The Mafia's Nanny

Rain battered the black-tinted windows of the Rivera mansion. Thunder rolled across the city like an omen, but inside the massive estate, the silence was heavier than the storm. Damien Rivera stood in the middle of the nursery, stiff in his finely tailored shirt, holding a pink plastic spoon in one hand and a frowning five-year-old girl in the other. Seraphina, with her tangled curls and puffy eyes, glared at the mushy oatmeal in the bowl like it was poison. "One bite," Damien said, his voice low but firm. Seraphina shook her head, lips pressed into a stubborn line. Damien exhaled, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a soft clink. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the clean shave of his jaw shadowed by a day he hadn't had time to face. The chaos had started early that morning, when he discovered that the nanny—Seraphina's nanny—was gone. Vanished. No note. No call. Just gone. He’d searched the guest quarters. Called her phone. Asked the staff. No one knew anything. And now here he was—CEO of Rivera Enterprises, one of the most powerful shipping conglomerates in the country—struggling to get his daughter to eat a single bite of breakfast. The irony didn’t amuse him. Seraphina crossed her arms. Her lower lip trembled, but she blinked away the tears. "Where's Miss Jessa?" she asked again. Damien’s jaw tightened. "She had to leave." It was the third time she asked today. Each time, the answer hurt a little more. Not because he missed the nanny—though she'd been decent—but because of the hollow in his daughter's voice. He hated that. His phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. Another meeting reminder. Another deadline. "Daddy has to go to work," he said, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Nanny Arla will watch over you today." Seraphina didn’t respond. By noon, Damien was back in his office, drowning in contracts and phone calls. But his mind kept drifting to the surveillance footage. He had already reviewed it twice this morning. Jessa had left at 2:16 a.m. No bags. No hesitation. Just walked out the front gate while the guards were patrolling the back perimeter. Clean. Quiet. Almost trained. Damien didn’t like things he couldn’t explain. “Sir?” A knock at the door. It was Lucas, his head of security. “What did you find?” Damien asked. Lucas shook his head. “No signs of struggle. No chatter on any of our flagged lines. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.” Damien leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t just a businessman. He was Rivera—head of one of the oldest, most secretive mafia bloodlines that had ruled from the shadows for decades. He didn’t believe in coincidences. “Double the surveillance. I want all staff re-verified. And find me a new nanny. Someone with no ties to anyone. Someone clean.” Lucas hesitated. “We’ve already contacted three agencies. Most candidates are intimidated by the security protocols or the NDA requirements." Damien’s voice was cold. “Then look harder.” Meanwhile, Seraphina sat alone in the massive playroom. Toys scattered around her like abandoned soldiers. She clutched her stuffed bunny, the one Miss Jessa used to make talk in a funny voice. “Where are you?” she whispered, eyes staring at the door. The house was too quiet. She missed the lullabies. The bedtime stories. The way her nanny would hum old songs in the kitchen. Damien found her there later that afternoon, curled up in a bean bag with the bunny in her arms. He crouched beside her. “Hey, princess.” She looked up. “Did you find Miss Jessa?” Damien sighed and reached out to brush a curl from her cheek. “No, sweetie. I don’t think she’s coming back.” Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. Not this time. “I want her,” she said softly. “I know.” He paused. “But Daddy’s going to find someone new. Someone kind. Someone who’ll take good care of you.” Seraphina looked away. “I don’t want someone new. I want Miss Jessa.” Damien’s heart clenched. “Sometimes people leave, even when we don’t want them to. But I promise you, I won’t let just anyone take care of you. I’ll make sure she’s the best.” “Will she sing lullabies?” Seraphina asked. “If you want her to.” “Will she know how to braid my hair the way Miss Jessa did?” Damien smiled softly. “We’ll teach her together, okay?” Seraphina hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Okay… but only if she’s nice.” He kissed her forehead again. “Only if she’s the nicest.” ---- Later that night, Damien sat in his private study, a glass of scotch untouched beside him, his phone pressed to his ear. "You sound exhausted," his mother said on the other end of the line. Damien let out a tired breath. "Jessa left. Disappeared, actually. No warning. Seraphina’s heartbroken, and I’m juggling board meetings while trying to feed her oatmeal. It’s a mess." "Oh, honey," his mother murmured. "That poor girl. And you... always trying to be the fortress." He didn’t respond. She continued, her voice gentle but firm. "If you need help, Damien, just bring her to me. I’ll take care of her until you find someone new. You don’t have to do everything alone." "Thanks, Mom," Damien said. “I’ll let you know if it gets worse.” But deep down, he already knew it had. There was a pause before his mother added, “Or maybe… instead of just looking for a nanny, you should consider looking for a wife.” Damien froze. “Mom—” “No, listen,” she said firmly. “Seraphina needs more than just a caretaker. She needs a mother. You need someone at your side. Someone who’ll love you both.” “I’m not ready for that,” he muttered. “You’ve been saying that for years. But you’re not just a businessman, Damien. You’re a father. And you deserve happiness, too. Don’t wait until it’s too late.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “This isn’t the time.” “Maybe it’s exactly the time,” she said softly. “Don’t close your heart to the possibility. You never know who might come through that door next.” ---- The next day, Damien stared at a shortlist of potential hires. None of them looked promising. Too old. Too inexperienced. Too nosy. He needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions. Someone who could protect Seraphina in his absence. Someone who didn’t care about the rumors surrounding his name. His phone buzzed again. This time it was from a discreet channel. Candidate spotted. Walk-in applicant. No connections. Clean background. Willing to start immediately. Damien’s brow lifted. Attached was a photo—taken from one of the mansion’s outer security cams. A young woman stood at the gate, her face slightly anxious but determined. Her name: Amara Santes. Damien stood up, eyes narrowing. “Bring her in.” Outside, the storm had begun to clear, but for Damien and his daughter, a new kind of storm was about to begin.