“I got your nurse,” Nero barked.
The woman snapped her head to me and paused. Her eyes darted to Alessandro, who was looming behind me, and she paled slightly.
“Nero,” I gritted out, “did you kidnap her?”
“He did!” The woman hissed, turning her anger back to Nero.
Nero looked completely unconcerned. “You asked me to fetch her—fetched her, I have.”
I started down the stairs, sighing through my nose. Nero had just needlessly complicated this entire situation with his brashness and now I had to untangle it—at midnight.
“I am disappointed that you tripped the alarms,” Alessandro said. I cut him a look, but he was frowning at Nero. “Did any of the soldiers spot you?”
“No, sir.” Nero seemed to straighten his shoulders at Alessandro’s attention. “I, uh, got caught by the alarm near the flowerpot.”
I frowned, looking at Alessandro. “The what?”
Alessandro looked pleased that his security system proved to be so successful. He jerked his chin to Nero. “Get caught again and I’ll be looking for a new assassin.” He slid his dark eyes to me, hinting toward the strange woman in our foyer.
I looked back to her. The woman, to her credit, had calmed down slightly, though more from imitation than common sense.
“Excuse Nero,” I said, stepping down the stairs, rocking Dante. “He was sent to offer you a job.”
The woman scowled. “What sort of job?” She paled suddenly, her eyes flicking between Nero and Alessandro, who was half-naked. “I’m a nurse...I don’t know anything about—”
“Nothing like that,” I assured. “Come into the kitchen and I will make you some tea.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Nero will leave,” I added.
That convinced her.
The woman shot Nero a fierce look—which he didn’t look bothered by—before following me into the kitchen. I wondered if she noticed the way in which his dark eyes followed her as she strode into the kitchen. The heat in his eyes was enough to make me feel warm.
I flicked on the lights in the kitchen and laid Dante down into his bouncing seat. Thankfully, he seemed happy to be put down.
“Take a seat,” I said as I bustled around the kitchen.
The woman looked around the room, eyes uncertain, but growing wider as she took in the Mediterranean style. “You have a very beautiful home,” she said, sounding half-surprised that she had said that aloud.
“Thank you. Tea?”
She nodded and carefully took a seat at the counter.
“I apologize on Nero’s behalf. He isn’t the most...”
“Sane?”
I laughed softly. In our world, Nero wasn’t considered insane, but to be fair, we also had men like Toto the Terrible in our midst.
“Something like that. Cream?”
She shook her head.
“Oh! How rude.” I stretched my hand out over the island bench. “I’m Sophia Rocchetti. I’m sorry this is so informal. Nero has forgotten about socially acceptable hours for visits.”
“I know who you are,” she pointed out, “You’re in charge of Rocchetti Alzheimer’s Support.”
“I am. And you are?” I already knew, but it was polite to ask.
“Ophelia Caprioli.” Her eyes darted toward the foyer, where Alessandro and Nero’s deep voices could still be heard. “I heard you’re also in charge of something less reputable.”
“Allegedly.” I passed her the tea.
“Nero said you had a job offer?”
“Nothing less than reputable,” I mused, taking a sip of my own tea and scratching Dante’s belly. His eyelids were drooping, but I knew he would need a feed in a few minutes, so I was trying to keep him awake. “I need a round-the-clock nurse, and you came highly recommended.”
Ophelia frowned. “I don’t know anything about babies...”
“For an Alzheimer’s patient.”
“Oh. Who?”
“You have to accept the job first,” I reminded her. After Elizabeth Speirs being such a gossip, I was handling Ophelia with much more care. Hopefully, I could trust Ophelia not to share anything about our family, under the guise of a fake cousin who was friends with Nina Genovese, as Elizabeth had.
Ophelia didn’t touch her tea. “My father warned me of mixing with your sort of people.”
“Does your father know you’re in debt?” I inquired.
She tensed, paling slightly, but didn’t look shocked. She answered, “No. No, he doesn’t.”
“Is your job at the aged care facility paying you enough to pay it off?”
Her silence answered my question.
“I am not going to strong-arm you,” I said. “You came highly recommended, and the nurse who cares for one of our beloved family members will be looked after.”
I saw the interest begin to build in her eyes.
I scooped up Dante, patting his back softly, trying to keep him awake. He tried to lift his head on my chest, annoyed I wouldn’t let him fall asleep.
“I’ll go and get the contract.”
When I returned, Ophelia hadn’t moved, but did look more tense. I smiled in greeting and passed her the contract.
“Take your time,” I said. “Think it over.”
Ophelia scanned the contract, her lips parting when she saw her annual salary. She looked back up at me, her distrust clear. “This is for real?”
Dante began to grow hungry, his mouth beginning to water. “Of course. I need a round-the-clock nurse and you are apparently the best.” And the only one who is deep in debt.
I swept to the dining table, taking a seat and preparing Dante to be fed. Ophelia watched me, but didn’t say anything.
When Dante was on my breast, I said, “It is a life-changing opportunity, Ophelia. You know that.”
She nodded. I could see the internal battle in her mind. Ophelia didn’t want to associate with the Outfit, didn’t want to be on our radar, but she also couldn’t possibly give up the chance to earn a good wage and pay back her debts.
It didn’t take long for her to sign the contract.
“Wonderful,” I said, once she had passed it to me, her name signed and neatly printed at the bottom. “I’ll introduce you to Nicoletta.”
The soft melody of the piano was the only sign Nicoletta was awake.
I often checked on her throughout the day, worried by her silence. Except for her musical talents, Nicoletta was virtually silent. She was always happy to talk to Alessandro and I—or Beppe, her most beloved visitor—but other than that, she was quiet.
Once Dante had fed, I ushered Ophelia up to Nicoletta’s room. I held Dante to my chest, patting his back softly, trying to get him to burp.
“You are more than welcome to live here,” I told her, as I led her through the house. “However, I understand wanting your own space.”
“I would prefer that,” she ventured.
“Of course. We plan to move Nicoletta to her old home once news of her...well, in due time.”
Nicoletta was still presumed dead by the Outfit. Alessandro had let me be in charge of sharing the news, and none of the other Rocchetti men had disputed that. It was not petty gossip—in fact, it was startling news. Planning when to share it had proven to be difficult.