Chapter 5 - The Nanny Who Was Supposed to Leave
Elise gave notice two days after Matteo’s arrest.
I found the letter on my desk.
One page.
Professional.
Infuriating.
Effective immediately, I am requesting the standard fourteen-day transition period provided in my placement agreement.
I read it twice.
Then walked directly to the nursery.
She was sitting on the rug helping Rosie build a crooked wooden tower.
Maisie wore one yellow glove.
The other was on a stuffed bear.
“Elise.”
She looked up.
“You found it.”
“What is this?”
“A resignation.”
“I can read.”
“Congratulations.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
I did not.
“Why?”
The girls looked between us.
Elise stood.
“Not here.”
We went to the hall.
I held up the letter.
“You promised Alessandra.”
“I promised I would find a way into the house if the girls needed me.”
“They need you.”
“They also need a father who can care for them without outsourcing every emotional moment.”
The sentence landed hard.
“That is unfair.”
“Yes.”
She did not soften it.
“But it is also true.”
I looked toward the nursery.
“What are you saying?”
“That they laugh with me because I am here.”
“I know.”
“They need to laugh with you too.”
I stared.
“You think I don’t try?”
“I think you are terrified.”
My jaw tightened.
“Careful.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“You are terrified that every time you comfort them, they will ask for Alessandra and you will have to feel what you lost.”
I hated her.
For about six seconds.
Then I hated myself more because she was right.
Elise continued.
“So you hire people. Good people. Expensive people. You make sure the girls are fed, dressed, watched, driven, protected.”
“I am their father.”
“Then be their father when they cry at two in the morning.”
I looked away.
“What do I do?”
The question came out before pride could stop it.
Elise’s expression changed.
Not victory.
Kindness.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“When they wake up, you come first.”
“And if they scream for their mother?”
“Then you say her name.”
My chest tightened.
“I do.”
“No. You say ‘your mother.’ You say ‘she loved you.’ You never say Alessandra.”
I stared.
That was true.
In eleven months, I had barely said my wife’s name in front of the girls.
I thought avoiding it protected them.
Maybe I was protecting myself.
Elise stayed.
For fourteen days.
Transition only.
That first night, Rosie woke at 1:47 a.m.
I went in alone.
She stood in the crib crying.
“Mommy.”
I almost called Elise.
Instead, I sat on the rug.
“Alessandra loved you.”
Rosie stopped for half a second.
“Mommy?”
“Yes.”
I had to swallow.
“Mommy’s name was Alessandra.”
Maisie woke.
“She danced.”
I laughed softly.
“Yes.”
“With pancakes.”
“Yes.”
Rosie cried again.
So did I.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
I took one yellow glove from the toy basket.
I put it on.
Maisie stared.
“Wrong hand.”
Of course.
I switched.
Then I attempted the glove dance.
It was terrible.
Worse than Elise.
The twins laughed anyway.
Not big laughter.
Not yet.
But enough.
Elise stood unseen in the doorway.
I noticed only when the song ended.
She was crying.
“Professional?” I asked.
“Barely.”
“Your choreography is embarrassing.”
“You were worse.”
“Impossible.”
She smiled.
Something changed between us that night.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Trust.
Which was more dangerous.
During the day, Elise helped me learn the girls’ routines.
Rosie hated bananas.
Maisie pretended to hate peas but ate them if they were arranged in a smile.
Both wanted bath towels warmed in the dryer because Alessandra used to do it.
I did not know.
That truth hurt repeatedly.
But I stopped treating hurt as evidence I should leave the room.
Rocco came to the house to resign.
I expected it.
He stood in my study with the bruise from where I hit him fading yellow.
“I failed Alessandra.”
“Yes.”
“I failed you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have told you about Matteo.”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“You could disagree once.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“I’m done.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want to be?”
That surprised him.
“What?”
“Do you want to resign, or do you think punishment requires you to?”
Rocco stared.
I had learned that question from Elise.
Choice.
It was contagious.
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t decide today.”
He sat.
We talked for two hours.
Not like boss and underboss.
Like two men who had survived long enough to become ashamed of the tools that kept them alive.
Rocco admitted he was tired too.
Tired of threats.
Tired of men pretending fear was loyalty.
Tired of burying things because exposure might start wars.
We decided something dangerous.
We would dismantle the Caruso operations that depended on violence.
Not overnight.
Not with speeches.
Carefully.
Legitimate businesses separated.
Extortion collections closed.
Weapons routes cut.
Men offered real jobs where possible.
Evidence of public corruption turned over through attorneys.
It would cost money.
Influence.
Maybe safety.
I went upstairs afterward.
Elise was packing.
Her suitcase sat open.
My chest tightened.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Stay.”
The word came out wrong.
Too much like an order.
I corrected.
“Please.”
She looked at me.
“For the girls?”
“Yes.”
Only half true.
Her expression told me she knew.
“Dante.”
It was the first time she used my first name.
I felt it everywhere.
“I care about them,” she said. “That’s exactly why I have to leave the job.”
“What does that mean?”
“If I stay forever because they are grieving, I become part of avoiding grief.”
I hated how sensible she was.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
I stepped closer.
“What if I want you to stay?”
Her breathing changed.
“So that is not about the girls.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then she said, “Ask me after I’m not your employee.”
I stared.
“Fourteen days.”
“Thirteen now.”
“You’re counting?”
“I like calendars.”
I almost smiled.
May you like
Then she zipped the suitcase.
Thirteen days suddenly felt more dangerous than every armed man outside my gates.
