Chapter 2 - The Boy Who Forgot How to Smile
The first night in the Romano estate felt incredibly strange, like living inside a beautiful, quiet museum where no one was allowed to touch the art.
Ruby’s bedroom was located in the staff wing, but it was larger and infinitely more luxurious than any apartment she had ever rented.
The sheets were made of genuine Egyptian cotton, and the private bathroom featured a massive soaking tub that smelled of expensive lavender soap.
But Ruby did not have time to marvel at the sheer, overwhelming wealth surrounding her.
Her entire focus was entirely consumed by the broken, grieving little boy asleep in the nursery down the hall.
According to Maria, the housekeeper, little Leo had not spoken a single, coherent word since the violent car bombing that took his mother’s life.
He communicated solely through aggressive screaming, throwing heavy objects, and pushing away anyone who tried to offer him comfort.
But when Ruby walked into his nursery later that evening, the dynamic completely and magically shifted.
Leo was sitting in the corner of the dark room, clutching a torn, stuffed bear, his tiny chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs.
Ruby did not turn on the harsh overhead lights, and she did not demand that he get into his bed like the previous nannies had done.
She simply sat down on the floor a few feet away from him, crossing her legs and humming a soft, low melody.
It was an old, beautiful blues song that her late father used to sing to her when the Chicago winters made the apartment windows rattle.
She hummed it gently, letting the rich, warm vibration of her voice fill the massive, lonely room.
Slowly, Leo uncurled his tiny body from the dark corner and crawled across the plush carpet.
He climbed directly into Ruby’s lap, resting his messy dark head against her soft, generous stomach.
Ruby wrapped her arms securely around him, gently stroking his hair until the terrible, shaking sobs finally subsided into a peaceful sleep.
She did not know that the door to the nursery was cracked open a single, tiny inch.
She did not know that Vincent Romano, the most ruthless, heavily armed mafia boss in the state, was standing completely still in the dark hallway.
Vincent watched the poor, exhausted woman rock his broken son to sleep, a strange, incredibly painful knot tightening in his chest.
He had spent millions of dollars on child psychologists, behavioral specialists, and elite pediatricians to fix his son.
None of them had ever managed to make the child stop crying for even a single hour.
Yet, this woman in a faded thrift-store dress had brought absolute, beautiful peace to his home in less than twelve hours.
Vincent quietly stepped away from the door, walking back to his dark, imposing library with a mind full of chaotic thoughts.
He poured himself a glass of expensive amber whiskey, staring out the massive window at the armed guards patrolling his grounds.
He was a man who dealt in blood, territory, and absolute, terrifying violence.
He did not believe in softness, because softness was exactly what had gotten his beautiful, innocent wife killed by a rival family.
But as he listened to the faint, lingering sound of Ruby’s lullaby echoing through the silent mansion, he realized a terrifying truth.
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He did not just want Ruby Jenkins to stay for his son’s sake.
He desperately wanted her to stay for his own sake, too.
