Four Unruly Sons Had Driven Everyone Out of the Crime Boss’s Mansion Until a Nanny Did What No One Else Dared

Nia Carter had seventy-two hours to prove she could survive four boys no professional nanny in New York would touch.

If she failed, her younger sister might lose the surgery that could save her life.

That was the only reason Nia stepped out of a black SUV on a cold Monday morning, looked up at the stone mansion belonging to one of the most feared men on the East Coast, and told herself she was not afraid.

She was lying.

She was terrified.

But fear was expensive, and Nia had bills.

The estate stood behind iron gates in the wooded hills outside Greenwich, Connecticut, twenty acres of bare trees, cameras, stone walls, and armed men pretending not to be armed.

The house itself looked less like somewhere children lived than somewhere governments signed surrender documents.

Three stories.

Gray stone.

Dark windows.

No toys on the lawn.

No bicycles near the garage.

No chalk drawings on the driveway.

Nothing that said four boys lived there.

Then something shattered on the second floor.

A child screamed.

Another child laughed.

A male security guard yelled, “Get down from there!”

Something heavy crashed.

Nia looked at the driver.

He stared straight ahead.

“Is that normal?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A second crash shook the foyer windows.

The driver reconsidered.

“Actually, that one was louder than usual.”

Nia picked up her suitcase.

“I feel better already.”

The driver almost smiled.

Almost.

Inside, the mansion was immaculate.

It was also dead.

No family photographs on the entry tables. No backpacks thrown against walls. No coat hanging crookedly from a banister. Everything polished, symmetrical, untouched.

Nia had worked with children for eleven years. She had a graduate degree in developmental psychology, had spent six years in Chicago working with kids who had survived domestic violence, foster care, addiction, and loss.

Homes talked.

This one was screaming.

Nobody has been happy here for a very long time.

The study door opened.

Adrian Vale stepped out.

Nia had seen photographs before accepting the position. Newspapers called him an investor, logistics executive, nightclub owner, and philanthropist.

Other sources used less charitable vocabulary.

Racketeer.

Fixer.

Underworld kingpin.

Crime boss.

Rumor said people lowered their voices when saying Adrian Vale’s name even when he was fifty miles away.

He was forty-one, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit with no tie. Dark hair touched with gray at the temples. His face might once have been warm, Nia thought, before grief taught it to forget how.

He studied her.

“You’re Nia Carter.”

“That’s usually what people call me.”

His gaze narrowed slightly.

Most people probably answered him with yes, sir.

Nia had decided on the plane that she would not.

“You know who I am?”

“I know what the agency told me.”

“And?”

“I know what Google told me.”

“That concerns you?”

“Google concerns me in general.”

For half a second, something almost happened to his mouth.

“Come in.”

His study smelled like coffee, leather, and rain.

Adrian didn’t sit behind his desk. He chose one of two chairs beside the window.

Nia sat opposite him.

“Four sons,” he said. “Evan is eleven. Caleb is nine. Noah is seven. Luke is six. Their mother died four years ago.”

“I know.”

“You also know fourteen caregivers have left this house in eleven months.”

“I know.”

“The longest stayed eleven weeks.”

“Then she set a record.”

“Two left by ambulance.”

Nia paused.

“That part wasn’t in the job description.”

“One fell down the stairs avoiding a remote-controlled car. The other received six stitches after Caleb launched a model airplane indoors.”

“That’s slightly better.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I said slightly.”

Adrian leaned back.

“They are not bad boys.”

“Good.”

“They are angry.”

“That makes more sense.”

“They lie. They fight. They destroy property. They refuse tutors. They have locked staff members in closets. Last month Luke pulled a fire alarm because a nanny confiscated his tablet.”

“Was there a fire?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll work on appropriate emergency-service usage.”

His expression stayed flat, but Nia saw something in his eyes.

He had expected fear.

He didn’t know what to do with competence.