All Chapters of The Don’s Mysterious Nanny : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Four days of gun training had awakened something in me I didn’t know still existed.The muscle memory was returning gradually.The way to grip the weapon so it felt like an extension of my hand.How to line up the sights and control my breathing.The satisfying crack of hitting the center target.Alessandro was a patient teacher.Correcting my stance with gentle hands.Praising my progress without condescension.And somehow, every training session ended the same way.With us tangled together in the private shooting range he’d had built in the penthouse basement.The adrenaline from handling weapons mixed with the electricity that always sparked between us.“You’re a natural,” he’d whispered yesterday against my throat after I’d hit five consecutive bullseyes.“I was trained before. It’s just coming back.”“No. This is different. This is you choosing to be dangerous.”He was right.Vanessa had been trained because it was her job.Victoria was learning because she refused to be helpless

The kidnapper talked.It took Marco less than an hour to break him completely.Not through torture—though I’d been tempted.Through the simple reality that he was facing attempted kidnapping charges in Italy and we could make those charges disappear.Or make them much worse.“The contact came through an encrypted messaging app,” he’d said, blood still dripping from where Victoria had shot him. “We were supposed to deliver the kid to a boat in Civitavecchia.”“What boat?”“Private yacht. Registered to some shell company.”“Which shell company?”He’d given us a name that Marco’s financial team traced within hours.A Montenegro-based corporation with ties to Albanian shipping interests.And at the center of the web, buried under six layers of ownership: is Isabella Caputo’s family trust.“She’s in Albania,” Marco confirmed later that night. “Small coastal town called Ksamil, just across from Corfu.”“You’re certain?”“The yacht that was supposed to pick up Aria is registered to a villa t

The morning of Ace’s wedding dawned clear and golden.Perfect weather for a Tuscan vineyard ceremony.I stood in front of our bedroom mirror, studying my reflection.The dress I’d chosen was soft rose silk, elegant without drawing attention.This was Ace’s day, not mine.But I wanted to look beautiful for my friend.For the man who’d stood by me through everything.“Mama, you look like a princess!”Aria appeared in the doorway, already dressed in her own rose-colored dress.We’d coordinated without planning to.Mother and daughter in matching shades.“Thank you, sweetheart. You look like a princess too.”“Papa said I have to be very quiet during the ceremony.”“That’s right. Weddings are important and we need to listen.”“Will Uncle Ace cry?”The question made me smile.“He might. Happy tears.”“Like you had when Papa gave you flowers?”“Exactly like that.”Alessandro appeared behind Aria, looking devastating in a charcoal suit.His hair was styled, his jaw freshly shaved.Every inch

The gallery was in chaos.Beautiful, controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless.“The Moretti piece needs to move three inches to the left,” I called to the installation team.“Three inches?”“Trust me. The lighting will be perfect.”Sofia appeared at my elbow with her tablet.“The caterers are here. They want to know where to set up.”“Back corner, near the windows. And make sure they leave space for people to move.”“On it.”I pressed my hand to my stomach, willing the nausea to stay down.Morning sickness was a lie.It happened all day, triggered by stress and excitement and apparently the smell of fresh paint.“Mrs. De Luca, the journalist from Arte Moderna is here early.”Of course, she was.“Give me five minutes. Offer her champagne.”“You sure you’re okay?” Sofia asked quietly.“Just nervous.”“You look pale.”“I’m fine. Just a lot riding on tonight.”She didn’t look convinced but nodded and disappeared.The gallery looked perfect.Twenty artists, each with their own space.The li

The paint samples were driving me insane.“What’s the difference between Cloud White and Swiss Coffee?” I asked for the third time.Alessandro held them up to the nursery wall.“One is more… white?”“That’s helpful.”“They look the same to me, amore.”“They’re not the same. One has warm undertones, the other is cool.”“Then pick the warm one.”“But what if the cool one looks better with the furniture?”He set down the samples and pulled me against him.Carefully, because my belly was now officially in the way of everything.“The babies won’t care what color the walls are.”“I care.”“I know you do. But you’re overthinking this.”“I’m not—”“Victoria. We’ve been staring at paint samples for an hour.”He wasn’t wrong.Five months pregnant with twins meant my brain simultaneously wanted everything perfect and couldn’t make a single decision.The hormones were making me crazy.“Mama, I like this one!”Aria held up a sample that was definitely more yellow than white.“That’s Butter Cream,