Page 108 of Nanny to the Mafia

“Let me explain, tesoro.”

His voice was like warm honey. Looking for a crack to slide in. Lucky for me, I was airtight.

“No!”

With relief, I looked up, my stupid keys in hand. “Move!”

He didn’t budge from the doorway.

“Please,” my voice wobbled.

My tone must have implored him because he took a side step. I opened the door, hurled inside, and slammed it shut on his shocked face.

Ha! He didn’t see that coming.

I yelled from inside, “Go away and leave me the fuck alone.”

“Let me in, tesoro.”

I ignored him, just like I did the consistent tapping and ringing of the bell. I didn’t care to hang around and hear him speak through the door, so I scurried up to my bedroom. Sitting up in my bed, I rocked myself, humming to calm me down.

Tomorrow I am buying myself one of those noise-cancelling headphones. I want my silence back.

Fifteen minutes on the dot, I gave up. I could still hear his voice, and the bell was on the way to breaking down with all the wear and tear he was giving it.

I strode out to the balcony and looked down.

“Go away,” I hissed.

He looked up, something bright in his eyes. “Let me explain.”

There was no way I was letting him in. I didn’t care what the neighbours thought. “Will you go after that?”

He nodded.

“Promise me.”

Something crossed his face, closer to anger than a promise. “I promise.”

A memory of him kicking down a different door filtered in. “Fine.”

I was mad. Mad to trust him. Still, I didn’t want to repair a broken door. So I walked down, opened it, and let him in. The air shifted the moment he walked in. Coldness snuck out and let the warmth in. I didn’t like it one bit. I led the way to the second-floor living room.

I skirted away to the far end of the room and left him in the doorway. I imagined a ten-foot pole between us. He looked tired, like he’d survived a train wreck. But he’d still come out beautifully. His hair was rough, and the scruff was thicker, but damn, did he look good enough to eat.

I watched him take in the house. “Nice place.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s no designer house,” I snapped.

“It doesn’t have to be a designer house to be beautiful, mia cara. There is a lot of love here and… family, I can see that.”

He made me feel callow. In our time together, and in India, he had never been snobbish, appreciating everything, especially authenticity. I didn’t have to be a bitch, I knew that, but I just needed him to leave. He was crowding in on me, sucking the air out of the room.

“Why are you even here? Do I have to sign something for the divorce? I am sure Roberto can send it to me.”

“And how can he send it to you if he doesn’t know where you are?”

“Fine. Now you know,” I snapped. He didn’t even deny the divorce. “He can send it to me, and you can leave.”

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