Page 9 of Devil Seeks Nanny

The harshness of her blue eyes is now understandable. Grief has found its home in Diana, but she masks it with anger. I remember her initial refusal to take the nannying job; she had said she was taking care of her father, and now he’s gone. My jaw clenches, having too good of an idea of what this kind of grief and loss feels like. It’s numbing.

But I remain relaxed in my seat, arching an eyebrow at Diana. “What makes you think it was arson?” I ask. “I’ve already had my men look into it. They came to the same conclusion as the police: a faulty electrical cable.”

“That’s not what happened,” Diana says tightly, through gritted teeth. The look in her eyes and her tone of voice is impressive; there aren’t many, if any, people who could speak to me in such a way, scared too shitless to even look me in the eye. Diana then reaches into the tote bag she’s carrying, pulling out something wrapped up in a plastic bag. I watch, bemused, as she presents what looks like the remains of a gas tank. “I found this in a cabinet in the bakery. There’s no reason for this to be there. It’s not ours. And my dad—” Her voice cracks for a moment, and my jaw clenches. She carries on, “My dad was religious about the upkeep of the bakery. He’d never leave a faulty electrical wire unfixed. I’m telling you—this fire was intentional. My dad was killed.”

I fix my gaze on the gas tank, the gears in my head turning. My hand clenches into a fist on my thigh. In lieu of my silence, Diana continues, “The police won’t do anything. They told me to mind my business, stay home and grieve. Everything seems so off. Please, Mr. Cataldi.” I lift my gaze at the tone of her voice, my eyes locking with her glassy ones. Still, she doesn’t let any tears fall. “Please, find out who killed my dad, and I’ll be your kids’ nanny.”

Her eyes carry her grief, the devastation of losing someone she loves, and I’m not sure how I feel about seeing myself in her gaze. I know her pain like I know my own, the one that comes with losing Maria. Her death was just something that happened, her body failing after giving birth to the twins. There was no one to direct my pain to—not when I had two newborns to take care of.

But Diana. . . She’s determined to find the source of her pain, to make them pay for what they did to her. And I admire that, even if I don’t admit it.

Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on hers, and say, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Elliott.” Her eyes widen slightly. “I’ll have my men investigate.” Her lips part but before she can spew her gratitude and thanks, which I don’t need, I continue on, “I’d like for you to come over to my house. I want you to meet the kids and determine if they can easily adjust to you being their new nanny. Let’s go.”

Diana blinks, her eyes still wide as I get up. She looks up at me, still sitting, as she asks, “Right now?”

I give a single nod. “Now.”

About twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the gated driveway of my home, Diana’s Volks Wagon right behind my car. I get out after parking, the gravel of the driveway crunching under my shoes as I catch sight of Diana getting out of her car as well. She looks up at my home, three stories big with more land than I know what to do with, taking in the sight before her. She’s worked in Los Angeles, for famous families, so I’m sure she’s seen houses as big as this. If she’s impressed by what she sees, she doesn’t show it, nor does she seem to pay much attention to the men I have stationed around the property for safety. I have to suppress my mildly amused smirk.

Without saying anything, I walk up to the front door, hearing Diana follow after me, her sneakers slapping against the front concrete steps before I open the door and walk into my home. Almost immediately, I hear footsteps approaching, and I look away from Diana, whose eyes are taking in her surroundings, to see Gloria walking over.

“I didn’t expect to see you so early, Mr. Bruno,” she greets, eyebrows raising in surprise.

I gesture to the woman beside me. “Gloria, this is Diana. She’s going to be taking your place, so I brought her over so she can meet the kids.”

Gloria’s eyes widen, but a pleased smile curls at her mouth as her gaze flickers to Diana. “Oh, how wonderful!” She offers her hand to Diana, who takes it and shakes it with a tentative smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, honey. Come, come! The kids are upstairs in the playroom.”

She pulls Diana along, and I follow them up the stairs. Diana is directly in front of me as we go up, and my jaw clenches as my gaze lingers on the curve of her ass, the jeans she wears hugging her well. Her hips sway slightly as we make our way upstairs, and the blood in my veins heats up. I force myself to look away. She’s my kids’ new nanny. However attractive she is, I can’t fucking act on it. It will be like opening a can of worms with no way of closing it.

When we get to the second floor and continue down the hall, the sounds of my kids’ chatter and laughter waft from the playroom. Gloria pushes the door open wider, and I catch sight of Monica and Matteo sitting on the ground, playing with their toys. They’ve built a little city, it seems like, using toy trucks and cars, Barbie dolls, Legos—all of the works. They talk to each other in different voices, and I press my lips together, the smile threatening to take over.

“Kids—there’s someone here to meet you,” Gloria announces as we walk into the room.

Monica and Matteo look up, their gazes first going to me, grinning widely in greeting, before they look toward Gloria and Diana. Curiosity crosses over their features as they take in the unfamiliar woman, and I step up, one hand in the pocket of my pants as I say, “This is Diana. She’ll be taking care of you when Gloria leaves.”

Their curiosity intensifies, and part of me is concerned they’re going to outright reject Diana based on the mere fact that she will be replacing Gloria. It would make the adjustment period more difficult between the kids and Diana, and I want this to be as smooth for them as possible.

But then Monica sits up on her knees, her gaze zeroed in on Diana as she asks, “Do you wanna play with us?”

“Uh,” Diana glances at me to see if I’m okay with it. I dip my chin once in a nod and Diana looks back at the kids, and a smile upturns her mouth, friendly and kind. “Sure, I’d love to.”

She walks further into the room and sits down on the ground between the twins, and I watch as Monica hands Diana one of the Barbie dolls before Matteo launches into explaining the story he and his sister have created for whatever game they’re playing. He talks rapidly, like always, but Diana listens intently, nodding along, and a hundred percent of her attention is suddenly on the kids.

I remain standing by the door, arms crossed as I watch the scene in front of me. Diana seems to fit in right away with the twins, smiling with them as they play together. Next to me, Gloria stands with her hands clasped in front of her. “That was easy,” she comments with a quiet smile.

It was. To Gloria, I say, “I’m leaving you in charge of filling Diana in about all of your duties that she’ll be taking over. Leave the rest to me.”

She nods. “Yes, Mr. Cataldi.”

Looking back at Diana, I catch the moment she looks up and meets my gaze. She is fine where she is, so I give her a subtle nod, silently telling her that the deal still stands, and I turn and walk out of the room. As I make my way through the hall and down the stairs, I pull out my phone and dial Leo’s number.

“Yeah, Boss?” he answers.

“The bakery fire—I want you to look into it deeper,” I tell him without preamble. “I have reason to believe that it was intentional. Find out and report back to me directly, understood? I want them dead by my hand.”

If Leo is surprised by my demand, he doesn’t show it. He simply says, “Got it,” before hanging up.

I shove my phone in the pocket of my pants as I reach the bottom of the staircase, and I stop, eyebrows pulling together as my thoughts begin running. If the bakery was set on fire by rivals, then that’s easily an open declaration of war. I have spent years cultivating the precise and tight control I have over this city, and if someone knowingly acted out against me—because it’s well known that I own that bakery—then that person is trying to start something against me.

---