Page 88 of Nanny's Baby for the Italian Mafia Boss

He grins. “That’s the point. I want you to feel me around, but I won’t crowd you.”

The sound of the plastic cup falling over and pouring dirty water across the counter interrupts us. I jump out of the way, barely missing the murky paint water splashing against the chair.

A second later, Ella begins to wail. Her eyes water, and her lower lip frowns as her face turns red. “I’m sorry!” she yells. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry. Mommy, I’m sorry.”

I gasp and Matias inhales too, shocked at her word of choice.

I don’t want to think too much of it because, while my heart swells with happiness, it could just be a reflex for her thinking she’s in trouble.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ella, you’re okay. It’s just water.” I grab the dish towel from the oven, cleaning off my seat first. “See? Look how easy that is.”

“I just… I didn’t mean to. I reached and my brush hit it. I couldn’t stop it. I ruined your painting,” she wails again, big fat tears of guilt rolling down her face.

I stare at my canvas, which was barely coming together since I got sidetracked with Matias.

“I think you made it look better. I was painting a night sky and now you added dimension. Look at all the grey hues? I love it. We will let it dry and work on it later.”

She sniffles, lifting her hands in the air for me to pick her up. “Really?” she begins to calm, wiping her face.

I lift her and sit her on my hip. “Really. It was an accident, Ella. Accidents happen. It’s okay. We aren’t mad at you, baby.” I kiss her forehead, the urge to truly be her mom hitting me full force, and I have to blink away the tears. “I think it’s time for a nap, okay? Why don’t you go get cleaned up in the shower and then I’ll come tuck you in, okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Mommy,” she says for the second time, climbing down my body and bolting to the bathroom.

Silence falls between us and I panic because that’s Matias’s daughter. Having her call me mom might make him feel some type of way. I love it, but maybe he is jealous? What if I’ve overstepped? What if I crossed the line of being her nanny? This could be messy.

“Sophie?” Matias takes a tentative step forward, speaking my name delicately.

I’m frozen. I’m scared. What if he is mad? What if this is it? We never talked about this happening. I never even considered Ella calling me mom. I love it. I never want her to call me Nanny Sophie again. We could be a family. Isn’t that what he wanted? Was the idea, the fantasy, the dream better than reality now that it has hit us in the face?

Maybe we weren’t ready.

I am. I’m finally ready, but Matias is looking at me… I can’t tell how. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are watering.

“Don’t,” Matias warns with ease. “I can tell you’re about to—”

I run.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Matias

I stare outside the sliding glass door, watching her get lost in the maze of the gardens in the back. She is running because she is afraid of my reaction to what Ella said, but when I heard my daughter call her mom, my entire being stopped. My lungs froze. My heart stumbled. My tongue tied. I couldn’t remember how to walk or move.

I was stunned.

And so fucking happy.

I’ve dreamed of this moment. I thought it would take longer. I thought Ella would need more time, and if I’m honest, I thought Sophie would too. Sophie is beautiful, smart, brave, and very independent. She’s so used to being on her own that she gets scared any time we grow close.

She keeps herself far enough away from me, so she doesn’t have to get too close. All of that is about to change. That is about to come to an end. Everything I want is at the tip of my fingers. It’s right within reach. I won’t let her run from me. I won’t let her be afraid of the future. I won’t let her distance herself from me any longer.

“I’ll make sure Ella is okay. You go get Sophie,” Gianni nudges me to go.

I run to the door, sliding it open quickly, and I don’t bother shutting it behind me. I jump down the staircase, my feet landing on the soft grass of the lawn. The air is cool, and the sun is bright, still warm against my skin as I sprint down the path to the garden. The grass tickles the bottoms of my feet and the thick bushes of the garden come into view. Most of the flowers that bloomed over the summer are wilting, the petals drifting to the ground as fall creeps around the corner.

My arms lock in front of me, blocking the whipping of the thin branches that need to be trimmed. A sting is left behind, but I barely feel it as the adrenaline pumps through my heart. I’m hunting her, it seems; chasing a scared little doe until she’s backed into a corner.

“Sophie?” I shout for her, looking into the nook on the left that’s usually overrun with roses.

---