Nanny for the Don: Chapter 29

I’m sitting in my office at the warehouse in Yonkers, tapping my fingers on the desk. The space is bare—just a desk, some shelves, and an overstuffed couch that’s seen better days but works fine for crashing. It’s simple, functional, nothing fancy, but it serves its purpose.

Still, I can’t shake this itch under my skin. I’m ready for action. I know I need to be prudent, make calculated moves, but sitting on the brink of conflict and not being able to strike yet is nearly impossible to tolerate. My instincts are screaming to make the next move, but the timing has to be right.

I lean back, thinking about the Rossis. If they orchestrated my father’s assassination, they knew it would trigger war, which means they’re ready for it, maybe even more prepared than we are. But I’ll be damned if I let that stop me. This conflict is inevitable, and I’ll make sure we come out on top. Failure isn’t an option.

My jaw tightens as I think it over. The more I dwell on it, the more I realize how deep this is going to go. The Rossis knew exactly what they were setting into motion, and that means they’ve planned for every move I could make.

But I’ll outmaneuver them. I have to.

A knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I grab the Glock off my desk, approaching the door with the kind of caution that’s second nature by now. Before I can ask who it is, a voice calls through the door.

“It’s Sal. I’m not alone—I’ve got a little present for you.”

I keep the gun in hand as I unlock the door and swing it open. Sal’s standing there, but it’s the sight behind him that grabs my attention. Two of his guys are holding up a beat-up schmuck, blood all over his face, his arms pinned by the goons on either side of him.

I narrow my eyes. “What the hell is this?”

Sal grins like he’s just handed me a gift wrapped in red and gold. “This, my friend, is the man who planned the hit on your father. The one who pulled the trigger.”

I say nothing for a moment as I size the guy up. He’s not Jack—that much is clear. My grip tightens on the Glock as I take in the sight of him, this pathetic excuse for a man who thinks he’s walking out of here alive.

“Let’s take him to the conference room,” I say coldly..”

We move as a group to the conference room next to the office. My men shove the guy into a chair, binding him tight. I step back, my mind already working through what’s coming next.

The guy’s face is swollen and bloodied, but that means nothing to me. I glance at Sal again. “You sure this is the guy? The one who shot my father?”

Sal nods, confidence in his voice. “Yeah, this is him.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Well, that was fucking easy.”

I turn my attention back to the man. He’s got fear in his eyes, and the gag in his mouth is soaked with blood. He knows what’s coming. I raise the Glock so he can see it, turning it over in my hand, watching his face pale even more.

“Listen,” I start, my voice cold and measured. “I’m a busy man. I’ve got a lot going on, and I don’t have time for bullshit.” I take a step closer, the gun still in view. “You’re going to talk and let me be real clear—if you bullshit me, waste my time, or even think about playing games, I’ll put a bullet in your skull without a second thought.”

I let that sink in for a moment. “Now, I’m going to take off the gag, but I want you to think very carefully about each little word that comes out of your mouth. Because any one of them could be your last. Understand?”

The guy nods frantically, eyes wide with panic.

“Good,” I say, satisfied, ripping the gag off and tossing it to the side. “Start talking.”

“It wasn’t me!” The words burst out of the guy’s mouth in a desperate plea.

I can’t help but laugh, and the rest of the guys follow. The sound echoes off the walls like a death sentence. Without a second thought, I backhand him hard across the face. His head snaps to the side.

“I should’ve known you’d start with that bullshit.”,” I say, my voice low and cold.

The guy’s shaking, clearly terrified, but he keeps talking. “I was set up by the Rossis. They needed a scapegoat for the hit, and I—”

I turn to Sal, raising an eyebrow. “Where the hell did you find this prick?”

Sal steps forward, arms crossed. “One of my contacts in the Rossi network heard about a payout. Tracked this guy down in the middle of getting a fat payday. Picked him up right after.” He smirks. “We’ve got the money too, boss, if you want it.”

I nod slowly, thenI turn my attention back to the guy in the chair. His lip is split, his eyes wild with fear, but I’m not buying any of it. He’s just a piece on the board, and right now, I’m deciding whether to keep him around or toss him aside.

I lean in. , my eyes locked on the man, every muscle in my body ready to move. “Let’s talk about the money,” I say. “You got paid for a hit but didn’t actually pull the trigger?”

He shakes his head so fast it’s pathetic. “No, no, that’s not it. I was getting paid for some gun running I did earlier that month. Just business.”

I watch him closely. , picking apart every word, every twitch in his face. “So, what you’re saying is the payment was meant to look like it was for the hit. And someone sent bad info down the channels to pin it on you?”

He nods again, swallowing hard. “Yeah. That’s exactly what happened.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why? Why go through all that trouble?”

He hesitates, like he’s searching for a way out, but there’s none. Not here. Finally, he says, “The Rossis know war’s coming. They must think if you find the guy behind the hit, maybe you’ll call it off—or at least delay it. They’re playing you.”

I pause, considering his words carefully. If the Rossis are scrambling to throw me off, it means they’re not as eager for war as I thought. Maybe they’re stalling, trying to buy time. Either way, this changes things – if it’s true.

The room is silent except for the sound of the man’s ragged breathing. I nod to Sal, signaling him to step outside with me. “Stay with him,” I tell his men, glancing at the guy, who’s still sweating and looking like he’s two seconds away from breaking.

Sal follows me into the hallway, shutting the door behind us. I turn to him, keeping my voice low but firm. “How certain are you that your info’s solid?”

Sal sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It came from a reliable contact; someone I’ve worked with for years. But,” he adds, “if that contact was fed bad intel, it complicates things.”

I rake a hand through my hair, the tension building. “I don’t like being deceived, Sal. If someone’s trying to play me, that’s a bigger problem than we thought.”

Sal nods. “I get it. But here’s the thing—the guy knows he’s two minutes away from a bullet in his skull and his body floating in the East River. He could be spinning whatever bullshit he thinks will keep him alive.” He grins, a little too eager. “We could always torture it out of him. Might speed things up.”

I shake my head, crossing my arms. “Not yet. I don’t want to go that far unless we have to. Let’s keep our options open.”

Sal shrugs, clearly disappointed, but he knows I’m right. There’s a balance between getting answers and creating chaos, and right now, I need clarity—not more blood.

I nod toward the door, and Sal catches the signal, following me back into the room. The man looks like a cornered animal. The fear in his eyes tells me everything—he thinks we’ve made the call to put him down.

I step slowly toward him, not breaking eye contact as I approach. The tension in the room thickens, and his breathing gets shallow. I stand over him, taking my time before I speak.

“What’s your relationship to the Rossis? Exactly.”

He swallows hard, stammering. “I’m just a low-level guy. I swear, nothing big.” He glances between me and Sal, then quickly adds, “But not anymore. I’m done working for people that’d throw one of their own to the wolves like this.”

I tilt my head, studying him. His desperation is clear, but I’m not buying it yet.

He keeps going, trying to talk his way out. “If I make it out of here alive, I’m done with the Rossis. I’ll ditch ‘em, leave town, whatever it takes.”

I crouch down in front of him, close enough that he can feel the weight of my presence. “That’s a big ‘if,’” I say quietly, my voice carrying more threat than any shout ever could.

He’s shaking now, eyes wide. I keep my gaze locked on him. “Here’s the deal—you’re going to give me information. Good information. On the Rossis.” I lean in just a little closer. “Your life depends on it.”