Page 1 of The Mobster's Nanny

Chapter 1 - Matteo

A new message appears on one of the computer screens on my desk, followed by a photo of an old apartment building taken from afar.

We've located them.

I narrow my eyes and zoom into the photo, looking into the bright lights coming through the curtains on the third floor. So they aren't even trying to hide their presence, huh? Very blunt for a band of thugs that have no idea what they're doing. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that they're celebrating the mistake they count as a victory.

Well, their celebration won't last long. They're about to find out what it means to mess with the kings of the Mafia world.

At the same time, I hear the tapping of a keyboard and indistinct muttering in Russian through my earphones. I keep an open phone call with Georgiy to make sure that we all move as one team. While I'm coordinating the moves of our Italian group, he's in charge of the Russians who, at the moment, are supposed to be a few streets away from my men.

"Do you see them?" I ask out loud, not looking away from the screen.

"Yes," Georgiy says without a second of delay, and I hear more intense keyboard tapping. "Ivan is by the pharmacy. You?"

I glance at the highlighted name of the pharmacy at the corner of the street before turning my attention to the dots on the map showing my group's location. There are five of them—three recruits, one sniper, and one commander—scattered over the narrow street across from the building. Marco, the one who’s in charge, has directed the recruits to take the most advantageous positions for an attack while waiting for me to check the Russians' readiness and give him a cue to move forward.

"Marco is on Washington Street," I report to Georgiy, watching the dots move around. Daniel, the sniper, is already making his way into the building nearby to climb to the third floor. Good move.

Ivan is at the corner of the street.I automatically send the message to Marco and ask out loud, "Thirty seconds?"

"Forty."

"Got it."

Be ready in forty seconds.

While I type the message to Marco, another one pops up on the computer screen on the right. This one is from Riccardo, the don of the Messina Clan and my younger cousin, so I can't just ignore it. Keeping an eye on the clock and the moving dots on the map, I check the message.

When you're done, send the night patrol to Bill's club

OK

Riccardo knows better than to bother me during an important mission, so he quickly leaves me to it. Besides, being always available is a part of my duty, so I can't blame him for distracting me. I'm used to switching between tasks anyway.

You see, I'm an intermediary of the Messina Clan, the biggest Mafia family in Chicago. What it basically means is that I'm the first person other members come to when they need to deliver a message or check the situation in general. I keep track of every person on duty, and if anything out of the ordinary happens, I'm the first one to know.

I coordinate the movements of our patrols and help them hunt down our enemies—like a stray gang of criminals that deemed themselves strong enough to claim a piece of neutral territory for themselves. As the biggest Mafia family, along with the Russian Bratva who are pretty much on our same level, the Messinas are supposed to maintain balance in the underworld of Chicago and get rid of anyone who tries to break the rules.

Neutral territories exist to be a buffer between the Mafia families and to provide a safe space for us to interact without provoking a conflict. No one can spill blood there—so it's time for us to remind them what the punishment looks like.

"Ten seconds," I say to Georgiy, hearing a confirmation in return, and I send Marco the same message.

"Five," Georgiy says from his side, counting with me.

Three. Two. One. I take a deep breath and send the message.

Go.

I've done it a thousand times already, but I hold still for a moment when the dots on the map start moving toward the building. Even though I'm at home, miles away from them, the wave of adrenaline reaches me as well. Are they moving quietly? Are they being careful? Does Marco know what he's doing? It's a dumb question—he's been a part of our clan for decades now, of course he knows what he's doing—but I can't help myself.

"It's clear," Georgiy says, probably on a parallel call with one of his men.

I nod to myself, keeping my eyes on the dots that now enter the building. If anything goes wrong, I'll be the one responsible. Even a small mistake of mine may cost our men's lives, and it's a heavy load to carry through every operation.

An intermediary is a demanding position, I'm not gonna lie. But in exchange for the responsibility and mental strain, it allows me to spend most of my time in the safety of my house. I rarely join missions in the field, so to speak, and don't take part in hunting down our enemies and risking being shot every other day. Still, it's not easy to keep up with all my duties, and it leaves me little to no time for my personal life—and sometimes, that creates a problem.

"They're in," Georgiy says, and I tense up, holding my fingers above the keyboard in case they have to retreat.

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