Nanny for the Don: Chapter 19

“Willow, do you know where Mr. Conti is?” Ms. M. walks into the kitchen, her usual calm and collected self.

I’m wiping down the table, clearing away the last of the girls’ breakfast. “He said he’ll be in the basement.”

She pauses, just for a second, but it’s enough to catch my attention. Something about that makes her uneasy.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my curiosity kicking in..

Ms. M glances at the girls, who are busy pulling on their coats and boots, completely oblivious. She lowers her voice, almost like she’s letting me in on a secret.

“He doesn’t usually bring his work home.”

I frown, not sure what to make of that. “What kind of work?”

She gives me a tight, polite smile, the kind that says she knows way more than she’s letting on. “You don’t need to worry about any of that, dear. It’s better that way.”

She turns and leaves, her heels clicking as she walks away. I’m left standing there, dish towel in hand, feeling a wave of confusion. What exactly is happening in the basement right now? I try to shake it off, telling myself it’s none of my business, but the questions keep nagging at me.

I know Nico’s involved with the Mob somehow, but the details are fuzzy. I don’t know exactly what he does, how high up he is, or if he’s just the public face for whatever shady stuff goes down. Part of me wants to dig deeper, to really understand the man I’m falling for.

The other part? It’s telling me to let it lie for my own good. I’m torn.

Before I can dwell on it too much, the girls come bouncing back into the kitchen, all bundled up in their coats, gloves, and hats. They’re practically buzzing with excitement.

“Can we go to Central Park, Willow?” Giulia asks, her eyes wide with hope.. “Instead of just the backyard?”

I check my phone for the weather. “It’s supposed to get really snowy in a bit,” I tell them. “So yeah, we can go, but we can’t stay out too late.”

The girls cheer like I’ve just told them they won the lottery. Their energy is infectious, and for a moment, all the questions about Nico and his world fade into the background.

We head over to Central Park, and the city’s looking like a whole winter wonderland. Snow’s just starting to fall, making everything all picturesque and cozy. The girls are hyped, pointing out every cute shop we pass, begging to go in and look for presents.

“Park first, shopping later,” I tell them, laughing when they give me those big puppy eyes.. “We’ll grab some hot chocolate after, and then maybe we can hit the shops – assuming the weather isn’t too bad.”

That does the trick, and soon we’re strolling into the park, heading toward Shakespeare Garden on the Upper West Side. The place is straight-up magical, with snow covering the trees and pathways. The girls waste no time—they’re off, throwing snowballs and making snow angels like it’s the best day of their lives.

I plop down on a bench, trying to relax, but of course, my brain’s stuck on Nico. What kind of work is he doing in that basement? Money laundering? Drug deals? Or something even darker?

Before I can spiral too hard, I spot Lucia climbing a massive rock.

“Lucia, get down from there!” I yell.

She’s wobbling like she’s about to fall.

“Shit!” I mutter, jumping off the bench. I rush over, trying to catch her, but I’m too late. She slips and falls, smacking her head on the base of the rock. A trickle of blood appears. The second Lucia sees the blood, she starts screaming like it’s the end of the world. And of course, that sets off Giulia, who starts screaming too.

I kneel, checking the injury. It doesn’t look too bad—just a small cut, really—but I can’t tell if it needs stitches or not. My heart’s pounding, and I’m trying to stay calm, but I can feel the panic creeping in.

I whip out my phone and fire off a text to Ms. M, snapping a quick pic of Lucia’s cut and letting her know what’s up.

Lucia had a little fall, cut her head. Not sure if it needs stitches, but we’re heading home now.

I quickly gather the girls, trying to calm them down. My mind’s racing, fear running through me. My heart’s pounding like crazy as I hurry home with the girls. What if Lucia has a concussion? My mind’s spiraling with all the worst-case scenarios.

Every few minutes, I ask Lucia how she feels, and she keeps saying, “I’m okay,” but there’s this dazed look in her eyes that’s freaking me out.

We finally make it back to the house, and I rush Lucia to the bathroom to clean up her cut. I’m practically shaking as I turn on the faucet, gently washing away the blood.

Just as I’m about to grab a towel, Ms. M appears in the doorway., her face full of concern. “How did this happenWhat happened?” she asks, hurrying over to us.

“She fell off a rock in the park,” I explain, my voice a little shaky. “I’m worried it might be more than a little cut.”

Ms. M takes a quick look at Lucia’s head, then checks her pupils with a calm efficiency I’m seriously grateful for. “Let’s just let her rest and keep an eye on her,” she says, her tone reassuring.

I nod, trying to take a deep breath as we guide Lucia to the couch. At least Ms. M is here to help—I don’t know what I’d do without her right now.

Giulia’s hovering close, her little face scrunched up with worry. “Is Lucia really hurt?” she asks, her voice trembling.

Ms. M gives her a comforting smile. “She’s going to be just fine, sweetie. We just need to clean her up a bit.” Then she glances at me. “Willow, can you grab some antiseptic?”

“On it,” I say, giving Lucia’s hand a quick squeeze before hurrying out of the room.