~ Niamh ~
"Where's Dario?" Massimo asked the man with brown hair who was riding shotgun.
"I sent him to mobilize more soldiers to beef up the security at your place, boss, because of the arrival of your wife and son," the man replied.
He turned slightly, showing a sharp side profile and a little smirk playing on his lips. His Russian accent made me wary immediately, but Massimo seemed to trust him implicitly.
"Good job," Massimo commended. "I was going to instruct you on that. Good thing you thought ahead."
"Yes, boss," the man nodded, pulling his attention back to the road as we sped through the evening light.
"Bianco, do you have what I instructed you to get?" Massimo glanced at the man occupying the back seat.
Built like a bodybuilder, he was thickly muscled, with hard black eyes set in a broad face and a head shaved as smooth as a billiard ball.
"Yes, boss," Bianco replied, and handed Massimo a sleek black briefcase.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I kept my eyes on the briefcase. Massimo clicked it open, and I wasn't surprised to see a set of burner phones nestled inside.
For contacting Neil? I couldn't tell. In this world, burner phones were as essential as oxygen.
A part of me whispered that I should ask him for a phone if I was going to survive in his house, but I shut the thought down instantly.
I would never ask him for anything, even if it killed me.
Massimo inspected the contents, latched the case back with a sharp click, and returned it to Bianco. "Good job," he said.
I shouldn't have cared that he commended his men for every little task. But somehow, I liked it.
Did it make me hate him any less?
No.
In fact, I hated him more for acting like a decent man when he clearly wasn't.
We arrived at Massimo's mansion a few minutes later. A handful of soldiers patrolled the perimeter, their eyes scanning the treeline.
The house towered above us, looming tall and sprawling to either side with a curated majesty. The marble looked polished and worn at the same time—a matte finish that screamed old-world wealth.
It felt like walking into a Roman temple. Fountains were everywhere, and the constant, rhythmic sound of falling water filled my ears as we stepped out of the SUV.
"Wow," Matteo looked around, stunned by the magnificence of the place. He grinned up at Massimo. "Is this your house, Daddy?"
Massimo smiled, and for a second, the predator disappeared. "Yes, son. It is our house. Do you like it?"
"Yes! It's so cool!"
"Want to see the coolest part?"
"Hit me," Matteo replied, and Massimo let out a genuine laugh at his choice of words.
"Alright, come on."
They kept chatting enthusiastically as Massimo led us toward the entrance, with the three escorts following us closely like shadows in suits.
I forced myself to maintain a smile for Matteo, who kept glancing back at me to make sure I was happy, too.
The front foyer was a cavern of white stone and soaring ceilings. As we passed through the massive double doors, the interior took my breath away.
If the exterior suggested Roman power, the inside was pure, modern elegance—polished limestone floors reflected the glow of a massive crystal chandelier, and a grand, sweeping staircase curved upward like a work of art.
Two women of different ages, who looked enough alike to be mother and daughter, with the same blonde hair and brown eyes, stood perfectly erect to welcome their master.
"Welcome, Mr. Massimo," they greeted in unison.
"Thank you," he responded, then stepped aside to introduce us. "Niamh, Matteo, this is Hannah and her daughter, Shauna. They're in charge of the house and chef duties. Hannah, Shauna, this is my wife, Niamh, and my son, Matteo."
I tried to ignore how proud Massimo sounded when he called me his wife and Matteo his son and focused on the women instead.
"You're welcome home, ma'am, and Young Master. We'll ensure you both are as comfortable as you'll ever be," Hannah said with a bow that Shauna quickly imitated.
I acknowledged them with a nod and a polite smile, but Matteo, ever the social butterfly, stuck out his hand for a handshake.
"It's a pleasure to meet both of you," he grinned.
Hannah and Shauna looked at each other in surprise, then at us, clearly unsure how to react.
Maybe they expected a spoiled, arrogant brat, but that wasn't how I'd raised my son.
Hannah recovered quickly, bending down to his height to take his hand. "It's nice to meet you too, boy. How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Matteo replied politely.
Hannah smiled. "That's nice. I bet you're hungry. I was just about to start dinner. Do you have anything special you want me to make?"
"Chi—"
"No," I cut Matteo off immediately.
He'd had his favorite Chicken Alfredo last night and I wasn't letting him get picky on his first day here.
Massimo looked like he wanted to argue, but then he caught my expression and thought better of it.
"Just make whatever you had planned, Hannah. We trust that you make the best meals," I said with a small smile.
I knew chefs loved being complimented; it made them want to impress you even more.
Hannah's face lit up.
"Okay, I'll get the cooking going then." She bowed and retreated.
Shauna looked suddenly nervous without her mother. "Uh, please, ma'am... follow me. Let me show you around."
"Don't worry about that, Shauna. I'll do it myself," Massimo interjected. "Go help your mother."
"Yes, sir," she scurried away.
Massimo turned to the three escorts who had been standing like statues behind us. "You know who they are and what they mean to me," he said, gesturing to us. "You are expected to ensure their safety and protect them with your lives, no matter what. Pass the message to the perimeter guards and the reinforcements Dario is bringing."
"Yes, boss," they chorused.
"Niamh, Matteo, these are Andrej, Griffin, and Bianco. My personal escorts. They're the ones you'll be seeing inside the house. Feel free to let them know if you need anything."
"It's a pleasure to serve you two," Andrej said.
He was the brown-haired man with the Russian accent, and he had a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face.
Griffin, the driver with the blonde braids, and the bald-headed Bianco followed suit.
"Can you guys play with me too?" Matteo asked, eyes bright with hope.
The men exchanged a look before Andrej nodded with a surprisingly genuine smile.
"Of course, boy. Whenever we're free." He patted Matteo's shoulder.
"Cool!"
"Alright, Piccolo, it's time to see what I have for you," Massimo said, resting a hand on Matteo's shoulder as he led us toward the grand stairs.
"What's Piccolo?" Matteo asked. I was curious, too.
"It's Italian. It means little man," Massimo replied, looking immensely proud to be teaching his son something new.
My irritation flared instantly.
"I like it!" Matteo exclaimed. "Uncle Ronan calls me little Matteo."
The warmth vanished from Massimo's face instantly.
A dark look took over his features at the mention of Ronan's name, and the air around us turned ice-cold.