Page 56 of Protecting My Nanny

I snap the hairdryer shut, slide the phone into my pocket, and move quickly. My plan has been weeks in the making. I've tested the sounds and memorized the movements—out the second-floor window, up the slanted roof to a small, flat surface near an attic window. It's a precarious climb, but I've done it before. No one will hear me up there.

I climb, careful not to make a sound, the cold night air biting at my skin as I reach the roof. This is my one shot to make contact. I call Francesca first, but the line rings out. No answer. I expected that. My fingers tremble as I dial Lonzo next, my heart pounding in the quiet. The phone remains silent for several long minutes, and I'm just about to give up when it lights up in my hand.

But the voice on the other end isn't Lonzo. It's an older woman.

"You have to stop calling," she says flatly, her tone sharp and final. There's no pretense of politeness, just an edge of warning.

I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper. "Who do you work for?"

"It doesn't matter," she snaps. "You're with him now. You're dead to the world."

"I'm not with him," I protest, desperation slipping into my voice. "I just need to—" The line goes dead before I can finish.

I just sit there for a moment, staring at the darkened screen. My heart races in confusion. Since when does anyone fear Raffaele? He's always been a low-level thug, barking louder than he bites. But this… either he's grown far more dangerous than I ever realized, or he's done something so terrible that people have cut ties with him completely.

Neither option bodes well for me.

I climb back down to my room, my mind racing, every ounce of hope I'd been clinging to slipping away like sand through my fingers. I need to find Giovanni. I need to leave this place before it consumes me. Raffaele is more dangerous than I thought, and I can't afford to underestimate him anymore.

Over the course of a few days, I have yet to hear anything concrete about Giovanni; no real leads, no sightings. The snippets I catch are always vague—a rumor here, a possible sighting there. Giovanni feels more like a ghost than a real person, at this point. But what I do find out terrifies me. Raffaele is planning to overthrow Pietro, the head of the Avvoltoi. If he makes that move, it'll put targets on all of us—me included. My protection would be gone, and Raffaele would completely control me. It's becoming clear why he brought me back. He doesn't care about helping me find Giovanni; he wants power, and I'm just another pawn in his game.

This was a mistake. He'll never help me willingly. I need to start planning my escape.

"Nicole." His voice pulls me from sleep, deep and slurred, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. I blink into the darkness, my heart pounding as I see Raffaele standing over me, a shadow darker than the room itself.

"What?" I say, my voice sharp. "What do you think you're doing, Raffaele?"

He sways slightly, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Whatyoumade me," he slurs. "I tried to be nice. I tried to bring you to my side. Let you witness my rise as my woman, something you should be proud of." He pauses. His words are heavy and full of self-pity. "But even now, your mind is still with him. With these Americans. Not even our blood." His words churn something dark inside me, but I keep my face impassive.

"You embarrass me in front of my men," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "They think I'm weak because of you. That I won't do what needs to be done."

Fear prickles at my skin, but I refuse to let him see it. I clench my fists under the sheets, my eyes darting toward the lamp on the bedside table. It's close. Not much of a weapon, but it'll have to do.

"What is it, Raffaele? What needs to be done?" I ask, forcing the words out in an even tone, though my body tenses, ready to act.

"Your billionaire. We need him," he spits.

My heart skips a beat, my mind racing. "What have you done?" I demand, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Nothing… yet," he says, the venom in his tone unmistakable.

"What do you need Shane for?" My stomach twists, dread filling every inch of me.

"My time to rise has come, and Shane will be my tool. I want him in—his company, his resources. I need him to cooperate."

It clicks in my head, the pieces coming together. "You want to use him to overtake Le Ombre," I say, the realization making me sick.

He narrows his eyes. "What do you know about Obsidian?"

"I know enough," I say with a sigh. "Your men haven't exactly been discreet. Obsidian holds power in America, and you think partnering with Shane will give you leverage with them. You think bringing in American money will help you seize control of the Avvoltoi."

Raffaele glares at me, his eyes wild with confusion and anger. "How do you know..."

"Because you're not good at this, Raffaele," I snap. "Neither are your men. And if you think I'm going to help you drag Shane into this, you're delusional."

Raffaele's expression darkens, but his voice stays cold. "This I expected," he says with unnerving calm. He whistles sharply, and two of his men burst into the room.

I grab the lamp, smashing it over one of their heads as he lunges toward me. The glass shatters, sending shards flying across the bed and floor. He stumbles back, clutching his bleeding forehead, but the second man grabs me by the neck, yanking me from the bed. I kick and thrash, landing a sharp punch across Raffaele's face, but it's no use. They overpower me, dragging me toward the door.

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