Page 13 of Devil Seeks Nanny

I make quick work of running to my room, pulling open my drawers to find something to wear. I decide on a pair of denim shorts and a black oversized Star Wars T-shirt, trading my shoes for a pair of flip-flops. The next little while is spent gathering some towels, finding a bucket, and heading out to the backyard with the kids. We use the faucet the gardener uses to water the plants and grass to fill up the colorful balloons and put them in the bucket for us to use after I tie them up.

The sun is bright above us, and I had tied Monica’s dark hair in braids, leaving my own loose since my hair is much shorter. Once the bucket is full of water balloons, we place it in the middle of the yard before grabbing as many as we can and running around, tossing them at each other.

The air is filled with the sounds of Matteo and Monica’s squeals, my own laughter joining in every time I get pelted with a balloon, splashing cool water on my skin that feels wonderful beneath the sun.

As we run around, I notice the security cameras all around, and guards that are standing around the property, a good distance away from us, but not out of eyesight. You would think, at this point with how many celebrity families I’ve lived with and worked for, I wouldn’t really notice the security. But I can’t help myself because this time it feels much different than in the past. Families I’ve worked with before always told me the security is for bold paparazzi or fans who trespass on the property, or very rarely a crazed stalker. In comparison, all of that felt normal, on some level.

But this. . . This time, I know that the security is for much more dangerous threats. Bruno Cataldi is the head of the mob here in San Francisco. Everyone knows it. The Cataldi family is notorious for drug trafficking and murders since the seventies, rising up the mafia hierarchy and becoming the most feared Italian family in the area. They’ve got people everywhere; as low level as on the streets, and as high of a level as people who have solid positions within the police departments and government. The last thing any sane person wants to do is piss off the Cataldis, but that doesn’t mean they will be light on security.

Especially with such little kids involved. And from what I’ve seen, much to my pleasant surprise, is that Bruno is a devoted dad; his children love him, and those moments I get to witness him with his kids are precious.

And then a wave of sadness washes over me because suddenly I start thinking of my dad, and how I’ll never get to hug him again.

I wonder what he would say if he saw who I’m working for now. No doubt dad would be concerned about my sudden new and somewhat close relationship with the freaking mafia; he wouldn’t want me within fifty miles of Bruno Cataldi. Dad knew Bruno, of course, since the man bought the building the bakery was in, so I just know the idea of me working for him—living in his house—would make dad roll over in his grave. But I’m doing this for him because it is the only way to get Bruno to look into the fire more.

My heart aches but I’m snapped out of it when a balloon hits me square in the chest, soaking my already wet shirt as a surprised gasp rips through me. Matteo giggles before taking off, running around the swing set and jungle gym that’s been put together for the kids. “You’re a little devil, Matteo Cataldi!” I call out with a laugh, grabbing a balloon and running after the boy who is shrieking with laughter.

We have plenty of balloons, conveniently enough, so we play a game of tag with the water balloons, trying to get anyone else to be it by splashing them with a water balloon. For a while, the kids target each other, but then they team up to target me, and I get a run for my money as I run away from them.

My clothes and hair stick to my skin; the late afternoon sun beats down on us, but the water keeps us cool. We’re all barefoot, so the grass sticks to the soles of our feet as we run around, sticking to the grass and not the stoned ground so we don’t burn our feet. The kids’ laughter rings in the air, and every time I hear it, a tiny part of my sadness disappears.

*****

Just a few hours after our water balloon shenanigans, the kids are quick to fall asleep for the night. Running around for so long tired them out, so after we were done, I made them some lemonade and we watched TV before their yawning took over, and it was time for an early night. They didn’t argue, too tired to complain, and knocked out after having some dinner.

After I put them to bed, I get to work on tidying up the playroom before moving on to clean up the kitchen. As I do so, I pause for a moment as I look at the food. The cook, Perry, had made a delicious dish of four-cheese lasagna, and there was still a good amount left. I contemplate taking some out and putting it on a plate for Bruno since he will be arriving home soon. Ultimately, I decide against it; if he wants to eat dinner, he can get it himself. I never really did anything like that for the parents of kids I nannied in the past, so there’s no reason why I should do it for Bruno.

I do, however, fill up a glass with cold water for him, remembering how Gloria said she did it for him. I’ve been working here for a few days and haven’t done that for Bruno just yet, for some reason feeling a bit too awkward to hand him a glass of water. If he expects me to, he hasn’t said anything, which tells me he doesn’t expect it from me.

I fill it up anyway.

Just as I put the last of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and close it, footsteps thud distantly in the hallway, and I glance over just in time to see Bruno walking into the kitchen.

His presence seems to fill up the entire room, dressed in his usual attire of black pants and a black dress shirt, though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off strong, veiny forearms I have to force my gaze not to linger on. His dark hair isn’t out of place at all, as perfectly made as it had been this morning before he left.

As much as I hate to admit it—as dangerous as it would be to admit it—Bruno Cataldi is an extremely attractive man. From his eyes that are so dark that they seem black, his tall stature, hair that barely has any gray strands—he is every woman’s wet dream. He just looks intimidating, and his presence exudes it even more. And I can’t help but wonder how much blood those hands have sprayed; hands that he hugs his children with.

“Welcome home,” I say with a tight smile. It’s all I can muster up in his presence. He doesn’t say anything, and I watch the way his gaze drops to the glass of water on the counter right in front of him. I’m standing on the opposite end as I say, “That’s for you.”

He presses his lips together, as if I just insulted him, making my stomach churn for a moment. But Bruno takes the glass anyway and says, “What did the kids do today?”

The man has no time for pleasantries, which shouldn’t surprise me, but I do suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I spend the next minute or so reporting to Bruno what the kids and I got up to, from the moment he left to when I put them in bed. He listens to everything intently, sipping the water, and I keep my tone steady and professional against his intense, hard gaze. When I finish, he doesn’t say anything, silence descends in the room, and I do my best not to bristle where I stand.

“Do you want dinner?” I ask, the words blurting out of me without much thought. “There’s, uh, pasta in the fridge.”

Bruno blinks at me, once, before lowering the glass. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes that only adds to the whole intimidating factor he’s got going on. He puts the now empty glass in the sink and turns to walk out of the kitchen, and with his back to me, he says, “Your only job is to look after my kids, not me,” before he leaves.

I stand there, blinking at the space he had stood in, a quiet scoff of disbelief escaping me.

What an ass.

Chapter 10

BRUNO

“No, no, no, Mr. Cataldi, this won’t ever happen again—you have my word! I—”

“The thing is, Spencer,” I interrupt him coldly, watching as he stares, wide-eyed and downright terrified, at the knife that glints in my hand. He’s seconds away from pissing himself, which he better not. I’d rather the scent of blood be stuck in this room than piss. “Your word means nothing to me—not after you thought it would be a great fucking idea to steal from me.”

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