The Mafia's Nanny

Chapter 7

Amara couldn’t shake the unease, not even as the warm afternoon sun filtered in through the grand windows of the Rivera mansion. Every hall she walked through felt like it carried secrets. The walls were too silent, the smiles too polite, the answers too clean.

She knew what she heard. Gunshots.

Two of them. Sharp, unmistakable, and terrifying.

Yet no one, not one soul, seemed to have heard anything. Or at least, that was what they claimed.

But the silence wasn’t just ignorance.

It felt like a decision.

And Amara had never been one to leave questions unanswered.

She spent the morning drifting from one chore to another, going room to room, taking mental notes, asking soft questions, subtle ones.

A question to the young gardener outside:

“Did the security team mention anything strange last night?”

A question to the cook:

“Did you hear any loud noises before dawn? Something like something heavy falling?”

The answers were all the same—shrugs, half-smiles, vague confusion.

“No, nothing strange.”

“No sounds at all.”

“Maybe it was just a dream.”

But the more she asked, the more eyes started following her. Lingering gazes when she walked by. Quiet murmurs that stopped the moment she got too close.

Something shifted in the air.

Until finally—by midafternoon—one of the younger maids came to her room, her voice low.

“Miss Santes… Ms. Analyn would like to speak with you. In her office. Right away.”

Amara’s heart thudded as she walked down the long hallway toward the east wing of the mansion. The head maid’s office was tucked near the servants' quarters, a place of quiet authority and strict routines. She’d only been there once before, during orientation.

The door was already open.

“Come in,” came the even, commanding voice before she even knocked.

Ms. Analyn sat behind her desk, her back straight, hands folded over a dark leather folder. She was a woman in her fifties, firm but not unkind, with sharp eyes that missed very little. Her uniform was spotless, her tone never too loud—but always respected.

Amara stepped inside quietly and closed the door behind her.

“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes.” Ms. Analyn nodded and gestured for her to sit.

There was a pause as the head maid studied her, not unkindly—but with a weight Amara could feel.

“I’ve been hearing some things, Miss Santes,” she began calmly. “That you’ve been asking questions.”

Amara blinked. “Questions?”

“About last night,” Ms. Analyn said. “About noises. Gunshots.”

Amara’s throat dried slightly. “Yes… I asked a few people. I just— I was concerned.”

Another pause. Ms. Analyn leaned back.

“And yet no one else seems to have heard what you did.”

Amara stiffened but nodded. “I know what I heard, Ms. Analyn. It was loud. Two shots. I thought Seraphina and I were in danger. I panicked. Locked the door. If Mr. Rivera hadn’t come in—”

Ms. Analyn raised a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly.

“I understand your concern. Truly. But I’m going to give you some advice, Miss Santes. Let it go.”

Amara blinked. “Let it go?”

“You are here to care for Miss Seraphina,” Ms. Analyn said, voice steady. “Not to stir rumors. Not to question every creak in the night. This house has its own rhythms, its own ways. Asking around will only cause confusion. Distrust. And that is not your place.”

Amara sat still, caught between a hundred things she wanted to say. But Ms. Analyn’s voice left little room for argument.

“I say this not to scold you, but to protect you. This house functions best when everyone does their job. You’ve been doing yours well. Please continue to do so.”

Amara opened her mouth—but then closed it again.

She wasn’t just being warned.

She was being told to stop.

Firmly. Politely. With no room for debate.

She returned to her room not long after, her mind buzzing. She tried to work, reviewed Sera’s schedule, prepared for her nap, even checked the reading materials she’d planned for the evening. But her thoughts were scattered.

Let it go.

Do your job.

Stop asking.

The entire mansion was dancing around the truth. She could feel it. They were protecting something. Or someone.

And now… she was being asked to pretend, too.

But she couldn’t forget what she’d heard. Not when her instincts were screaming otherwise. And not when she now knew one thing for certain.

The real danger wasn’t the sound she heard. It was the silence that followed.

The day passed with surprising calm.

The next day, Amara had woken up groggy, her mind still buzzing with half-formed doubts and images from that night. But as the sunlight spilled into the room and the quiet hum of the household filled the air, her resolve softened.

Maybe the head maid was right.

She was new here. She hadn’t fully adjusted. The mansion was large, the silence vast, and perhaps her imagination had filled in too many blanks. Maybe it was just stress, or lack of sleep. Maybe it was all in her head.

So she let it go.

Just like she was told.

Instead, she chose to focus on what she came here for—Seraphina.

The little girl was more open that day. She still barely spoke unless Damien was nearby, but she let Amara braid her hair and even pointed to a stuffed rabbit she wanted to bring outside. They walked in the garden, Amara holding her small hand, watching her try to chase butterflies, her laughter ringing out like soft bells. It was a good sound—innocent and light.

Later, they did coloring together. Seraphina chose all shades of blue and purple for her flowers, with a meticulousness that made Amara smile.

It was small progress.

But it mattered.

Evening came quietly.

The mansion dimmed with the hush of bedtime, staff moving gently through the halls. Amara was supposed to return to her room by now, but tonight, she lingered.

Something in her heart told her to stay.

Seraphina had already changed into her pajamas, nestled beneath her soft pink sheets, her tiny hand curled around her favorite stuffed rabbit. Her eyes fluttered as sleep tried to take her.

Amara sat beside the bed, brushing her hair gently with her fingers. Without much thought, she began to hum.

A lullaby. Soft. Slow.

Then she sang.

A simple song Sister Margaret used to sing to her when she was little—about stars that glowed and dreams that flew beyond clouds. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, careful not to disturb the fragile peace of the room.

And she didn’t even notice the door had opened.

Damien stood there quietly, leaning slightly against the frame.

He hadn’t meant to interrupt. He had come to check if Seraphina was asleep, only to be greeted by the unexpected melody.

He had never heard that lullaby before.

And more than that—he had never heard a nanny sing like that. Not to Seraphina. Not with such tenderness.

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the song wash over him. The dim light of the night lamp painted the scene in warm golds and quiet shadows.

When Amara looked up and noticed him, she startled a little.

“Oh!” she gasped softly, hand over her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

Damien stepped inside and offered a smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Amara flushed. “I… I was just— I usually don’t sing. I’m sorry if it—if it was unprofessional.”

Damien shook his head, eyes flicking toward his daughter, now sound asleep.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You have a beautiful voice.”

She blinked, flustered. “That’s kind of you to say, but—”

“I mean it,” Damien said, stepping closer, his voice lowering slightly so as not to disturb the child. “It’s rare. Hearing someone sing with that kind of heart.”

He looked at Seraphina for a long moment, his expression softening. “The nannies before you… they didn’t do that. By this hour, they were already back in their rooms. Following the schedule, doing their duty.”

Amara looked down, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She’s been through a lot. And she’s still so small.”

Damien turned his gaze to her, thoughtful. “You care about her.”

“I do,” she said without hesitation. “I know I’m just her nanny. But… she deserves more than just routines and checklists. She needs to feel safe.”

There was a long pause between them, a silence that didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt… mutual. A quiet understanding.

Damien exhaled, glancing again at his daughter.

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying something heavier, “I think this is the calmest I’ve ever seen her sleep.”

Amara blinked at that. “Really?”

He nodded slowly. “She usually tosses a little. Or mumbles. Even in her sleep she’s tense. But now…”

Amara looked down at the girl, peacefully still in her bed, arms wrapped around her bunny. And for the first time since she arrived, Amara felt something shift inside her, not just a sense of duty… but of belonging.

Damien straightened. “You should get some rest too.”

“I will,” she said softly. “In a bit.”

As he turned toward the door, Damien paused. “Thank you, Amara.”

She looked up. “For what?”

“For being here. For being the kind of person who sings lullabies even when no one’s watching.”

Their eyes met for a second longer than expected.

Then he walked away, the door shutting softly behind him.

That night, Amara sat beside Seraphina’s bed a little longer, her heart full of strange warmth and cautious hope. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or if the silence in this house still held darker truths.