resumed nursing, gaze latched onto Ayesha like she was the most important person in the world. “The ad said nothing about a live-in role. I have a son—”

“You mentioned. He can stay as well.”

Her lips pursed, and she squinted. “If I say no?”

I cocked my head, a corner of my mouth hiking up. “I don’t think you will, but you’re welcome to it if you feel the need to exercise your free will.” The half-smile sloughed off. “But will you truly abandon a hungry child who needs you?”

She glared at me, and my blood turned molten, something akin to excitement rushing through my veins.

“That’s manipulative.” But her condemnation lacked heat. I suspected she needed this job as much as I needed her.

“So when can you start?”

Ayesha

“You did what?!” my best friend, Angel, screeched on the other end of the phone, which I pulled away from my ear.

I winced, darting a glance at Jeremiah playing in the living room through the gap of my partially open bedroom door. He ran around the sofa, an airplane in one hand, held above his hand. He made vroom vroom sounds with his lips, and my heart calmed.

Never take your eyes off a toddler for longer than ten seconds.

“I took the job as a live-in nanny for the guy I’m sure is in the mafia and whose kid needs breast milk,” I muttered, stuffing a pair of pants into a duffel.

“Aren’t you weaning Jeremi off? Now you’re offering your boobs up to another child? You trying to be nursing for an additional year?”

I sighed, my shoulders drooping. She was right. My eyes darted to Jeremiah again. Now, he knelt at the coffee table, running his monster truck up and down the length of it.

“I know, I know, I know,” I said, a breath huffing out of me. “But…she’s so cute.” I glanced down at the sprawl of clothes covering nearly every inch of my bed. “I’d hoped Jeremi had been a girl before he was born.”

But I wouldn’t trade my troublemaker for the world now.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she murmured, gentling her tone. She came from a place of concern, and I understood that.

Even if Luca Moretti wasn’t in the mafia, he either knew someone who was or worked in an equally dangerous field if he needed all the security I saw at his place, not to mention the sheer amount of wealth it screamed.

I sank onto the bed. Jeremiah and I would be like two outsiders in a strange new world.

I nibbled my bottom lip as my eyes strayed back to the one-year-old.

Kids thrived best with structure, and, routine. Change could be unsettling, and I was uprooting him—again. When his father’s red flags turned into neon flashing lights, I left—took my son and disappeared.

I fell back onto a pile of clothes, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Ang, but this job would pay what little bills I’ll have living with Moretti and pad my savings so I can give Jeremi the best I can.” Sadness crept into my voice. “He deserves it.”

“I know,” she said. “Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything. Mafia man or not, I know how to hide a body. Got it?”

I smiled. “Got it, bitch.”

We shared a laugh before hanging up, and I strode out into the living room, scooping up my wriggling toddler. I buried my face into his neck and sniffed his baby lotion-scented skin.

We’re going to be alright, you and me, kid.

Mama will make sure of it.