Page 6 of Of Lies and Shadows

I blink at her, feeling vaguely stupid. The language sounds nice coming from her.Toonice. It’s…attractive.

Not good.Not good at all. I’ll probably have to forbid her from speaking French around me.

“French won’t be necessary,” I mutter, glancing back down at her CV, suddenly unsure what the hell else to ask.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Dante Forzi. Owner of Forzi Group.”

I look up again. She’s watching me with that too-calm expression people wear when they’re terrified underneath.

“What are you afraid of, Miss Winters?”

“Nothing.” Too fast. Too defensive.

I snort. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Something flickers in her eyes. Guilt? Embarrassment? I can’t tell. I don’t have the bandwidth to care.

I sigh. “The twins lost their mother a few months ago. They need care, consistency, and attention. What makes you think you’re qualified for this role? You’re barely more than a child yourself.”

She presses her lips together, holding herself in check. And I’ll admit I admire the restraint.

“I can assure you, sir, I amnota child. I’ve studied child psychology extensively, and I understand developmental grief. I’ve also had my fair share of it.” She draws a breath, her voice steady now. “I lost my mother too. And while no two experiences are ever the same, I believe my firsthand experience gives me a unique ability to help.”

I look at her again. Grief leaves fingerprints on people. Maybe that’s why she seems too polished, like someone who learned how to cover the bruises.

“Also,” she adds with a flash of something dangerously close to smug, “I know how to pick locks. So the bathroom won’t be a challenge.”

I stare at her.

Not because of the lock-picking comment. Although, yes, that was unexpected.

It’s the way she said it. Calm. Composed. Like she’s already played this scenario out in her head and won.

She’s young, yes, but there’s a sharpness there. A control I didn’t expect. That kind of composure doesn’t come from books. It comes from experience. And I’m not sure I want to know what kind. I’m not sure if that makes me trust her ordistrusther more.

Still, Lucia needs someone. Alessio needs a keeper. And I need sleep.

I close the file with a quiet thud and lean back in my chair. “You start Monday. Ask my secretary for the address. Be there at eight.”

She blinks. “Just like that?”

I meet her eyes. “Unless you’d prefer I find someone else.”

“No, sir.” She stands quickly, smoothing her skirt. “Thank you.”

She offers a polite nod and turns to leave. I watch her go, silent, my mind already spinning through a dozen things I should have asked. A dozen ways this could blow up in my face.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I lean back in my chair with a sigh.

“God help me.”

Because something about Alice Winters doesn’t sit right.

And yet I just handed her the keys to my children’s lives.

Chapter Two

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