Page 15 of Devil Seeks Nanny

If my minuscule display of concern surprises her, Diana doesn’t show it. “It’ll be a good distraction, I think,” is all she says before moving past me to head inside the house, carrying the monitor in her hand. There’s some distance between us, but as she passes, I get a whiff of her scent; coconut mixed with something sweeter, my jaw tightens as it hits me straight in the chest. She’s inside the house, a few feet away from me, when she adds, “Your water is in the kitchen. Goodnight, Mr. Cataldi.”

My gaze doesn’t leave Diana until she disappears down the hall and around the corner, and I remain standing by the doors, the muscle in my jaw ticking as her scent lingers. It wraps around me, invading my senses, and I exhale sharply through my nose as if to get rid of it.

But it stays with me long into the night.

Chapter 11

DIANA

“Come on, Di—it’ll be fun,” Cathy pleads on the other end of the phone. “You need a night out to just live, okay? It’s healthy.”

I roll my eyes, though a smile tugs at my mouth at her words. “Getting drunk off my ass doesn’t sound healthy, ironically enough,” I say sarcastically, though my voice is dropped to a whisper. Monica and Matteo sit a few feet away, eating and entranced by the cartoon playing on the kitchen TV. I don’t need them hearing about their nanny getting drunk—and then asking what getting drunk means. The last thing I want is that getting back to Bruno.

“It’s healthy because you’ll be with friends, and you need time to enjoy yourself,” Cathy replies, not one to back down. She’d always been like that. “Please, Diana?”

I chew on my dinner for a moment as I think over my decision. I’m not going to lie—going out tonight does sound appealing. I can’t remember the last time I was able to leave my problems at home and just have fun with some friends. Work has always kept me so busy; I barely got any time for myself. It’s the reason for my lack of relationships. “Fine,” I concede with a sigh, chuckling when Cathy exclaims in excitement. “But I’ll have to come out later in the night after the kids are asleep and their dad is home. So probably around ten-ish.”

My days are spent looking after Monica and Matteo, but I have the nights for myself, especially when Bruno’s already home. I haven’t used that to my advantage yet, but I guess tonight is the night that I do.

“That’s fine,” Cathy says, speaking quickly out of her excitement. She’s definitely a partier. “Be prepared for shots of Fireball.”

Before I can respond with a stern absolutely not, Cathy has already hung up the phone, and I blow a breath out with a shake of my head, already cringing at the idea of drinking that horrible whiskey. I like to stick to my fruity cocktails, thank you very much.

After dinner, the kids are in the living room, getting their last hour of screen time in while I tidy up the room. Eventually, I hear the front door open, and Monica sits up from the couch, grinning. “Daddy’s home!” she cheers excitedly.

Within moments, Bruno appears in the entryway of the living room, in his regular get-up, as always. I purse my lips as I gather the kids’ coloring pencils and put them back in their box, crouching by the coffee table and trying not to let my gaze linger on Bruno as he greets his kids. The only time I ever see him smile is with Monica and Matteo, and the sight is, much to my chagrin, beautiful. His smile reaches his dark eyes, and the love he has for the twins is deep and obvious.

He’s a man with razor-sharp edges, bloody hands, and a voice that sends shivers down your spine. But with his kids, he is softer than one could ever think, gentler. It’s a stark contrast to the man the public knows him as—the man that he, obviously, keeps hidden from his children. But whether he’s Bruno Cataldi, the terrifying mob boss, or Bruno Cataldi, the loving father of twins—the man is undeniably attractive. So fucking sexy that sometimes it’s hard to breathe while being in the same room with him.

He’s approaching his mid-forties, but I swear, he looks like he’s in his mid-thirties. It’s those Italian genes, I guess. Or maybe killing keeps him young. Who knows? I don’t question it—I just quietly, secretly, admire it.

While the kids keep their dad entertained, I quickly slip into the kitchen and grab the glass of water I’d kept for him. It feels like a routine now, just like taking care of the kids. I admit, in the beginning, I had told myself that he can get his own damn glass of water, but I don’t really mind it much anymore.

So when I come back to the living room and hand him the glass, as the kids run back to the couch, I say to Bruno, “Is it alright if I head out tonight? After the kids are asleep.”

Bruno takes the glass, his dark eyes flickering up to meet mine. I damn near freeze in place. “Where are you going?” he asks. His expression is carefully blank like he couldn’t give a shit where I’m heading, but he asks, anyway, to keep up pretenses.

“I don’t know,” I say. “My friends want to head out to some bars downtown, get some drinks.”

He’s silent for a moment, nothing but the sounds of the television filling the room, and part of me wonders if he’s going to refuse. Technically, I don’t need his permission to go out, especially after the kids are asleep and he’s home—and the estate is surrounded by security, too.

When Bruno lowers the glass, he lifts his chin and says, “Would you and your friends be interested in going to my club? Hideaway off the fourteenth street?”

I blink at him in surprise. Hideaway is one of the most exclusive clubs in San Francisco, with lines that are always wrapped around the block on the weekends. Everyone knows it’s owned by Bruno, but no one cares about that because they care more about the exclusivity of being able to get into the club.

“Uh—” I’m too surprised at his offer to conjure up a proper response, embarrassingly enough.

Bruno is already pulling out his phone. His expression is still blank like we’re talking about the weather. “I’ll have them put your name on the list. You won’t have to wait in line.” I gape at him because the gesture is nice and despite my stipulations that came with accepting the job to be his nanny, I didn’t expect something like this. He glances at the kids before saying to me, “You don’t have to wait until they go to bed. I’m here with them.”

I feel like I stepped into a parallel universe. “Um, okay,” I say slowly, cautiously. “Uh, thank you, Mr. Cataldi. I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t say you’re welcome like a normal person. Instead, he just finishes typing on his phone and brushes past me to get to the kids. “If you’re planning on drinking tonight, have Bastian drive you.”

Bastian is Bruno’s driver, who I’m required to use whenever I want to go out with the twins. I was fully prepared to just Uber out and meet my friends, so Bruno’s request—or, well, demand is more appropriate because he didn’t request anything—takes me by surprise.

He’s already wrapped up in his kids by the time I come to terms with this new development, so I head to my room, texting Cathy about the new location of the night. She’s thrilled, surprised that we’re going to be able to get in. Perks of having a wealthy boss. I’ve had nice gestures done for me by previous parents of the kids I nannied, but truthfully, I hadn’t expected anything of the like from Bruno Cataldi.

For the next nearly two hours, I get ready. After showering, I blow dry my hair until the strands are dry and silky, putting on some music to play softly in the background as I do my makeup. I can’t remember the last time I did a full face of makeup, but I let myself enjoy it as I do. It’s kind of like baking, for me—both things are almost therapeutic, in a way, as I focus on creating a dessert treat, or a different kind of look with my makeup. It distracts me from the shitshow that is my life.

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