Page 2 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“It’s a real hunk of junk, isn’t it?”

She giggles. “That’s rude.”

“Hey, it’s my car. I went into the dealership said, I want something big and beautiful. They said, okay, show me the money. After I displayed my cash, they declared this to be the largest and most attractive car they could provide.”

Another cute laugh. But there’s still that sadness clinging to her. Or am I projecting? Seeing myself in her?

“But it’s not bigorbeautiful.”

“I know. I was very offended. I’m Mara Keene, by the way.”

“Sylvana,” she tells me. “Sylvie. My friends call me that. Do you want to call me Sylvie?”

“Only if you want me to.”

She furrows her brow as she considers it her answer. “I think I’d like that. Mara.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know your name means excited, likekeenmeans you’re keen to do something?”

“No, I didn’t,” I say. “That’s very interesting.”

“So, are you keen to get this nanny job?”

I chuckle. What a precocious little girl. The advertisement said she was seven, but she’s already punning her way into my heart. “You could sa?—”

“Excuse me?” The door whines open, and an older woman steps onto the stoop. With a posture as stiff as a metal rod and pinned silver hair, her piercing blue eyes give me the impression of having done something wrong, even though I know I haven’t.

“Livvy, I told Mara a funny joke.”

She rushes over to the older woman and clings to her hip. The older woman hugs her absentmindedly.Hug the damn girl properly. I can see how desperate Sylvie is for connection.

“Mara Keene, yes? Follow me.”

She turns and walks away, heels clipping. What a barrel of laughs.

I follow her into the entrance hallway, which is almost bigger than my house. A huge foyer opens onto a wide double staircase, artwork hanging on the walls in expensive-looking frames.

Pausing, I stand before the entrance to a separate chamber.

There’s a photo of Sylvie that looks like it was taken recently. A man stands behind her. He’s… interesting.

Tall, muscles outlined by an expensive suit, black hair with hints of gray at the temples. His eyes are deep set and dark, the same as his daughter’s. At least, I assume this is my potential future employer.

“Mr. Bellandi won’t be joining us,” the woman says when she catches me staring.

We walk into a large family room. There’s a whiteboard covering one wall, covered in drawings and writing in various colors.

“I’m Livia,” the woman says. “The housekeeper. Sit. We don’t have all day.”

I’ve never understood why some people have to be so rude. But I need this job. The money, yeah… and that little girl is cute and seems like she needs some attention, and I want to give it to her.

“We’ve already verified you hold the necessary accreditations and background checks,” Livia says. “Of course, you wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case. And your last…” She pauses. “Position spoke rather highly of you.”

I’m assuming that pause means she doesn’t value babysitting multiple children for multiple families as impressive as solo nannying.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say, remaining upbeat.