Chapter 8 I Don’t Want Her
Giovanni’s POV
I was furious. I never let people like Melody and her friend walk away unpunished. The audacity. My own employee mistreating the woman who once saved my life. The woman who had been my world. My ex. The one I had sworn to protect.
Normally, I would have made sure they vanished without a trace. But Molly stopped me, and for her, I let it go. Everything I did was for her, and if she didn’t want blood on my hands, then so be it.
Still, as I arrived home, I didn’t realize that she had Roger in mind. Marie already knew the rules. There were no toys allowed in this house. Not for Roger. Not ever.
I was raising him to be sharper than me, stronger than me. The world we lived in, my world, was not kind. It was a place where innocence was a liability, and I would not let my son fall prey to it.
So, I bought him books, always books. Even at four years old, Roger could read with remarkable comprehension. A prodigy, yes, but one born from shadows.
His birth had been tangled with darkness, and deep down, I knew vengeance would one day burn in his blood. My duty was to prepare him for it.
Everything was going according to plan, until Molly’s gift appeared.
“What is that?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended. I couldn’t truly be angry. She didn’t know my rules. But her eyes flickered with nervousness when she met my gaze.
“It’s just a gift I picked up for him,” she said softly, glancing at Roger. “But I’m realizing now that you prefer him reading.”
At least she was quick to learn. “Good,” I said flatly. “At least you haven’t lost your brain.”
But the words came out too harsh, her face fell, sadness flashing in her eyes.
“What do you mean by that?” she whispered.
I almost regretted it. People often mistook her gentleness for stupidity, but I’d always known better. Molly was smart, brave even, but her heart was her weakness. A soft heart in a cruel world.
Before I could answer, Roger’s small voice pierced through the tension. “Dad, who is she?”
I looked at him, with the same dark eyes but his mother’s hair, and said evenly, “Her name is Molly. She’s going to be your nanny.”
Instantly, his eyes hardened. “I hate nannies!” he shouted.
It was true. We were on our fifth nanny in less than a year. The agency was terrified to send me more. I didn’t know what Roger did to drive them away, but no one lasted.
Yet Molly was different. She had fire, determination, and something to prove. In her quest for revenge, she would try her hardest, and I was counting on that.
“I know,” I told Roger. “But she’s staying.”
He glared, his small fists clenched. “Send her away! I don’t want her!”
His voice trembled with fury. He was so small, but his emotions burned large, uncontrollable, like mine once were. I drew in a steady breath, forcing calm.
“Listen, Roger,” I said softly but firmly. “Molly is my friend. She’s staying here.”
My words only deepened his rage. He spun around and bolted upstairs, his footsteps echoing down the grand hall.
I was about to follow when Molly stepped forward, her voice steady but pleading. “Do you mind if I try?”
I frowned. “Not a good idea,” I warned. “He’s unpredictable.”
But she didn’t waver. “Please. I’m going to be with him most of the time. Let me start now.”
I hesitated, studying her face — that determined spark in her eyes. Finally, I nodded. “Fine. That will be your room,” I said, gesturing to where the maids were unpacking her things.
She nodded and went to Roger’s door, knocking gently.
“Go away!” came his sharp little voice.
I sighed. This would be a long night. And when the screams echoed later, it wasn’t Roger’s cries that filled the house — it was Molly’s.
Molly’s POV
After overhearing the exchange between Gianni and Roger, I realized just how many nannies had come and gone. None had lasted. What a waste. This mansion so full of life and yet so empty.
The house itself was breathtaking, more extravagant than Wesley’s new mansion, yet colder, lonelier.
The maids paused as Roger’s temper flared, their expressions tight with fear. I could sense that everyone tiptoed around the boy. But not me. I’d already survived worse monsters than a child’s tantrum.
Standing outside his door, I refused to retreat. “I just want to say hi,” I said softly, though my voice trembled.
“I hate you!” he shouted from inside.
I forced a smile, catching Gianni’s gaze. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel his hesitation. He wanted to step in, yet he didn’t.
“I understand that you hate me,” I said gently through the door. “But you don’t know me yet. How about this, give me one month. If you still hate me after that, I’ll leave this house and never come back.”
Gianni’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t stop me. Perhaps he was curious to see if I could win the boy over.
“You’re a nanny,” Roger finally replied, his voice dripping with disdain.
“Yes,” I admitted. “But only in name. I’ve never been one before. You’re my first… and probably my last.”
For a moment, I thought I heard him laugh, a tiny giggle, quickly buried. When the door creaked open, his little face appeared, his eyes defiant.
“I still hate you,” he said flatly.
Gianni’s lips curved slightly, the faintest, reluctant smile, and somehow, that small reaction felt like a victory.
“I know,” I said, returning Roger’s glare with a patient smile. “I don’t expect you to like me. My name’s Molly. And don’t worry, I won’t tell you what to do. You’ll be the boss.”
He tilted his head, smirking. “Then clean my shoes.”
I blinked. “What?”
He crossed his small arms. “They’re dirty.”
I glanced down. They were spotless. Behind me, one of the maids froze, unsure whether to intervene. My heart twisted with both irritation and pity.
“Your shoes look perfectly clean,” I said sweetly, though my voice carried an edge.
Gianni watched patiently, his expression blank. Roger’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I need water!” he suddenly yelled.
A maid hurried over with a glass, only for Roger to pour it right over his sneakers. “Now they’re dirty,” he declared triumphantly.
The maid knelt quickly, but he shoved her hand away. “No! Molly has to clean them!”
My first instinct was to scold him. But then… I saw something else. Loneliness, confusion, a desperate need for control.
I took the towel gently from the maid’s hands. “It’s no trouble,” I said calmly, kneeling in front of him. I wiped the shoes clean, each stroke deliberate.
Roger’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting obedience and neither was Gianni, who stepped forward with visible frustration.
Before he could speak, I looked up at the boy and said softly, “Next time, you should say ‘please.’ That will be lesson number one.”
Roger blinked.
“Now,” I said, smiling, “may I see your room as a friend?”
He frowned, defensive again. “No. You must never enter my room.”
I sighed, crossing my arms. “How am I supposed to help you shower and get ready for preschool, then?”
A sly grin curved his lips. “Only Daddy can help me with that.”
“Well,” I countered with a teasing smile, “he won’t be helping you this time. Not until my one-month trial is over.”
Roger turned to his father, a hint of panic in his eyes. “Dad, you’ll help me, right?”
Gianni pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in frustration.
“Roger…” he began.
But I cleared my throat pointedly, cutting him off. His eyes snapped to mine, questioning.
“Molly,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous, “what are you up to?”
I smiled sweetly. “Earning your son’s respect… one battle at a time.”