The Mafia's Nanny

Chapter 3

With her small bag slung over her shoulder, Amara took a deep breath outside the towering mansion. The skies were turning orange as the sun began its slow descent, casting golden hues against the grand walls of the estate. She clutched the strap of her bag tighter, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling in her chest. This was it, her new beginning.

The gate buzzed open and she stepped in. One of the younger maids, a woman with warm eyes and a no-nonsense tone, opened the door and greeted her.

"You're the new nanny, right? Come. I’ll show you to your quarters."

Amara followed closely, her sneakers silent against the marble floors. Her mind prepared itself for what she always assumed a maid's quarters would look like — a small dusty space, probably tucked away in the garage or the basement. Somewhere forgotten.

But her assumptions shattered when the maid led her up a grand staircase, turning right down an elegant hallway on the second floor.

"You're lucky," the maid said as they walked. "They placed the Nanny's room beside the little miss's."

Seraphina, The little girl. The princess of this household.

The maid opened a pale blue door and gestured for her to step inside. Amara blinked. The room wasn’t huge, but for someone like her who had grown up sharing space with five others, it looked almost luxurious. A twin-sized bed with crisp linens, a small but sleek closet, a neat desk, and a mini-fridge in the corner. On one side, a door — likely leading to the bathroom — and on the other, a smaller connecting door.

"That leads directly to the young miss’s room," the maid explained. "Only you and she have access to it."

Amara turned around, wide-eyed. "This is… really nice."

"You’ll be staying here for as long as you’re employed. You have your own bathroom, closet, and fridge. Meals will be served in the kitchen, but you can store your own snacks if needed."

Amara smiled faintly. "Thank you."

The maid gave a brief nod. "The head maid will be speaking to you soon to go over the duties. Unpack for now. The rest of the mansion tour will happen tomorrow."

Amara hesitated. "And the young miss? Is she… here?"

"Not yet. She’s out with her grandmother. She’ll return tomorrow morning. Better get some rest tonight. You’ll need it."

The maid left, and Amara let out a long breath. She dropped her small bag onto the bed and opened it. Just a few shirts, a spare pair of pants, some toiletries. It didn’t take long to arrange them into the drawers and hangers.

As she was smoothing out her blanket, a knock came at the door.

She turned. “Come in?”

The door creaked open, revealing a woman in a crisp black-and-white uniform — the head maid. Her face was stern, eyes sharp behind silver-framed glasses. Even her posture was strict.

“Miss Amara.”

Amara straightened. “Good evening, Ma’am.”

The head maid stepped inside, glancing at the single bag on the bed. “That’s all your belongings?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very well.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “Let’s go over your duties. You are to provide full care to Miss Seraphina, from the moment she wakes until she sleeps. You are not responsible for house cleaning or cooking. We have a full staff for that. Your sole task is to tend to the young miss.”

Amara nodded. “Understood.”

“You are not to leave her side unless otherwise instructed by the master himself. This includes meal times, play, tutoring sessions, and bedtime. If she wakes up in the middle of the night, you are to be available.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“There are rules you must follow as part of this household.” Her voice lowered, eyes narrowing. “This family values its privacy. You are not allowed to ask questions about the master, his business, or the affairs of this household. If something happens that does not concern you directly or the child, you will ignore it.”

Amara’s brows pinched, but she nodded again. “I understand.”

“You are also not permitted to leave the mansion grounds without permission. After 6 p.m., the child must be in bed, and so should you. No night walks, no trips to the garden, no visits to the kitchen. You will remain in your room unless the child needs you.”

A chill ran down Amara’s spine. “Is there a reason—”

The head maid’s eyes flashed. “There is. And that’s all you need to know.”

Amara swallowed and forced a nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”

The head maid studied her for a moment longer before turning to leave. “Tomorrow at seven sharp, breakfast will be served. The young miss will be arriving at eight. Be ready.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

"And... Actually, I have a question about the pay? How good is the pay? Like I wanted to know the exact figure--"

But before she could finish her statement, the head maid gave her an envelope. She opened it and couldn't believe the amount inside that envelope.

"Oh! No no no! This is too much. $10,000? For a month? Like this is too much!"

"Oh, that pay is only covered this week. You'll get your next paycheck next week."

"What??!! Are you even serious?!"

She patted her shoulder, "You asked me how good the pay is and that's what you get, so you better do your job, and I have things to do as well."

The door shut softly behind her. Alone once again, Amara sat on the edge of the bed, still shocked, her thoughts swirling. She looked around her new room, her sanctuary and possibly her cage.

Whatever she had stepped into… it was bigger than she had imagined.

And somehow, she felt this was only the beginning. The truth is, she wanted to know more. About the family, what do they do? The little girl's mom? Is she here? She only met the father, who is absolutely gorgeous.

She shook her head.

"I'm here for the Nanny job, and that's what I need to do.

---

Damien leaned back against the leather chair in his study, a thick manila envelope in hand. The label was familiar, the emblem of the private investigation firm he had personally hired just days ago. He exhaled a long breath before opening it, letting the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

He had insisted on a full background check on the new nanny. Not because he distrusted her, not yet. But in Damien's world, trust was never given freely, it was earned. Especially when it involved his daughter.

He slid the documents out and skimmed the summary page.

Subject: Amara Santes

Age: 30

Status: Single

Criminal Record: Clean

Known Affiliations: None

Family: No known living relatives

He paused at that last line. No relatives. He flipped to the next page.

History:

Entered San Lorenzo Orphanage at age 5. Reason: Both parents deceased in an accident. No extended family found.

Remained at the orphanage until age 18.

Multiple short-term placements with foster families during youth, none leading to adoption.

Voluntarily stayed at the orphanage after 18 to serve as an assistant caretaker.

Responsibilities included: child care, teaching basic education, cooking, and organizing community outreach programs.

Continued working at the orphanage for 12 years.

Recently released from her position due to staff downsizing and limited funding.

Damien closed his eyes for a moment, letting the information sink in. So she had nowhere to go. No family. No past she was running from. Just a woman who had given her life to helping kids and now needed a job.

"She's clean," he muttered under his breath. "Too clean."

He flipped to the last page, which had a few photos attached. One of Amara at the orphanage, surrounded by laughing children, a smile on her face that was radiant and genuine. Another showed her standing beside a nun, both of them waving at the camera, the building behind them old but well-kept.

Damien stared at the photo a while longer. She looked different there. At peace.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," he said.

His assistant stepped in, holding a tablet. "Sir, Miss Amara has arrived at the mansion. She’s settling into her quarters. The head maid will be debriefing her tonight."

He nodded slowly. "Thank you. That'll be all."

As the door clicked shut again, Damien glanced back down at the file.

No lies. No red flags. No history of running away or hiding.

Just a woman with a quiet past and a steady heart.

He leaned forward, setting the report down on his desk.

"Let’s see what you’re made of, Miss Santes," he said softly, eyes fixed on the photo. "My daughter doesn’t trust easily. Neither do I."