The Mafia's Feisty Nanny

Fear

A piercing scream echoed through the house as a young woman burst out of the hallway and into the living room, sweat dripping down her forehead. She trembled with a mix of fear and anger. Two men rushed in behind her, their hands instinctively reaching for their guns as they scanned for danger. Her wide, frantic eyes locked onto me as i strolled casually into the room, a glass in my left hand.

"What’s the problem this time, Catherine?" i asked, my deep voice brimming with confidence and authority.

"Sir, there are so many problems! Your son is a very naughty boy. Look at what he did," the woman exclaimed, pulling the scarf off her head to reveal half her hair was gone. "He cut my hair while I was napping!"

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, laced with exhaustion and frustration. "Do you want to quit?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course! I cannot bear the sight of that mannerless—"

"Finish that sentence, and I will make sure you never speak again," I threatened, my voice sharp and menacing, causing the woman to shrink back in fear.

"F-Forgive me, sir. I... I would like to leave now," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"Carl, give her this month's payment and escort her out of my house," I commanded before turning and walking out of the living room.

I am Alexander Conti, the new Don of the Italian-California mafia cartel. Well, I’ve been running the cartel for over three years now, ever since my esteemed uncle, Damien Conti, retired. The Conti family is renowned as the most feared mafia family across America and Italy. We wield power and influence like no other. Beyond our cartel operations, I own a multi-billion-dollar import and export company, one of the largest in America.

My most precious trait is my beauty, so I have been told by many people. I am also well aware of the effect I have on both women and men. However, I am far from a womanizer. Only one woman ever captured my heart seven years ago, but she was cruelly taken from me by the cold hands of death.

The death of my beloved shattered me, and it was nothing short of a miracle that I recovered. Vanessa, my wife, was still nursing our two-year-old son when she passed away. It was an unimaginably tough time for me, as I had no idea how to care for a child. In my desperation, I hired nannies to take care of my son. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how things turned out.

Things went relatively smoothly until Zane, my son, turned four. That’s when the boy seemed to sprout the devil’s horns. He despised his nannies and did everything in his power to chase them away.

Now, at six years old, Zane had successfully driven six nannies out of his life. I had tried reasoning with him, explaining that the nannies were there to help raise him properly, but the boy was far too stubborn to listen.

My uncle, Damien, suggested that I find a lover. Perhaps Zane would accept a caretaker if she were involved with me. But I refused. I was still not over the loss of my wife, and the mere thought of letting another woman into my heart, my bed, or my home filled me with disgust and revulsion. I had closed my heart to the possibility of love.

---

As I entered Zane’s room, I found him playing games on his iPad. The boy before me was my carbon copy, almost as if I were staring at a younger version of myself. The only thing he had inherited from his mother was her eyes. While mine were grey, Zane’s were a vibrant green, a haunting reminder of Vanessa.

Zane turned to look at me. “What are you doing here, papa?” he asked, his attention quickly returning to the game on his iPad.

“Catherine just quit, and she didn’t seem very happy about it,” I said, shoving my hands into my pants pockets as I watched my son.

“Well, that’s sad. I guess no more nannies for me,” Zane replied, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re a child, Zane. You’ll always need a nanny to look afterand take care of you,” I explained for what felt like the millionth time.

“No, papa. I don’t need a nanny. I can take care of myself,” he said with a frown.

“You need to stop causing so much trouble, Zane. It’s exhausting, and I can’t keep fixing your mess,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Grab your bag. We’re going to Aunt Mary’s house.”

“Okay,” Zane replied cheerfully.

I left his room and headed to my office, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me. “There’s so much work to do,” I muttered to myself as I moved toward my chair.

Just as I was about to sit down, the door creaked open, and Carl stepped into the room.

“What do you want, Carl? I have a lot to do,” I asked in a tired voice, not bothering to look up.

"This is important, sir. We’ve captured Jeffery Andrews, and he’s in the pet room," Carl explained.

"That cunning bastard," I muttered, a small smirk curling on my lips. "He thought he could steal from me and get away."

Jeffery Andrews had once worked for me, but the fool had the audacity to steal and flee the country. I had given up searching for him last month, but everything changed when one of my workers spotted him at a mall. I immediately instructed Carl to handle it, and now, here we were.

"Let’s go pay little Jeff a visit," I announced, rising from my chair. I walked out of my office and headed to the pet room—our infamous torture chamber.

The heavy doors creaked open, revealing a brown-haired man slumped in a chair, his body already battered and bruised. I stepped inside and took a seat across from him.

"Jeff, welcome back. I almost missed you," I said with a cold smile.

"f**k you, man, you sick bastard," he spat angrily, saliva dripping from his lips.

I chuckled darkly. "We are going to have a lot of fun, Jeff."

Pulling on a pair of black gloves, my gaze shifted to the neatly arranged tools on the tray beside me. Jeff’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him, the fear radiating from him palpable. My smile deepened.

Ah, how I loved the scent of fear.

An hour later, Carl and I decided to head out to get a few things for Zane.