Page 43 of Nanny for the Don

I don’t like this—it doesn’t sit right with me. “I’m not cool with this, Ms. M.,” I say, crossing my arms. “Nico would want to know if something happened to one of his little girls.”

Ms. M’s face sharpens, her usual calm demeanor turning icy. “I know what Mr. Conti would want, Willow. He is not to be disturbed while he’s working.”

I shake my head. , not buying it. “No way. He’d want to know his daughter got hurt. This isn’t something you keep from a parent.”

Ms. M narrows her eyes, clearly not happy with my push back. s. “I appreciate your concern, but Mr. Conti has strict rules. He doesn’t like being interrupted, and for good reason.”

I feel my frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just a papercut, Ms. M. She has a gash on her head. What if she has a concussion? You don’t think he’ll be mad if we don’t tell him immediately? I’m going to go tell him.”

“Willow, don’t!” Ms. M calls after me.

But I’m already moving quickly down the hall. If Nico’s doing something so important that he can’t be bothered about his own kid’s injury, I want to hear it from him directly.

I make my way to the basement stairs, the darkness swallowing me as I descend. My footsteps echo in the silence. It’s eerily quiet down here, and my gut tightens with unease.

Something on the floor catches my eye and I walk over to get a better look.

Blood.

A dark, wet stain on the cold concrete floor. I gasp, my heart racing, a mix of fear and dread washing over me.. What the hell is going on down here? Suddenly, all the warnings and the fear in Ms. M’s eyes make sense, but it’s too late—I’m already in too deep.

I freeze when I hear a voice. My heart skips a beat, and I pull back into the shadows, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. It’s Sal, and he’s on the phone with someone. His tone is serious, clipped, and even though I can’t make out every word, a few hit me hard.

“Killer,” he says, the word slicing through the silence. Then something about “Mr. Conti getting information out of him.”

My mind races, piecing it together faster than I want to admit. This isn’t just some meeting or business deal. Nico’s down here doing something dark, something dangerous. I’m not supposed to be here, and I know it, but I can’t stop myself from finding out what’s going on.

I spot a door on the other side of the room. Keeping low, I creep over to it, my breath shaky. With a quick glance back at Sal to make sure he’s not looking, I slowly turn the handle and slip through.

The door opens into a sleek, stainless-steel hallway, cold and clinical, like something out of a movie.

Every instinct in me isscreamingto turn back, to get the hell out of here before I see something I can’t unsee. I’ve known, on some level, what kind of man Nico is, but now I’m about to find out for real. My feet feel like they’re made of lead, but I keep moving forward anyway, even as my heart races with dread.

In the distance, I can faintly hear Ms. M talking to Sal somewhere behind me, though their words are muffled, indistinct.

It’s now or never.

I force myself to the end of the hallway and push open the door. The sight that greets me makes my stomach lurch.

A man is strapped to a chair, bloodied and battered, looking like he’s been through hell. Nico is standing over him, holding a large surgical instrument against the man’s pinky finger. Blood seeps from a fresh wound, dripping onto the cold floor.

The man’s eyes lock onto mine, and he calls out, desperation thick in his voice.“Help me!” he pleads, his voice raw.

Nico’s head snaps toward the door, and our eyes meet. This isn’t the Nico I know—the caring father, the man I’ve been falling for.

This is someone else entirely, someone terrifying.

I gasp, my breath catching in my throat, and without another thought, I turn and bolt back down the hall and up the stairs, fleeing from the nightmare unfolding behind me.

Chapter 22

Nico

Iwince, the image of Willow’s horrified face seared into my mind like a brand.The way she looked at me—like I was a monster—burns deep, and I know I’ll never forget it.

She’s long gone by now, and there’s a knot in my gut telling me she’s not coming back. Can’t say I’d blame her if she didn’t.

I take a breath, trying to push the emotions down. I turn to Jack, who’s whimpering in the chair, and say, “You just got lucky. For now.” My voice is cold, detached, but inside I’m anything but. I step out of the room, shutting the door behind me, blocking out Jack’s muffled cries.

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