Page 19 of Devil Seeks Nanny

The tension winds tightly around us, and I want to close the gap between us. My jaw clenches as I take reign of my control, refusing to give into the urges that wreak havoc without my say-so.

I can’t kiss her. I can’t fucking do anything without potentially jeopardizing my kids’ nanny situation. I don’t need her to quit on me and my kids.

“I—uhm,” Diana stammers, my words clearly catching her off guard. There’s a male sort of satisfaction that rushes through me at how flustered she appears, taking a step back. “I’m gonna wake up the kids,” she says quickly, before hurrying out of the kitchen while trying to appear like she isn’t hurrying.

I rub my jaw once she’s gone. That was a dangerous game I just played, and yet I don’t think I can entirely bring myself to stop.

Chapter 13

BRUNO

“If I see you anywhere near one of my clubs, I’ll do much worse than this. Understand?”

The man in front of me—he looks like a boy, now, with pain and tears glassing his eyes as he keeps his mouth shut from crying out—nods quickly, desperately. This is the second man in as many weeks I’ve had glued to this chair, in this very room, as I use the blade to have my way with irritating, sniveling idiots who have done nothing but piss me off.

Last week, Spencer had been right here because of sticky fingers, thinking he could pull one over on me and steal from me. The dumbass forgot I have eyes and ears everywhere, and the second things seem off, I take care of them. Better to nip things in the bud before they can blossom into greater grievances.

Now I gaze at the man sitting before me, and I’m fully aware that whatever he did, it hadn’t been a personal slight against me. But I had watched him; I’d seen the way he touched and kissed Diana in my club, danced with her. Diana is not mine to be jealous over, I know, yet I don’t care. Because I had recognized the fire that had flooded through my veins, electric and licking down my spine when I watched her with this guy—this Derek Porter.

Besides, Derek isn’t in this chair with his blood dripping onto the hardwood floor because he was simply dancing with Diana. If that was the only reason, I would’ve brought in the others Diana had danced with too. No, Derek is in here because I watched as he held her against her will when she had obviously been trying to push away from him.

I had watched, as lights flashed, music pumped through the speakers, and the crowd pulsed as Derek gripped her closer. There had been a flash of panic that had flickered across Diana’s face, and that was when I’d pushed myself away from the banister, ready to head down there and rip the fucker away from her. But then Diana had managed to free herself from his hold, moving back toward her friends—but not before sending a scathing glare toward Derek. She’d saved herself.

Still, I’d memorized Derek’s face and had easily tracked him down, and now I’m making sure he understands not to touch what doesn’t belong to him.

With how deeply I sliced across both of his palms, I think he understands the message loud and clear.

His skin wears a slick sheen of sweat, tears mixing in on his face as he whimpers against the tape that’s placed over his mouth. He’s just a boring, insignificant guy who isn’t used to this kind of pain, and although the room is soundproof, I’m not too keen on hearing his pathetic screams.

Once I’ve had my fun, Raf hauls Derek’s ass away and I walk back to my office, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. I feel far more relaxed than I had before, sitting on the edge of the desk as I blow out a plume of smoke, too aware of both Raf and Leo staring at me.

It’s just the three of us in the room, and the weight of their stares prickles against my skin. "What?" I demand sharply.

Leo raises an eyebrow. “Is there a reason why you sliced that kid’s hands? He’s a nobody.”

He knows damn well why I did. There’s rarely anything I do that Leo doesn’t know the motives behind. He and Raf are my top two enforcers, most of the time, they know all of my moves. “Have I ever needed a reason?” I ask dryly, cigarette between my lips as I fix the cuffs of my sleeves.

Raf sits down on a chair, hands interlocking on his stomach as he leans back. “I’m surprised he didn’t piss himself.”

Leo pours himself a drink from the trolley in the corner of the room. He meets my gaze and pours me one as well, knowing I like a drink or two after having someone in the chair. A little torture always makes me a little thirsty.

The metallic scent of blood still lingers in my nostrils, and I’m only happy to get rid of it. “The kid was at the Hideaway last night,” Leo comments, and I’m not surprised he knows that. His eyes can be sharper than mine sometimes. It’s why he is my underboss. He hands me a glass of Scotch, arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Diana, would it?” he asks knowingly.

I hold the cigarette between my fingers and take a sip of the Scotch with the same hand. Something tightens in my chest, but my expression remains stoic. “If you already know the answer, why are you asking?”

“To hear you say it yourself,” Leo smirks in response.

I down the drink in one go, the alcohol burning a path down my throat. I know what he’s doing, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. If it was anyone else, I’d make them regret questioning me in any sense. But it’s Leo, so I choose to ignore his knowing looks and sharp eyes by drinking my Scotch and smoking my cigarette.

But there’s no distraction from the thoughts that whip around in my head. With each day that passes, I find myself thinking more and more about Diana, and it all came to a head last night when I saw her at the club. She is an attractive woman, there’s no doubt about it. But, more or less, she’s forbidden. As my children’s nanny, that trumps anything else, including whatever attraction I have for her. If I fuck things up by pursuing her in any way and drive her away from looking after Monica and Matteo, I will be pissed—at no one but myself. At the end of the day, Diana is the best at what she does, and my children deserve no less than the best.

I’ll have to keep it in my pants if I want to keep her as the twins’ caretaker. What a cliché would that be, for me to fuck my kids’ nanny? One as young as she is?

It’s a cliché, I resolve, that cannot come true.

*****

There’s music playing when I walk into my house. It’s slightly distant, telling me that it’s coming from the back of the house where the kitchen is. I shrug off my suit jacket, hanging it for now on the round top of the banister of the stairs as I pass by it, heading into the kitchen. The closer I get, the more prominent becomes the sound of my children’s giggles over the sound of the melodic music that’s playing. I recognize it—it’s Disney music that Monica loves listening to.

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