Chapter 3 - The Price of Protection
By sunrise, the Lake Forest estate was humming with its usual, lethal efficiency.
While the upper floors remained a sanctuary for my daughters, the ground floor was a bustling hub of intelligence reports, financial ledgers, and armed security patrols. My chief enforcer, Luca, was waiting for me in the executive study when I walked in at 7:30 a.m., smelling of espresso and gunpowder.
"Morning, Boss," Luca said, sliding a thick manila folder across the mahogany desk. "We intercepted a communication chatter from the Outfit’s North Side crew. They’re sniffing around our shipping docks on Lake Michigan again. Salvatore thinks we're weak because of the mourning period."
I sat down in my leather executive chair, flipping open the folder without a trace of emotion. "Salvatore forgets that grief doesn't make a wolf toothless; it makes him careless about who he destroys."
"Do you want me to send a message?" Luca asked, his hand dropping casually toward his sidearm.
"Not yet," I replied, scanning the manifest numbers. "Let them make the first move. I want their leadership structure exposed before we cut the head off."
As Luca nodded and turned to leave, I stopped him with a single word.
"Wait. Run a deep background check on Elise Navarro."
Luca paused, turning back with a raised eyebrow. "The new nanny? I ran her initial agency clearance when she was hired two weeks ago. Clean record. Dean's list at Chicago State, worked three jobs, no criminal associations, no mob ties."
"Dig deeper," I instructed, leaning back and resting my fingers together. "Find out why her college tuition fell through, who her landlord is, and whether anyone from the rival syndicates has tried to approach her. In my house, nobody gets a pass—not even the girl who dances with rubber gloves."
"Consider it done," Luca said, exiting the study and closing the heavy oak doors behind him.
I spent the next three hours buried in corporate restructuring documents and illegal import ledgers, but my mind kept drifting back down the hall to the nursery.
Around 11:00 a.m., I took a brief break and walked up the grand staircase toward the east wing. As I passed the sunlit solarium, I heard a sound that made me stop in my tracks.
Singing.
It wasn't a professional lullaby or a recorded nursery rhyme. It was a slightly off-key, highly enthusiastic rendition of an old folk song, accompanied by the gentle rattling of a plastic baby rattle.
I peered through the glass double doors.
Elise was sitting on a plush cream-colored rug by the bay window, with Maisie propped up against her left knee and Rosie resting securely in her lap. She had a colorful picture book open in front of them, pointing to large cartoon animals while making ridiculous animal noises that caused both twins to burst into fits of high-pitched giggles.
She looked entirely different in the daylight. Without the midnight panic and the yellow gloves, she possessed a quiet, grounded warmth that seemed to push back against the cold stone walls of the mansion.
"A cow goes moo," Elise declared dramatically, puffing out her cheeks. "Not a polite moo, but a loud, obnoxious moo that wakes up the whole farm!"
Maisie let out a delighted squeal, reaching out and grabbing a lock of Elise’s dark hair.
"Ouch, little dictator," Elise laughed gently, untangling the tiny fingers without a shred of annoyance. "Hair is not a toy. How about we pull the cow's tail instead?"
I watched them for several long moments. For the first time in four months, the knot of suffocating grief in my chest loosened just a fraction.
"She's good with them, isn't she?"
I turned my head to find Mrs. Gable, our veteran head housekeeper, standing a few paces behind me with a stack of fresh linens. The older woman had served in this household for thirty years; she had watched Elena grow up, had watched us get married, and had wept at the funeral.
"She's unorthodox," I replied quietly, keeping my eyes on the solarium.
"Unorthodox is what this house has needed since the day mistress Elena passed," Mrs. Gable said softly, her voice carrying the unshakeable weight of truth. "The other nannies treated your daughters like glass sculptures. They were terrified of breaking them, so they never really held them. Miss Navarro treats them like human beings. She’s not afraid of their tears."
May you like
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
Instead, I turned and walked away toward my study, knowing full well that Mrs. Gable was right—and knowing that keeping Elise in this house meant exposing her to a world she was far too innocent to survive.
