Page 95 of Nanny's Baby for the Italian Mafia Boss

It’s a picture of the house. I remember this now. It’s all coming back.

I was there, but not in the way Sophie thinks.

“Oh my god,” I grumble, sagging against my desk. “I was so young when this happened. I barely remember it, but seeing this house…” I trail off, the two-story family home staring at me in the face. Half of it is in ash, nothing but rubble, and the other half is blackened with soot. “It was me who pulled Sophie out of this fire. I was just a kid myself. I was young but I was driving by. I heard her screams. I placed her in the yard, and I ran because I knew if anyone saw me there, they would blame my family. I couldn’t hardly see her face. It was covered in soot and ash. She was unconscious.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re a witness.”

“I am not. You will not put me in the investigation when that would be all the press would need to blame me when I didn’t do it. No.”

“She needs to know you saved her.”

“No, she doesn’t. What are the chances of her coming into my home? Being my nanny, my fiancé?”

“It’s odd how the universe works, doesn’t it?” he questions, flipping through another folder. “Here are some family photos. Most are burnt.”

He casually changes the subject while my head is still reeling. Memories come flooding back to me: the roar of the flames, the smell of smoke, the screams that pierced the air as she cried for help. We were always meant to find one another.

She was always meant to be mine.

“You with me?” Detective Casey nudges me with a question.

“Yeah, sorry.” I shake out of my funk, or try to, but it’s hard, knowing that our paths crossed so long ago. I flip through the stack of pictures he gave me, noticing nothing. I pass one picture, only for the image to click in my mind a second later. I stare at the photo of a photo, analyzing it. “Wait a minute.” I narrow my eyes. The blaze burnt most of the picture. Her mom and Sophie are no longer in it, but a man, I’m assuming her father, is standing there like he has his arm wrapped around someone, probably Sophie’s mom.

But it’s the faint image of the man next to him that’s sounding alarms. I can only see half of his face since the other half of the picture is gone.

“I know this face,” I whisper, showing the picture to Casey. “I know it isn’t much, but I swear, I know him.”

“Who is it, then?” he asks. “I can’t get a decent recognition from this. I don’t think this would be enough to close the case.”

I swing open my door. “Gianni!” I call to him. I hear the quick taps of his shoes against the floor after he hears the urgency in my voice.

He stands in front of me, breathing hard and his eyes survey the room. “What’s the problem?”

“Do you know him?” I show Gianni the picture, knowing that if anyone would know anything, it would be him. He’s a little older than the Detective so he might know something we don’t.

He squints as he stares at the picture. I see it. The moment it dawns on him. “Where did you get this?”

I grab him by his blazer. “Who is it? It could be our only lead to find who burnt down Sophie’s house.”

“That’s your father’s old rival, Nolan O’Brien.”

“O’Brien? Head of the Irish mob?”

Gianni nods. “That’s him. He loves setting fires to anyone your father had business with. I didn’t know the details. I was too young then. You know how your father was.”

“A real asshole, until Carmine killed him,” I grumble, giving the picture to Casey. “But O’Brien hasn’t been relevant in years. Decades, even.”

“After the fire,” Casey says, as the obvious dawns on him. “He vanished. We couldn’t look into him because he was just gone. His entire organization seemed to vanish overnight.”

“Didn’t he have children?” I ask, just as Gianni punches a hole in the wall. “Gianni?”

“He did have children. One son.” He slides his eyes to me, guilt stretched across his face. “His name was Michael.”

My stomach drops. “Michael? As in Sophie’s ex, Michael?”

“It has to be. Why else would Michel be around? What if Michael planned to be with her all along? What if he planned to finish his father’s job? It makes sense, Matias. She is the one who survived and if Michael has the chance to breathe life back into the O’Brien name, bringing the mob back to the city, why wouldn’t he start with Sophie? The ultimate kill, the one that would give him so much power and respect because he finished what his father couldn’t.”

“Where is she? Where is Sophie? I need to see her now. Right now. This can’t wait.” I run out of the office, calling her name. “Sophie? Sophie!” I shout for her, but she doesn’t answer. “Where the fuck is my fiancé!” I roar, rushing into the bedroom. “Sophie? Sophie!”

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