NANNY FOR THE MAFIA BOSS

THE SILENT HEIR

CHAPTER 2: THE SILENT HEIR

Ava Hale's pov

As I settled into the sprawling estate, the heavy shadow of Robert Vince's dangerous lifestyle constantly loomed.

Monday, 7:10am, I was late on my first day. I was ushered in by the security guard.

A very dangerous footstep echoed from the staircase. I looked up and caught my breath entirely.

The Mafia heir descended the steps like a dark god. Dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, his sharp, chiseled features were carved from stone and his piercing, obsidian eyes locked onto hers with a possessive, predatory intensity that made her knees go weak.

“Miss Ava,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated straight through her core. “You are late."

“I sincerely apologize," Mr Vince. I struggled to reply, forcing my trembling voice to remain steady. “ The driver encountered heavy traffic”, sir. I said with my head facing down.

Robert closed the distance between us , he moved closer, stepping into my personal space, he smelled freely of expensive tobacco, aged whiskey and a deep masculine cologne that practically spelled danger.

“My time is a luxury that only a few are permitted to waste," he whispered, towering over me. Ria hated nannies who show up late. “ Sit up and keep to time,” he said. “If this repeats itself, you are gone.”

He didn't wait for my response, he simply turned on his heel and started barking at a guard who stood there staring. Then he walked away.

My mind began racing. I had just stepped into the lion's den.

My second day at the Vince penthouse began in the early hours of the morning. I navigated the hallways on the second floor until I found the heavy mahogany door of the nursery. Inside the room was a breathtaking sanctuary of expensive toys and a plush carpet, but it was permeated by a suffocating, heavy gloom.

Ria was sitting on a plush window seat, clutching a faded teddy bear, her large, hollow eyes staring out at the manicured garden below. She possessed the dark, brooding features of her father, but she was completely devoid of life.

“Good morning Ria” I said softly, ensuring that my tone was gentle and non-threatening. I sat down with a tray of freshly sliced strawberries and a glass of juice. “I am Ava, and I am going to be your Nanny.”

Ria didn't even blink. She didn't even acknowledge my presence. Treating me as if I was just another piece of expensive furniture in the room. But I didn't let the rejection deter me. I knew trauma, and knew that silence was often a child's only shield against a terrifying world.

For hours, I quietly went about my routine. I read a picture book aloud, my voice melodic and soothing.

Through it all, Ria remained a silent, unmoving statue. It wasn't until late afternoon when I decided to try art therapy, that I finally got a reaction. I sat on the floor with a large sketchpad and a box of vibrant oil pestles, deliberately ignoring the girl while I began to sketch a serene landscape of my own.

Out of the corners of my eyes,I noticed Ria shifting. She inched closer, her curiosity momentarily overriding her fear. As she laid down a bright yellow pastel, a small, pale hand reached out, tentatively touching the side of the sketchpad.

I paused my drawing. My heart is swelling with an unexpected surge of emotions. “Do you want to try?” I whispered, sliding the pad and pestling closer to her.

The girl hesitated, then picked up a blue pastel. With a fierce, almost violent intensity, she began to scribble dark, jugged lines across the paper. She didn't speak, but the chaotic motion of her small hands spoke volumes. She was terrified and, for the first time, she was expressing it. I knelt beside her, gently placing a supportive hand on her small shoulder.

And for the first time, I heard Ria speak.

I dedicated myself to Ria, creating a world of stories and learning that shielded her from the tension of her father’s professional life.

By Wednesday, I had learned the rules: Ria had breakfast at 7:30am, a lesson at 9:00am, played at 11:00am, and took a nap at 1:00pm. No sugary snacks. No television before 5. No going out except when escorted by security. No strangers and finally, no photos around the house.

Robert Vince was rarely there during the day. And when he was there, the air changed. He didn't speak to me except about his daughter, Ria. And has never asked me about how I am doing or how my day went.

“Ria threw a cup at the last Nanny,” he said. If she does it to you, you leave.

“Understood”

“She is not broke, she is angry”

“So am I but it doesn't mean that I throw things at people,” I said.

For a second, his mouth almost moves to a smile. Then it was gone. And in a few days, Ria was already used to me.

He stared at me. The penthouse was silent except for the city below. For a moment, the anger between them felt like something else. Something hotter.

Then his phone buzzed. He answered. His eyes never left mine and then the moment shattered.

“Handle it," he said into the phone, and walked away.

I was lost in thoughts, I felt something, yet something I did not want to name yet.