Kingpin’s Nanny: a Spicy Age Gap Grumpy-Sunshine Romance
Kingpin’s Nanny: Chapter 3

Six months earlier

“Boss.”

“What?” I snap, then sigh. I look up at my head of security. Weston has a studiedly neutral expression on his face that tells me I’m being even more of an unreasonable bastard than usual. I am, perhaps, a little intolerant of failure these days.

I sigh and look across at my niece, who is at the other side of the table reading a picture book. My sister’s daughter peeks up at me through her dark curls, and my heart twists.

“The nanny is here. For the interview.”

“She’s early.” That triggers concern. I’m more cautious now than five years ago. There’s nothing like letting your little sister make a bad marriage to someone you counted as a friend to make a man doubt his judgement, and even years later, I’m still over-protective of my niece.

But I cannot continue to work on a fucking laptop while supervising a six-year-old girl. Hence the advertisement for a nanny. A lot of applicants later, we still haven’t found someone.

“Can you stay here for me, Ivy? I’ll be back soon.”

She smiles agreeably and I turn with a rock in my stomach. She deserves better than me. The uncle who failed her.

I get as far as the door before Weston pauses and side-eyes me.

“Boss…”

“What?”

He points at his hair. I go to flatten my own unruly greying hair, and my hand catches. Muttering a curse under my breath, I tug off the unicorn hair clip that Ivy put in earlier. It took us three videos, and two attempts on my hair, to get Ivy’s hair right this morning. I shove it into my pocket and stride away.

We really need a nanny. My men cannot see me with unicorn hair clips.

“The new nanny is waiting in the hall,” Weston says. “I’ll bring her through.”

“It’s alright.” That’s how we’ve done it for every other applicant, but being caught wearing sparkly plastic makes me eager to dismiss him. “Get back to your job. I’ll take her through myself.”

Weston nods and leaves me for his office full of screens, and I head through to the front atrium of the house. It’s a triple-height space with sunshine pouring in, and standing with her head bowed, looking tiny and touched by gold, is a slim young woman in a pale-blue cotton sundress.

My heart bounces. Actually bounces, like a rubber ball, an untrained puppy, or a mafia boss discovering an unknown emotion: attraction.

For forty years I’ve never looked at any woman with more than indifference. I haven’t touched one for half a decade.

I want to touch this girl. I want to slide my fingers through her fine, long, straight brown hair, and greedily caress her pale skin. She looks soft, and suddenly, as though they’re woken from sleep, all my hard muscular edges crave that silk wrapped over them.

I halt in the entrance to the atrium, in the shadows while she’s in the light, and in a fair world, I’d have a few minutes to admire her and collect myself. But no, she senses my presence, or hears my abrupt stop, and turns towards me.

“Hi!” Her smile is brighter than the sun. I’m blinded. “I’m Bella Harlow.”

I stare at her dumbly. As she smiles at me, it’s obvious she’s young. No more than twenty, at a guess. Half my fucking age.

But fuck, Bella Knight has a nice ring about it. She fidgets her hands, and there’s no wedding band there. Saves a man from an unfortunate detour to death.

Please let her be lost. Or a prank arranged by my men. The post girl, a Jehovah’s witness, selling cosmetics door-to-door. Just please, please, please let her not be…

“I’m here about the nanny job.”

I’ve never believed in a god, but it’s clear now that if there is one, he’s a sadistic bastard with a sense of humour worthy of the London Mafia Syndicate.

“Come.” I spin and pace away with long strides. I don’t check if she’s following, but there’s the tap of her little feet behind me. I take her through to my office and when I settle into my black leather chair, I push it from the desk so there is even more space between us.

I think if I ever touched her, I’d never be able to stop. That thought echoes uncomfortably in my head as Bella Harlow, my new obsession, stands before me, hands clasped neatly.

There’s a beat of silence.

Professional distance. That’s what I need. She’s going to be my employee, I need to talk to her about work. So I do. A man who sounds like me in a very bad mood barks out details about Ivy and myself, and the role Bella will have as nanny.

She smiles and nods eagerly, responding with the energy of a golden retriever puppy.

“That’s great,” she says when I’ve finished explaining there’s a full-time chef who makes nutritionally balanced meals and snacks. “And you? Are you around much?”

It’s going to be hell to stay away. I fold my arms. “I run the King’s Cross mafia, including the rail transport system out of London to the North.”

“Oh. So you’re busy.” Am I imagining the flicker of disappointment as she says that?

“Yes. I won’t have time to supervise you.” I mustn’t. There’s a pause and then I can’t help it. I have to know more about her.

“Tell me about yourself,” I snarl.

“I’ve been a nanny since I was sixteen.” She smiles wistfully, seemingly ignoring my foul mood. “I’ve looked after both girls and boys, and I’m fully qualified. I’m sorry I don’t have a printed copy of my CV, but I guess the agency sent it over?”

No, not that. Tell me what you like. What could I buy you that would make you smile at me not as your prospective employer, but as your lover. Do you drink coffee or tea in the morning? Tell me whether you feel anything when you look at me. Tell me if you think you could.

“Why were you early?” I bite out, instead of asking her to crack open her pretty head and let me see how she works. I’d like to understand all the things that would give her pleasure, then provide them each day, on tap.

She swallows and fear slides over her face, there and gone in a moment.

“What was that about?”

“What?” She’s bright and cheerful again.

“That expression.” I saw it, I’m sure. And it wasn’t me. This girl isn’t afraid of me. She didn’t respond like that when I said who I was, but the reason she was early scares her, and I’m going to replace out what it is. I’m not ignoring a flicker of fear from a vulnerable woman this time.

“It was nothing!”

Something snaps inside me. I’m around the desk and towering over her in a second. “Don’t lie to me. You were afraid.”

She trembles, her eyes big as dinner plates.

And FUCK. She’s more scared now.

I take a deliberate step backwards and try to control the memories. Anger and regret boil inside me. Those times that my sister, Natalia, told me that nothing was wrong. The moments when she didn’t manage to hide her fear, just for a split second, and I saw it, but I didn’t understand it was fear of Bradford. I thought it was just fear of mafia life, or a mother’s concern for her child.

I didn’t know that it was fear of her husband. I didn’t realise, and she didn’t tell me, and I should have known. I should have protected her.

The fact I killed that cowardly bastard afterwards has never been enough. I strung Bradford upside down from the rafters of one of the King’s Cross train sheds and set him on fire. It was wire around his foot, so he didn’t fall and die quickly. He suffered, and I watched every second until he was more bones than man.

His skeleton still hangs there as a reminder to all the King’s Cross employees of what happens to people who harm those I love.

She blinks, and I remember that I’m a terrifying, grumpy kingpin. No lightness. No affection. I don’t smile and I don’t let anyone into my life. I do not care.

Except that right now, Ivy needs a nanny, and I care for my own.

“Why did you quit your last position?” I try again with a different tack.

“They didn’t need me anymore, and I had to leave immediately. That’s why I’m early,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I didn’t want to be late, and I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“There are a lot of cafes in King’s Cross,” I point out.

“I haven’t got much money.” Her smile is brave.

“Did they pay you what you’re owed?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Not yet.”

That meant they never would. “How immediately did you have to leave?”

“They uh, decided to send their youngest child—she’s only seven—to boarding school.” Her voice holds a tremor of distress. “They didn’t want to upset her by telling her in advance, so they didn’t tell me either.” She pauses, and I can see her turning the situation in her mind, replaceing the positive. “I had enough time to pack up my stuff quickly.”

Despite everything I just said about not caring, I’m furious. She isn’t saying it, but they threatened her. Turfed her out in some way that made her think she’d have been in danger if she had stayed for one more minute. “Their reference is on your CV?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“That’s fine.” It’ll be adequate information for me to replace and deal with them. They’ll replace out that travel comes with a risk. “You have the job. You start today, accommodation is provided, and I’ll pay you in advance.”

“Thank you!” Her lips fall open and her eyes shine as she looks up at me. I have a flash of a vision. That pink mouth taking my cock as I tell her how good she makes me feel. As I violate her sweetness.

I step backwards, and fold my arms again.

“Don’t thank me,” I growl.

This girl, my god. I do not take women into my bed. I never had any enthusiasm for those drawn by power or danger, even before I was a kingpin. It’s always been me and my hand when I wanted to relieve some tension.

I shouldn’t employ her. She’s a temptation made perfectly for me. I can feel an emotion rising that I’ve never felt before. I’m obsessed. I’m compelled by her.

Love.

I’ve fallen in love at first sight, with a girl who is almost half my age.

Fuck.

Removing myself from the lure of her perfection is a physical effort as I return to my desk.

I rattle off the perks of being employed by King’s Cross—minus the travel discounts—and add that she’ll have the whole of the sixth floor as her own space. That will keep her far away from my bedroom, on the top floor, but in my house. As I’ve talked, I’ve found her application, which thankfully includes her bank details. I pay an excessively generous advance via bank transfer.

“Thank you, that’s very thorough. I was just wondering though, should we discuss time off?” she asks tentatively.

I scowl. Days without her? Absolutely not. I’m going to sound unreasonable, but no. She’s not leaving my sphere of influence. “You’re a nanny.”

“I do need some days not working.” She presses her lips together.

“Which ones?” I growl.

“Sundays.”

“Before Ivy goes to school on Monday? No.”

She blinks. “Saturdays then.”

“You think I have time to entertain my niece every week?” I reply, as though I haven’t put literally everything on hold to look after Ivy since the last nanny left suddenly to care for her ill father. I need her to back down on this, so I go for broke. “Do you consider my job unimportant?”

“No.” She looks down, chastened. “No, of course not.”

I let the silence draw out.

“What about bank holidays?”

“Are you looking for a part-time position?” I ask, the words dripping with sarcasm. I’m being a bosshole, but I cannot have her not here. I need her close. “This is your monthly salary, Miss Harlow.” I turn my computer screen for her and poke my finger at the transfer acknowledgement that funds have arrived in her account.

“Oh!” Shock ripples over her. “That’s really generous. Thank you!”

Ha. I’ve won.

Her gratitude is evident, and I’ve bought the proximity of a woman I can’t have and who will torture my every waking hour. Well done, Lucas.

“But I just—” She smiles prettily, but sounds desperate to be away from me. Already. Fuck.

“You can have Christmas Day,” I snarl. That’s half a year from now. I’ll figure out some reason to keep her with me by then.

“Okay.” She steels herself, her spine straightening and her shoulders going back as she thinks about her options. It’s a very large salary, well worth giving up her free time for. And she doesn’t have anywhere to go. “And Christmas Eve.”

I grit my teeth but give a terse nod. I admire her courage, even if I don’t like the result.

“Come and meet your new charge.” Rising from my seat, I cross the room and open the door for her. Nervously, she goes through, and I indicate the entrance to the lounge. She gets there a second before me.

I gravitate towards Bella, like she’s the opposite side of a magnet. We both reach for the handle at the same moment, and our hands touch.

I freeze. That momentary contact is a shock. Our gazes tangle and time slows down. I stare at this woman who is closer in age to my niece than she is to me, and I wonder what Bella Harlow would do if I propositioned her. She says she needs a new job immediately. What if I offered her marriage to me, and a credit card with Mrs Knight written on it and a limit larger than the national debt of most countries. Would she say yes, and let me feast on her pussy until she came on my face?

I withdraw my hand and flex it, attempting to get rid of the sensation of her skin. I cannot do this. However much I need her, my niece’s nanny is not for me.

“Mr Knight.”

“Lucas.” My voice is hoarse, and fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. “Ivy calls me Uncle Lucas.”

“I might not call you uncle,” she replies with a bright, teasing smile. After I was a complete prick to her, she’s still sweet and warm.

I don’t return it, keeping my features flat, with no hint of the turmoil inside me.

“Thank you for the trial period. I’ll take really good care of Ivy, I promise.”

“She needs to like you.” That’s the professional approach, right?

“The most important thing,” Bella agrees cheerfully. “If she enjoys cheesy jokes and bedtime stories, I think we’ll get along.”

This girl is a ray of sunshine. Ivy will worship her, albeit differently from the way I do.

I make a vague grunt in reply.

As we enter the lounge where I left Ivy, I’m careful to keep my distance.

Ivy looks up. She’s not colouring anymore, and instead is on the sofa with her toys.

“Uncle Lucas.” Her grey eyes, just like my sister’s and mine, slide between Bella and me, then stick on Bella, widening with interest.

No wonder. Bella is exactly the person a little girl wants as a mother figure. Beautiful. Long swishy hair. Clear skin and sparkling blue eyes.

“Hi!” Bella seems to know how to deal with this situation better than I do. “I’m Bella. I’ve heard so much about you, and I’m excited for us to meet. What are you playing?”

Ivy comes over all shy, ducking her head and peeking up at Bella.

“Unicorns,” she manages to say.

“Would you mind if I played with you?” Bella asks, kneeling so she’s on the floor next to the sofa, a bit below Ivy.

I have the perfect excuse to watch Bella for a while. I’m checking that she’s a good fit for Ivy—as though that’s in doubt.

Ivy passes Bella a plushie unicorn with white hair, and Bella smiles like this is the thing she wants most in the world.

Oh fuck there’s a lump in my throat. Bella would be such a good mother. I can see her with a bump.

My child. I envisage a gaggle of children, Bella standing tucked to my side as we watch them play.

My phone buzzes and I sigh as I check who it is. Artem Moroz, the Mayfair kingpin. Damn. I have more important things to do than talk to him. Like obsess over my new employee.

Today, whatever is happening with the London Mafia Syndicate is an annoyance, even if I am privately amused that they’re called the London Maths Club because the Canary Wharf kingpin couldn’t own the fact he’s a mafia boss, so had everyone pretend to his wife that we were geeks rather than murderers. Can’t say I blame him, and I’ve won a couple of the maths competitions for who gets to kill some idiot who thought the stupid nickname of the Syndicate meant they weren’t dangerous.

“Knight.” I answer the phone. A sense of duty and order prevails.

There’s a pause, then comes Artem’s distinctive Russian accent. “Is that you, King’s Cross?”

“Yes.” Unlike many of the London mafia bosses, I like to pretend I’m not entirely characterised by my territory.

“Good, I need your help. I’m going into Sussex.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Not interested in life anymore, huh? There are helplines for this, but it’s not my expertise.”

“Thank you,” he says wryly. “I’m aware of the risks. But there has been a kidnapping, and I might have to go and get her back to keep the peace with a very angry Essex mafia who aren’t keen on their princess being seized from an arranged wedding.”

“Let me introduce you to a little concept I like to call geography.” I watch Bella say something animatedly to Ivy, and my niece grins. “King’s Cross deals with transport to the North. Sussex and Essex are to the East. They’re managed by Liverpool Street.”

“Thank you for the lesson. I was aware.”

There’s a brief silence, and I don’t give a shit. I’m just staring at Bella’s adorable little nose.

“Liverpool Street. She’s a scary bitch,” Artem says.

He’s not wrong. Tiffany Abara works closely with the Essex cartel, and although she’s part of London, she’s hardly a big cuddly bear under a growly facade like the Paddington kingpin.

“I thought since you work together…” he adds ingratiatingly.

“You thought you could ask me to ensure you have safe passage.”

“Da, thank you.” Artem takes my irritated reply as acceptance. “I appreciate your help. My best vodka will be yours next time we meet.”

“Fucker.” The truth is I don’t mind helping the London Maths Club. “Alright.”

I hang up and then talk to Tiffany, as promised. Part of the role of King’s Cross is to smooth journeys in ways not usually seen by anyone else. I didn’t really appreciate that when I took over from Bradford five years ago. I was his second-in-command, but I had to learn quickly that there was more than trains and cargo shipments to the job. There are politics that I’m still far too grumpy to manage effectively, but I’ve grown into someone who is King’s Cross now, for all I would rather be Lucas Knight.

By the time I’m done speaking to Tiffany and making a trade for her help, Bella and Ivy are both sitting on the floor with toy unicorns strewn around them, and giggling together like they’re partners in crime. I think two of the unicorns are flying somewhere, but my cold dead heart refuses to acknowledge that this is cute.

I don’t want to join them. I don’t.

The call with my duty to the London Mafia Syndicate, and being King’s Cross, was a reminder. This is who I am now. I might have been human once, but now I’m a monster.

However much I desire Bella, she’s forbidden. Not just because she’s far too young and innocent for a man like me. Not even because I failed once to take care of someone I loved.

No. Because I’m already obsessed with her. I want her far more than is healthy, and I know how that ends.

This girl is my soulmate. I knew such connections existed—I’ve seen the love between some of the London Mafia bosses and their wives—but I assumed those were about as likely for me as a unicorn-drawn train carriage. Which makes this situation all the more painful.

I will protect Bella Harlow with my life, and from myself. Even if that means keeping a professional distance. Even if it means she can never be mine.