My Dangerous Boss Hired Me To Tame His Toddler — Then A Loan Shark Made A Fatal Mistake

Part 1

I stood outside the towering wrought-iron gates of the Highland Park estate, my cheap thrift-store dress clinging to my sweating back.

The placement agency had warned me that this emergency nanny job was unconventional, but the ten-foot stone walls and armed guards made it look like a fortress.

My hands shook as I clutched my worn faux-leather purse against my chest.

I was a heavy, broke twenty-four-year-old from the slums, drowning in my late father’s medical debt.

Todd Miller, a neighborhood loan shark, had already threatened to break my legs if I didn’t pay him back by the end of the month.

I needed this money more than I needed oxygen.

The heavy gates swung open with a mechanical hum, revealing a sweeping driveway flanked by perfectly manicured hedges.

I expected a butler to greet me at the heavy oak doors, but instead, a man with a jagged jawline scar patted me down before waving me inside.

The air inside the sprawling library was freezing, smelling of expensive leather and polished mahogany.

David Russo walked into the room, bringing the temperature down even further with his sharp cheekbones and assessing, pitch-black eyes.

Sweeping his oppressive gaze over my flushed, round face and scuffed flats, he made me feel entirely transparent.

Under that intense scrutiny, I knew exactly what he saw—a soft, overweight girl who looked like she’d lose her breath climbing a single flight of stairs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his gravelly baritone sending a shiver down my spine.

He muttered that the agency was wasting his time, that his two-year-old son required constant physical restraint, and that I simply didn’t look capable.

The dismissal stung my deepest insecurities, but desperation fueled a sudden burst of defiance in my chest.

I squared my heavy shoulders, lifting my chin to tell him I had worked on my feet my entire life and didn’t break easily.

Before he could throw me out, a bloodcurdling scream echoed down the marble hallway.

A beautiful toddler with curly black hair burst through the doors, hurling a solid wood toy train blindly across the room.

The heavy wood struck my collarbone with a sickening thud.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the pain bloomed across my chest, but I didn’t scream or run like the nannies before me.

Instead, I dropped heavily to my knees on the expensive Persian rug, putting myself exactly at eye level with the furious boy.

Toby stopped dead in his tracks, his little fists clenched as he waited for me to yell.

I kept my voice remarkably calm, letting my grandmother’s warm drawl soften the edges of my words.

I asked him if he was trying out for the major leagues or just having a really bad day.

The pure rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by a profound, overwhelming sadness that broke my heart.

I opened my arms slightly, telling him I knew it felt like a hot storm inside his tummy.

Toby didn’t hit me; he collapsed forward, burying his face in the soft expanse of my chest.

I rocked back on my heels, wrapping my plush arms around his small frame and humming a low melody.

The tension drained from his body as he melted against me, sobbing with the heartbroken whimpers of a child who just missed his mother.

He eventually pulled back, pressed his little hands against my plump cheeks, and planted a sloppy wet kiss right on my nose.

David stood frozen in the center of the library, staring at me as if the air had been knocked from his lungs.

He quietly ordered his enforcer to cancel the rest of the interviews, tripling my pay on the spot.

Life inside the Russo estate slowly began to thaw over the next few weeks.

The cold mausoleum filled with the smell of my homemade cinnamon rolls and the bright sound of Toby’s laughter.

I replaced my faded dresses with beautiful, custom-tailored linen pieces that David had ordered specifically to fit my generous curves.

He started looking at me differently, his dark gaze lingering on the soft roll of my hips in a way that made my mouth go entirely dry.

One night, he found me baking in the kitchen and gently brushed a smudge of flour from my cheek.

He told me I didn’t take up too much space, that for the first time, his house actually felt full.

I had spent my entire life feeling utterly undesirable, but in the arms of the most dangerous man in Chicago, I felt perfectly right.

But outside those high stone walls, the demons of my past were actively hunting me down.

David had insisted I take a few hours off to visit my father’s grave at the Rosehill Cemetery.

His enforcer gave me privacy to walk among the headstones, leaving me alone in the gloomy drizzle.

As I knelt by the modest marker, a cold, bony hand clamped down violently on my shoulder.

I twisted around to find Todd Miller looming over me, flanked by two hulking thugs holding umbrellas.

He snatched my wrist, his bruising grip cutting off my circulation as he demanded the security codes to the Russo estate.

He knew David’s syndicate rivals were desperate for the gate codes and the camera blind spots.

I refused, my maternal instincts violently rejecting the idea of putting sweet Toby in any danger.

Todd’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he pulled a heavy revolver from his jacket pocket.

He pressed the cold steel against my cheek, his breath smelling of stale smoke and cheap beer.

He shoved me into the mud, his final words ringing in my ears: “Friday night, or the kid’s brains are on the marble floors.”