I Got the Job!

Diana's POV

Somebody pinch me. Seriously.

I was standing right in the middle of a bedroom that was bigger than my family's entire four-room apartment. The walls were painted in baby pink, and placed in the center was a plush queen-sized bed piled with lavender and rose-colored throw pillows. 

A massive crystal chandelier dangled from the high ceiling, casting warm light over a white-and-gold reading desk.

This kid wasn't just wealthy; she was living like a little monarch.

Lucia leaned back against the headboard of her bed, her small arms crossed as she pinned me with a gaze that felt too heavy for a little five-year-old. "Are you really going to be my nanny?"

"That depends on your uncle's choice, little lady," I replied, crossing my arms over my damp, orange-juice-stained dress.

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes like a detective interrogating a suspect. 

"Are you going to run away like the others?"

"Run away?" I laughed, shaking my head. "Why on earth would I run away from a paycheck that can pay off my entire university tuition in three months?"

"Do you have kids?" Lucia asked with a large grin on her face.

I choked on my own spit, coughing into my sleeve. "Kids?! At twenty-one? Absolutely not!"

Lucia didn't smile immediately. "You don't look afraid of my Uncle Francesco either. Why?"

I let out a weary sigh, dropping onto the edge of the plush bed. "Because I don't know your uncle personally. Why would I spend my energy being terrified of a complete stranger?"

Lucia gasped, clutching her chest before dramatically collapsing backward onto her bed. A second later, she popped back up, gasped again, and flopped down a second time.

She is a true drama queen.

"Look, Diana," Lucia muttered, rolling over onto her side and picking at a loose thread on her pillowcase. "I haven't told anyone this, but I'll make an exception for you..."

She hesitated, clearing her throat to regain her composure. "All my other nannies left. None of them actually cared about me. They either wanted to flirt with my uncle, or they wanted his money. Some tried to steal my expensive toys, and the rest heard people talking about my family and ran away screaming."

The puzzle suddenly clicked into place. All the bratty tantrums, the spilled juice, the rubber spider, the broken expensive vase—it wasn't malice. It was a defense mechanism. She pushed people away before they could abandon her first.

My heart softened just a bit. I inched closer and pulled her small frame into a gentle hug.

"Well, you have me now," I whispered into her hair. "And I promise you, I have zero interest in that grumpy uncle of yours."

For a second, Lucia froze. Then, her small arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

A second later, she pushed me away with a huff. "Okay, okay, enough with the mushy stuff! I hate hugs, okay?!"

"Whatever you say, Your Royal Highness," I smirked.

But before she could say another word, her eyes darted toward the open door. The room's atmosphere immediately shifted. The air grew heavy and suffocating.

I turned around.

Standing in the doorway, leaning casually against its mahogany frame, was the devil himself.

Francesco Marino.

He looked as though he had stepped out of a high-fashion, dark-romance magazine. A tailored charcoal suit hugged his broad, terrifyingly muscular shoulders. He was a mountain of a man—at least six-foot-six, with a sharp taper-fade haircut and a chiseled jawline that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. 

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart: a piercing, ocean blue shade that seemed to read your darkest secret.

Lucia sprinted past me, throwing her arms around his knee.

The cold, ruthless Mafia boss of the city melted at the sight of his niece. Francesco leaned down, lifting her effortlessly with one arm. A genuine, warm smile broke across his hard features as he ruffled her hair.

So the tyrant actually possesses human emotions. Interesting…

Then, his icy gaze shifted back to me, the smile instantly dropped.

"Why do you want this job, Miss Popescu?" his deep baritone voice echoed through the room.

I straightened my posture, refusing to break eye contact under his suffocating glare. "Because I have university fees to cover, my younger brothers need books of course, and my parents work themselves to the bone just to keep a roof over our heads."

"And why should I trust you with my niece?"

"Because Lucia doesn't need another terrified pushover or a gold-digger trying to get to you," I shot back smoothly. "She needs someone who actually sees her, understands her, and isn't intimidated by her. Five years of dealing with my annoying brothers taught me how to handle wild spirits."

Francesco stared at me for a long, silent moment. A faint glint of amusement flickered in his blue eyes. Without a word, he set Lucia down on her feet, turned on his heel, and walked away down the corridor.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my shoulders gave way. "Well... there goes my dream job."

"He's always like that," Aurora muttered, pulling at my sleeve.

Before I could reply, heavy footsteps echoed outside. Francesco reappeared in the doorway, his hands resting casually in his suit pockets.

"You start tomorrow at 6pm sharp. Don't be late."

He turned and disappeared down the hall.

My mouth hung open. I got it?!

"Yes!" I squeaked, jumping into the air and performing an embarrassing victory dance right in the center of the room.

Lucia stared at me in absolute horror, covering her face with both hands. "You are so weird.”

I didn't care. This meant weekly cool cash, full tuition coverage, fresh groceries, and a chance to move my family out of our ghetto neighborhood…

—

An hour later, the driver dropped me off at the corner of our street. I practically flew up the apartment stairs, tripping over the third step in my frantic rush to deliver the good news.

I burst through the front door into the small kitchen, where the savory aroma of garlic and onions filled the air.

"Mama! Mama!" I shouted.

My mother gasped, dropping her wooden spoon into the pot and clutching her chest.

"Diana! Sfinte Sfinte, you nearly gave me a heart attack! What is it?!"

My two younger brothers, Vlad and Matei, came running out of the living room, nearly tackling me into the counter.

"What happened, Miss D?" Vlad demanded, tugging on my gown.

"Tell us! Did you win something?" Matei chimed in, holding out his pinky finger.

"Promise me you won't scream," I panted, interlocking my pinky with Matei's.

"We promise!" They chimed together.

"I got the nanny job!"

Mama let out a high-pitched scream, throwing her arms around me and twirling me around the tiny kitchen, nearly knocking over the simmering pot of ciorbă.

"Wait," Vlad frowned, tilting his head in confusion. "I thought you already had a job at the café?"

I offered a quick, innocent smile. "I... quit. This one pays ten times as much!" No need to tell them I was fired because of that creepy bastard.

Right on cue, the rusty front door clicked open. My father walked in, his mechanic overalls smeared with black grease, his face was lined with exhaustion.

"Papa!" I ran over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He winced slightly, letting out a wheezing laugh as he patted my back with a clean towel. "Careful, fetița mea, I am covered in motor oil. What is all this celebration about?"

"I got a new job, Papa! A high-paying nanny position!"

The heavy exhaustion melted from my father's eyes, replaced by a radiant smile. He pulled me into a tight, bone-crushing hug. "Ah, that is my girl! That is incredible news!"

He set me down, shaking his head with a tired chuckle. "You know, it seems good fortune is visiting our family today. I had a very unusual customer come into my mechanic shop this afternoon."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, grabbing a dish towel to help Mama. "What kind of customer?"

"He drove a custom Maybach," Dad murmured, his eyes widening in awe. "One-of-a-kind engine. You only see vehicles like that in magazines... or in the hands of the most powerful men in the city."

I froze, the towel slipping slightly in my grip. "Who did it belong to, Papa?"

Dad leaned in, lowering his voice into a cautious whisper. "Mr. Francesco Marino himself.”