At eight the next morning, Enzo opened the study door for me.

Dante sat behind a long table in a black suit, the two documents from last night waiting in front of him.

I stopped at the edge of the table. “I thought I was here to take care of the children.”

“You passed last night’s interview.” Dante pushed the papers toward me. “Now I need to give them someone who can stay.”

He spoke with the calm of a man discussing terms, not feelings.

“The Bellandi family has enemies watching my children. A regular nanny can’t enter the security system, sign medical authorizations, or represent them at school and family events. Livia has seen too many people leave. She needs a mother written into the law.”

I sat down.

“You want me to marry you.”

“On paper.”

“Where would I live?”

“Second floor. The room you used last night. Mine is on the third.”

“How far do my duties go?”

“Care for the three children. Help them adjust to a normal life. Attend family events as Mrs. Bellandi when necessary.”

“And marital obligations?”

Dante turned the contract to one page and tapped a line with his finger.

“There is no such clause.”

I read it twice before asking, “What about money?”

“A personal operating account will be opened under your name. Household expenses come from the family account. Anything transferred to your private account stays yours.”

“Even if we divorce?”

“Even then.”

I looked at the contract. “I’ve signed an agreement before. In the end, I walked away with twenty-six dollars.”

Dante turned to the lawyer. “Add a clause. All funds transferred to Evelyn Ward’s personal account during the marriage remain her separate property. The Bellandi family may not reclaim them after divorce, separation, or termination of this agreement.”

The lawyer began revising at once.

Dante looked back at me. “Caring for children is labor. The Bellandi family does not take labor for free.”

“The Crane family never called it labor.”

“Then they were poorer than they looked.”

For a moment, I thought of the Crane house, where cooking, cleaning, laundry, and childcare had all become my duty once the nanny was dismissed. On the day of the divorce, they said I had lived off them for three years.

I pressed my fingers around the pen.

“One more thing. If the children don’t need me someday, can I leave?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t stop me?”

“I’ll compensate you according to the agreement and make sure you’re protected.”

He did not rush me.

The contract was dangerous, but its terms were clear. It gave me conditions, boundaries, and a way out.

At last, I signed.

Dante signed beside my name.

After the lawyer collected the papers, Dante opened a black velvet box. Inside lay an obsidian-and-gold brooch with the Bellandi crest at its center.

“Wear it,” he said. “The household will know to listen to you.”

I picked it up. “What happens if I lose it?”

Dante glanced at Enzo.

Enzo’s brows tightened at once.

“Enzo won’t sleep,” Dante said.

I almost laughed.

He pinned the brooch to my coat himself, his fingers brushing the fabric only briefly before he stepped back.

A small sound came from outside the door.

Dante lifted his eyes. “Come in.”

The door opened a crack. Livia peeked in with Pearl in her arms, while Matteo and Nico crowded behind her.

Livia stared at the crest on my chest. “Are you going to live here?”

“The agreement says I will stay.”

She did not understand the agreement, but she understood stay. She came in and stood beside me.

Matteo looked at Dante. “Can she enter the children’s wing?”

“Yes.”

Nico asked, “Can she tell the kitchen not to make the milk too hot?”

“Yes.”

Livia held Pearl tighter. “Can she be in charge of bedtime stories?”

Dante looked at me.

“That depends on how long the story is,” I said.

“Short,” Nico said at once.

Matteo glanced at him. “Yesterday’s book had twenty-six pages.”

That night, I moved into the room beside the children’s wing.

After my shower, while I was still drying my hair, a white rabbit toy appeared through the crack of my door.

Then came Livia’s small face.

“Does the agreement mention bedtime stories?”

“No.”

Her eyes dropped.

At the end of the corridor, Matteo held the broken music box, and Nico carried a thick storybook. Both boys pretended they had only been passing by.

I opened the door wider.

“But we can add a verbal clause.”

During my first week as Mrs. Bellandi, the second floor slowly became less quiet.

Every morning, Livia came to my door with Pearl in her arms. Sometimes she needed a hair clip. Sometimes she wanted to know whether there would be strawberries at breakfast. Every excuse eventually led to the same question.

“Are you staying here today too?”

Each time, I answered, “Yes.”

Only then would she go downstairs.

Matteo still did not talk much. When I worked on the broken music box, he sat nearby with a book and reminded me which screw not to touch. Nico complained that I read too slowly, yet every night he was the first to shove a storybook into my hands.

Dante usually left early and returned late. Sometimes, when I went downstairs after midnight to warm milk for Livia, I would find him at the end of the dining table with papers spread before him and men standing nearby with quiet reports. When he saw me, he only asked, “She’s awake again?”

I would nod, and he would have his men step aside.

On the seventh morning, I told Enzo I needed to go out.

The music box repair shop had called. The old ballerina could be fixed, but I had to bring the missing piece Matteo had found under Livia’s dresser. I also needed to stop by the pharmacy for my prescription.

Enzo arranged two cars and four guards. Before I could answer, Livia ran down the stairs with Pearl in her arms.

“You’re going out?”

“To repair your music box,” I said. “And to pick up medicine.”

Her fingers tightened around Pearl. “I’m going too.”

Matteo appeared with the missing ballerina arm wrapped in tissue. “I have the piece.”

Nico followed with his blanket. “If Livia cries, Matteo can’t handle it.”

Livia glared at him. “I won’t cry.”

In the end, all three children climbed into the car.

Enzo stood by the door, watching them fasten their seatbelts. “Miss Livia has not willingly left the gates since her mother disappeared.”

I looked into the car. Livia sat with Pearl in her lap, her eyes fixed on me. As long as I was there, she seemed able to endure everything beyond the window.

The repair shop was a narrow place in Little Italy, filled with clocks, brass keys, and glass cabinets of old mechanical toys. Livia stood on a stool at the counter while the owner opened the music box. Matteo leaned close, tracking each movement. Nico pretended not to care and kept asking whether there was a bakery nearby.

The owner fitted the tiny arm back onto the ballerina, wound the key, and set the box down.

Music trembled out.

Livia held her breath until the ballerina began to turn.

“She’s dancing again,” she whispered.

When I stepped into the pharmacy next door, the children followed. The pharmacist handed me the prescription and repeated the doctor’s instructions: regular meals, regular sleep, less stress.

Livia listened with a solemn face. Outside the shop, she removed the pearl clip from Pearl’s ear and fastened it to my coat.

“This is for you. It keeps bad things away.”

Nico took the paper bag from the pharmacy. “I’ll carry it.”

The bag was almost weightless.

Matteo glanced at him and chose not to expose him. Instead, he handed me a bottle of water. “The pharmacist said you need this.”

When we stepped outside, Dante was already waiting by the curb.

He stood beside his car with a black coat over one arm and two guards behind him. His gaze settled on the children walking calmly at my side and stayed there for a long moment.

“Enzo called,” he said. “He told me they all left the house.”

Livia held the repaired music box against her chest. “I didn’t cry.”

Dante lowered his eyes to her. “I can see that.”

Nico added, “She only crushed one candy in the car.”

Livia immediately tried to step on his shoe.

Dante looked from them to me, his voice lowering slightly. “Thank you.”

“They were good.”

His eyes moved to the small pharmacy bag in Nico’s hand, then to the crooked pearl clip on my coat. He said nothing more.

That night, Dante came to the second-floor sitting room with a set of keys.

“If you’re going to take them out again, you need a car that does not announce my name three blocks away.”

I looked down at the keys. “That sounds unusually practical for a Don.”

“You may be the first person in Chicago to accuse me of practicality.”

The next morning, an old dark-green Volvo was parked outside the garage.

It looked wildly out of place beside the line of black armored cars. Livia pressed herself against the window and announced that Pearl loved the color. Nico was already checking how much candy the trunk could hold, while Matteo inspected the child locks.

Dante stood on the steps, watching the children circle the car.

I walked over and said quietly, “Thank you.”

“The guards will follow when you take them out.”

“I know.”

“If anything happens, call me.”

I nodded and opened the car door.

Livia climbed in first. Matteo and Nico followed. As the door closed, Dante remained where he was, watching the three faces in the window.

Only then did I understand that he had given me more than a room in a guarded house.

He had placed the softest part of his life in my hands.

A week after the Volvo appeared, I took the triplets to the preview hall of the Bellandi Children’s Arts Foundation.

Dante’s family funded the annual charity auction, and one wall had been reserved for drawings from children across the city. Livia’s picture of Pearl had been selected. She insisted Pearl needed to see it in person.

The guards followed at a distance and did not come too close. Livia sat in the back seat with Pearl in her arms, whispering to the rabbit about how important the day was. Matteo held the invitation card and checked the address twice. Nico kept asking whether charity events served cake.

The preview hall occupied the second floor of a restored theater near the river. Brass railings curved around the staircase, and soft light fell across framed children’s drawings, auction tables, and discreet Bellandi security posted near every exit.

Livia found her drawing immediately.

Pearl had been drawn with a crooked crown and a blue ribbon twice the size of her head. Livia stood in front of it, silent and pink-cheeked, while Matteo adjusted the little name card under the frame and Nico announced that the rabbit looked “almost royal.”

I was kneeling to fix the ribbon on Livia’s dress when a familiar voice sounded behind me.

“Evelyn?”

My fingers paused.

Sebastian Crane stood near the champagne table in a perfectly tailored gray suit, his hair immaculate. Behind him, a young aide held a portfolio stamped with the Crane Foundation seal.

Only a few weeks had passed since the divorce. He looked untouched by all of it.

His gaze moved from my hands at Livia’s hem to the three children around me. A slow smile formed on his face.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said. “Ivy League graduate, and now you’re dressing mafia children for charity photos. Is this really your life now?”

Livia held Pearl tighter and moved closer to me.

Nico’s face darkened at once.

Matteo said nothing. His eyes moved briefly to Sebastian’s aide, then to the security badge on the man’s lapel.

I stood and kept my voice steady. “Sebastian, move.”

He gave a low laugh, as if I had said something amusing.

“Still stubborn.” His eyes dropped to the obsidian crest on my coat, but recognition did not reach him. “I suppose life outside the Crane family has taught you something by now. No matter how much you complained before, at least you were Mrs. Crane. What are you now? A nanny with a borrowed brooch?”

“We’re divorced.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were my wife.” Sebastian’s voice cooled. “When people mention you, they still think of the Crane name. Showing up here as hired help for the Bellandis makes me look ridiculous.”

Nico stepped forward, but Matteo caught him by the sleeve.

Livia looked up at me and asked softly, “Why is he talking to you like that?”

“Because he’s used to it,” I said.

Sebastian frowned. “Evelyn, don’t act tough in front of children. You left me because you wanted me to regret it. Fine. I admit you surprised me.”

He raised a hand, reaching for my shoulder the way he used to.

I stepped back.

His hand stopped in midair, and his expression sharpened.

“Enough,” he said. “The other women meant nothing. I haven’t let anyone move into your room. The position of Mrs. Crane is still empty.”

I looked at him and felt as if I were looking at a stranger.

Once, I had waited for his explanation. I had waited for an apology. Now he stood in front of me, offering the empty place beside him as if I should be grateful.

“I’m not interested,” I said.

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

“You’re not in a position to say that.” He lowered his voice. “How much money do you have left? Do you really think the Bellandi family will treat you as one of their own? Once they’re done with you, you won’t even have a way back.”

He glanced at the triplets, his smile turning colder.

“Taking care of three mafia children, Evelyn. You’ll do anything to prove a point.”

Matteo’s eyes went completely cold.

Nico clenched his teeth. “Shut up.”

Sebastian finally looked at him, as if noticing a rude child.

“This is between adults.”

Livia hugged Pearl, her eyes slowly turning red.

I drew her behind me. “Sebastian, I’m telling you one last time. Move.”

Instead, he seemed to regain the upper hand. That familiar superiority returned to his voice.

“Admit you were wrong, Evelyn. Go back and apologize to my mother and my sister, and I may let this ugly little performance end.”

The noise of the preview hall seemed to pull away.

Then Livia let go of my hand and stepped in front of me with Pearl clutched to her chest. Her small body was trembling, but her voice rang out clearly.

“Who said she was wrong?”