Chapter 5 - The Rules of the Estate
Dawn broke over the Rinaldi estate, casting long, gray shadows across the manicured lawns and iron gates that kept the rest of New York at bay. Inside, the massive mansion was already stirring, though its awakening was rarely peaceful.
Serena stood in the guest suite provided to her on the third floor—a room far larger than her entire apartment in Queens, yet devoid of any personal warmth. She smoothed down her plain black trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt, tying her dark hair back into a neat, practical ponytail.
She had exactly thirteen days left until the custody hearing. Thirteen days to prove to the court that her life was stable, her income was secure, and her home was a safe haven for Lucia. Working for a billionaire mafia boss wasn't part of any standard parenting manual, but desperation made strange bedfellows.
A sharp knock echoed at her door.
Before she could answer, the door swung open, and Tommy peered in, holding a broken toy helicopter in one hand.
“It won't fly,” Tommy announced, his voice solemn. “Marco tried to modify it with a rubber band and it broke.”
Serena smiled, crouching down to his eye level. “Good morning, Tommy. Did you sleep well?”
“I had a dream about spaghetti,” Tommy admitted seriously. “Is it breakfast time yet?”
“It will be as soon as you and your brothers brush your teeth and get dressed without turning the bathroom into a swimming pool,” Serena replied, gently taking the helicopter from his small hands. “Let’s go see if your father is already up.”
Downstairs, the cavernous dining hall was already filled with the rich aroma of espresso and freshly baked pastries. Victor Rinaldi sat at the head of the table, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, reading a digital tablet displaying financial reports and security briefings.
When Serena and Tommy entered, Victor looked up. His dark eyes swept over Serena, noting the professional composure and the effortless way Tommy walked beside her, holding the hem of her shirt—the exact same gesture Lucia used.
“Morning, Dad,” Tommy mumbled, sliding into his chair.
“Morning, son,” Victor replied, his gaze shifting to Serena. “You look rested. Most nannies look like they’ve survived a shipwreck by their second day.”
“I’m a fast learner, Mr. Rinaldi,” Serena said, pouring a cup of black coffee from the silver pot. “And I take it that you have a list of rules for me that go beyond cooking carbonara?”
Victor tapped the screen of his tablet, locking it before setting it aside.
“Rule number one: You do not leave the estate without informing security,” Victor said, his tone turning crisp and authoritative. “My enemies know where I live, and while I have heavy protection around the grounds, my children are primary targets. If you go out with them, you stay within the perimeter unless I authorize otherwise.”
“I’m a nanny, Mr. Rinaldi, not a hostage,” Serena retorted calmly, sipping her coffee. “I need to be able to pick up mail, run basic errands, and eventually check on my own daughter.”
“Your daughter is welcome to visit on weekends, under guard,” Victor stated flatly, leaving no room for argument. “Rule number two: No one enters this house unless cleared by my chief of security, Luca. And rule number three—” He paused, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense scrutiny. “If things get dangerous, you lock the boys in the panic room behind the library and you stay with them. You don't play hero.”
Serena set her coffee cup down on the saucer with a soft click.
“Mr. Rinaldi, I spent the last three years fighting landlords who tried to illegally evict me, collection agencies threatening my livelihood, and an ex-husband trying to strip away my parental rights out of pure spite,” Serena said quietly, her voice steady and unyielding. “I don’t play hero. I play survivor. If someone threatens the children in my care—yours or mine—they’ll have to get through me first.”
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Victor stared at her. For a fraction of a second, something flashed in his obsidian eyes—a mix of profound surprise and a deep, unexpected respect. Before he could respond, Marco, Nico, and Alessandro burst into the dining room, arguing loudly over who had stolen whose socks.
“Morning starts now,” Serena sighed, rolling up her sleeves with a determined smile. “Wish me luck.”
